The snow fell in heavy, silent curtains over the isolated Alaskan convent, transforming the already remote landscape into a world of pristine white. Sister Sarah stood at the narrow window of her spartan cell, her breath fogging up the glass as she watched the endless wilderness stretch toward the horizon. She had arrived only three weeks ago, transferred from a bustling convent in Chicago, and the stark contrast still left her reeling.

"Blessed be," came a voice from the doorway. Sarah turned to see Sister Margaret, her round face flushed with what Sarah had initially mistaken for the cold. But as time passed, she'd noticed that all the sisters here shared that same ruddy complexion—and the same generous proportions that strained against their simple black habits.

"Blessed be," Sarah replied, offering a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Is it time for vespers already?"

"Nearly," Margaret said, her eyes twinkling with a secret amusement that Sarah found unsettling. "We're having a special dinner tonight. Sister Eleanor has outdone herself with the roast duck."

Sarah's smile tightened. "I've noticed that the meals here are... quite substantial. Perhaps more so than is necessary for a life of contemplation and service."

Margaret's expression shifted, the warmth cooling significantly. "We work hard here, Sister Sarah. The Alaskan winters demand strength that city living might not require."

"Of course," Sarah said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "But I've been studying the Rule of Saint Benedict, and I believe it speaks to moderation in all things, including food."

Margaret's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should spend less time studying rules and more time understanding your new home." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts.

It wasn't the first such exchange. Since her arrival, Sarah had found herself increasingly isolated from the other sisters. Her gentle suggestions about moderation in eating had been met with cold shoulders and whispered conversations that ceased whenever she entered a room. The convent that should have been a place of sisterhood had become a lonely fortress of secrets.

That evening, as the other sisters made their way to the dining hall, Sarah pleaded a headache and retreated to her cell. But instead of resting, she found herself drawn to the window once more, watching as the convent grounds grew dark and quiet.

Movement caught her eye near the old stone building at the edge of the property—the one the sisters had vaguely referred to as a "storage shed" but which Sarah had never seen anyone enter or leave. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their forms unmistakable in their habits. As they paused beneath a security light, Sarah gasped, pressing herself closer to the glass.

Sisters Margaret and Eleanor stood in the snow, their faces illuminated by the harsh light. They were kissing—not the chaste kiss of peace exchanged during mass, but a passionate, intimate embrace that left no room for misinterpretation.

Sarah's heart raced as she watched them break apart and make their way toward the stone building. Without fully understanding why, she grabbed her cloak and slipped out of her cell, following the path the two sisters had taken.

The building was unlocked, and Sarah eased the heavy wooden door open just enough to slip inside. The air within was warm and thick with the scent of incense and something else—something sweet and cloying that Sarah couldn't immediately identify.

She followed the sound of low voices and soft music down a dimly lit corridor until she reached a large room at the end of the hall. Peering through the partially open door, Sarah froze, her mind struggling to process what her eyes were seeing.

The room was dominated by a massive statue of a goddess unlike any Sarah had ever seen in her religious studies. Carved from pale stone, the figure was grotesquely obese, with rolls of fat cascading down her body and a face that was both serene and somehow terrifying.

But it was what lay at the statue's feet that truly horrified Sarah. There, on a carpet of rich furs and silks, were all the nuns of the convent—completely naked, their bodies entwined in an orgy of flesh and desire. The air was filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the sweet scent now recognizable as perfume and sweat.

The sight before Sarah was so profoundly wrong, so utterly blasphemous, that for a moment, her mind simply refused to accept it. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her as she stared at the writhing mass of naked flesh at the feet of the obscene goddess.

"I have to tell the Church," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the corridor. "This... this abomination must be exposed."

As if summoned by her words, a rough hand clamped over her mouth from behind, another arm snaking around her waist and lifting her off her feet. Sarah struggled instinctively, but her captor was surprisingly strong.

"Well, well, well," Sister Margaret's voice hissed in her ear, cold and triumphant. "What do we have here?"

Before Sarah could react, Margaret pushed her forward into the room. The orgy paused as heads turned toward them, expressions ranging from annoyance to amusement.

"Look what I found skulking in the hallway," Margaret announced, her voice dripping with contempt. "A nosy little busybody who means to tell the Church about us."

Two nuns detached themselves from the group and came forward, their faces impassive as they helped Margaret drag Sarah further into the room.

"Let me go!" Sarah cried, finding her voice at last. "You... you heathens! You'll all be excommunicated when I send my report! This is a desecration of everything holy!"

Margaret laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed in the large room. "You won't be sending any reports, Sister Sarah. You won't be telling anyone anything about our little secret cult."

They forced her down onto a mattress directly in front of the statue, and Sarah felt the cold weight of a steel collar being locked around her neck. A chain attached to the collar clanked against the stone floor as they secured it.

"What are you doing?" Sarah demanded, her voice rising in panic. "You can't do this!"

Margaret knelt beside her, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Oh, but we can, dear sister. And we will. You see, you've been judged and found wanting. Your pious, self-righteous ways are not welcome here."

She ran a hand over Sarah's trembling body, her touch almost gentle at first, then increasingly firm. "You're going to be fattened, Sarah. Fattened until you're too fat to walk, too fat to even stand without help. You'll become a monument to the very gluttony you so despise."

Sarah shook her head in disbelief, tears welling in her eyes. "No... please..."

"Oh, yes," Margaret continued, her voice thick with satisfaction. "We'll force-feed you, dear. Rich, creamy foods, sweets, meats—you'll eat until you vomit, and then you'll eat some more. Your stomach will stretch and stretch until it hangs down to your knees."

Her hands moved to Sarah's backside, squeezing and kneading the flesh through her habit. "And your ass... oh, your ass will become a magnificent sight. A vast, wobbling expanse of flesh that we'll take great pleasure in. We'll take turns with you, you know. With strap-ons. We'll rape that fat ass of yours until you're begging for more."

Sarah sobbed, humiliation and terror warring within her. "You're monsters..."

Margaret's smile widened. "Perhaps. But we're monsters who know how to enjoy life."

She stood up, the chain still in her hand, and positioned herself in front of Sarah. Then, with deliberate slowness, she pulled the chain taut, forcing Sarah's head forward until her face was pressed directly into Margaret's ass crack.

"Now, lick," Margaret commanded, her voice cold. "Lick my asshole clean, you pious little bitch."

Sarah struggled, but the collar was unyielding, and Margaret's strength was overwhelming. The chain pulled tighter and tighter until Sarah's lips were forced against the puckered flesh of Margaret's anus. The taste, the smell, the sheer degradation of it all was overwhelming, and as she finally gave in and began to lick, Sarah knew that her life as she had known it was over.