Father Caine and Mother Superior

Father Caine picked out the dog-eared volume from a shelf in his study and it fell open at his favourite passage. William Peter Blatty had written in terms that the Priest enjoyed: possession, depravity, the defiling of an innocent. As the passage unfolded, his cock stiffened, demanding attention. He unbuttoned, freeing his substantial tumescence, and masturbated languorously as he read aloud to himself:

As the priest approached the possessed girl, it watched him with mocking eyes. Full of cunning. Full of hate. Full of power. "Hello, Priest."

The priest heard the sound of violent diarrheic voiding into plastic pants. He spoke calmly from the foot of the bed. "Hello, devil. And how are you feeling?"

Its tongue lolled out of its mouth while its eyes appraised the priest with insolence. More, noisier diarrheic spattering. "You don't mind a bit of stink, do you, priest?"

"Not at all…" said the priest. "How long are you planning to stay?"

At this, its head jerked and, face contorted in rage, it roared, "Until the piglet dies!" And then as suddenly, settled back into a thick-lipped, drooling grin.

Moments later, the demonic beast once more possessed her, filled her: it tore the shit-filled plastic pants asunder, choking the room with a vile stench, and an icy cold seeped from the walls. It emitted a guttural, yelping laugh of malevolent spite and rage, and triumphantly rammed the crucifix into her cunt. It masturbated ferociously, roaring in a deep, coarse, deafening voice, "Now you're mine, now you're mine, you stinking sow! You bitch! Let Jesus fuck you, Jesus fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

The priest stood rooted to the ground in horror, frozen, hands pressing tight against his cheeks as again the demonic, loud laugh cackled, as the possessed child's cunt gushed blood onto sheets, the tissues ripped. Abruptly, with a shriek clawing raw from his throat, the priest rushed at the bed, grasped blindly at the crucifix, was still screaming as the girl flared up in fury, features contorted infernally, reached out a hand, clutched his hair, and yanked his head down, pressing his face hard against her cunny, smearing it with blood and shit while she frantically undulated her pelvis.

"Aahhh, little pig-fuck!" it crooned with a guttural, rasping, throaty eroticism. "Lick me, lick me, lick me! Aahhhhh!" Then the hand that was holding his head down jerked it upward while the other arm smashed him a blow across the chest that sent him reeling across the room and crashing into a wall with stunning force while the demon bellowed its spite.

On the floor in a daze of horror, in a swirling of images, blurred, unfocused, his ears ringing loud with chaotic distortions, he tried to raise himself, was too weak, faltered, then looked toward the bed, toward the girl with her back to him, thrusting the crucifix gently and sensually into her cunny, withdrawing it, then back in, out, in, out, in, out, in, with that deep, bass voice crooning, "Ah, there's my sow, yes, my sweet honey piglet, my Piglet, my little cunt piglet, my Piglet, yes, you’re mine now, we are together, we are one, we are one…"

Father Caine’s skilfully-timed climax began as he imagined it was his head that the possessed girl had smashed into her cunt, smearing him with her blood and shit, and he roared his pleasure at words he’d read a thousand times, his ejaculation coating the stained and crusty tome with his lust once more. He caught his breath and put the book aside, open to ensure that the pages could be separated the next time he was moved to masturbate over the erotic passage of little Regan’s possession. “And who,” he mused, smiling to himself as he holstered his subsiding erection, spunk still dripping from its increasingly flaccid glans, “would not find that arousing?”

Mother Superior abruptly interrupted his reveries, bursting into the room in a bustle of efficiency just as he was buttoning his fly. “There’s a smell of musk in this room, Father Caine, and my nostrils are sensitive to it. Been exorcizing demons, have we?” She picked up the open book and scanned the passage over which the priest had sprayed his lust, held it to her face, sniffed his spunk and continued: “Ah, yes, I see we have. You should find a Succubus of your own. A real one” she said matter-of-factly as she swept from the room, leaving the discomfited priest, not quite cock in hand, wondering whether he had just been propositioned by the Abbess of a Christian Religious Order. He decided not to press it, not yet anyway, but the idea had taken root.

Father Caine reflected on the incident with Mother Superior over the next few days. She had not been in the least perturbed by the fact that she had caught him masturbating over a passage in a novel that had stunned and horrified the Christian right in the 1970s. That, he thought, was not the reaction of an Abbess. But more than that, she had encouraged him to take it further: she suggested finding a Succubus – a female sex-devil – of his own. How in Hell does one conjure up a Succubus? Write a letter to the Devil? And what in God’s name was going on in her head? She was Mother Superior! He decided to confront her about it.

Mother Superior spent an hour each day after Matins in her own study doing administrative work. Father Caine decided to talk to her then, as they would not be interrupted. He broached the subject by asking why a bride of Christ would know of Succubae. She answered somewhat cryptically “Ignorance breeds fear and I have sworn not to be fearful in the presence of the unknown which, for want of a better word, we call Evil. If we in the Church do not inform ourselves of the unknown the better to confront it, then who will? Knowledge is the key for in knowledge lies wisdom and, ultimately, control. Does that answer your question?”

“Well, it explains why you have learned of Succubae and the Dark Arts but it does not tell me why you suggested I should find a Succubus of my own – a real one, you said. What did you mean by that?”

“Unless I am very much mistaken, Father Caine, from what I saw and smelled a few days ago, you find those passages in “The Exorcist” extremely erotic. Am I right?”

It would be pointless denying it, he’d been caught all but red-handed unloading his lust. He remained silent. She went on to shock him to the core with her next words. She said: “So do I, Father Caine, those words excite me too. I use a crucifix just the way Regan does.”

She left those last words hanging in the air, letting them sink into Father Caine’s skull, all the while looking unflinchingly into his eyes, a sphinx-like smile playing at her lips. After a silence that seemed to last an eternity, she spoke again: “Seek me tonight, in the Crypt.”

Father Caine stood at the top of the staircase leading to the Crypt, his feelings an uncomfortable but exciting mixture of anticipation, arousal and fear. He had no idea what would greet him on the other side of the door at the foot of the stairs. Was he dreaming? Was it a trap? After a minute, he pulled himself together and descended. He pushed against the door – locked. He knocked and heard the sound of bolts being drawn, keys turning and then the creaking of the ancient door as it opened. The sight that greeted him stunned him.

On a throne of red and black leather sat Mother Superior. She was naked, not just without clothes but completely shaven, no hair anywhere on her body, not even her eyebrows. She exuded power from every single pore, her commanding presence drawing in the light, reflecting it in her smooth alabaster skin. Her fine features, long limbs, bountiful breasts and ample hips could not fail to impress: she was a perfect physical specimen.

“Lock the door and let us welcome Father Caine” she announced with an authority that was not to be denied. It was only then that Father Caine noticed that there were others in the Crypt, so radiantly dominant was Mother Superior. With difficulty, he took his gaze from her and appraised the rest of the assembly. A mixture of masculine and feminine forms was to be seen, rather as you might find cherubs and gargoyles decorating a church. But these were not cherubs, nor gargoyles: these were Succubae and Incubi, their sexual prowess plain to see, shamelessly displayed, some cavorting with each other. Father Caine liked what he saw. Father Caine liked what he heard. Father Caine liked what he smelled. Father Caine was aroused. Father Caine knew that a portal to Hell had been opened and he was looking forward to his induction. 

Mother Superior pointed at three Succubae: “Make him ready!” she commanded. The three female sex-devils freed his cock and fought over who would gobble it to full mast; Father Caine groaned as the winner worked its hot magic, sucking like a spring lamb at its mother’s teat, and the others looked on jealously, relegated to the task of stripping him of his religious garb. 

Mother Superior spoke: “Father Caine, I will hear your confession.”

Father Caine had never confessed his darkest sins and there were many of them. Yes, he’d done the usual ‘Father forgive me…’ stuff when he’d coveted a neighbour’s new trinket or had the occasional lust after a young woman in a short skirt but the real sins, those that occupied the darkest recesses of his mind, those, he had told no-one. It was time to confess, to confess properly and completely.

The Succubus stopped milking his cock, leaving him shy of orgasm but only just, only just. He stood alone, naked, boldly tumescent, cock twitching, balls aching with cum pressure, his audience expectant. He drew a deep breath and began his confession:

“I am depraved, I have plumbed the depths, tasted the forbidden fruit, yes and revelled in my sin. I am a whore-monger, I lie with men and women, together when I can, I spill my seed in public, I seek pleasure in gluttony, I covet all that is not mine, I soil myself and wallow in my own filth. I corrupt innocents in unspeakable ways for my own shallow gratification with no care for the harm I do unto them. I groom, I rape, I sodomise, I control, I use the vulnerable and betray utterly their pathetic trust. I hide behind this respectable façade, this religious mask, this cloth of God and I laugh that He lets me do this evil in His name. I use His holy places and defile them as I defile my victims, yes, I am the poison in the well, a cancer that gnaws at the fabric of trust, a virus destroying innocence, a plague infecting souls.” He fell silent, his turgid penis like wood, so excited was he by the words he had just spoken.

The assembled sex-devils had become more and more agitated and obviously aroused during Father Caine’s confession: many of them had been masturbating and moaning gently as his words reached their ears. Every few seconds one of them would shudder and cry out its lust as its Succubus cunt contracted in orgasm or its Incubus cock ejaculated copiously. The air was redolent of the smell of musk, there was heat and sweat and cunt and cock and cum everywhere, all pervasive, all consuming. The sex-devils hung on his every word, delighting in his depravity, letting his perversion set seed and take root in their minds, feeling it grow within them, angry and ugly, feeding on it, using it to fuel their own decadent lust and plotting what they might presently be doing to him.  

Mother Superior’s commanding voice cut through the cacophony of sex-devil mumbo-jumbo, silencing their excited babble, aware that they were ready to unleash their awful lust upon him. 

“Father Caine, we have heard your confession. We revelled in your tale of the sins you have committed and the wrongs you have perpetrated. In this house, we approve of such betrayal. This night, you shall be inducted into the ways of the True Lord, He who has provided us with these Satanic misfits, these grotesques, these non-humans, these foul imaginings made flesh, these sex-devils.” And then, with a flourish and the flexibility of a gymnast, Mother Superior arched backwards into a crab, her perfect cunny directing its one-eyed gaze at Father Caine. She unleashed a torrent of piss with such power that it covered the fifteen feet that separated them in a perfect gushing arc into his gaping mouth and he drank eagerly of the nectar that Mother Superior had generously provided. 

The golden arc was a signal. Two Succubae, one of them petite, tiny, rushed forward and grabbed the piss-drenched Father Caine, swiftly ushering him to a bench where he was laid on his back, exposed for their delight. The Succubae squabbled briefly over who would have his cock: the petite prevailed and straddled him, enjoying the penetration of his swollen, rubbery member, feeling it deep inside her, an idiot’s drooling grin creasing her odd features.

“Cunt me!” she screamed, “Cunt me, you Fuck-Pig, you fucking Shit-Pig! CUNT ME!”

Her tiny frame writhed upon his cock, grinding her cunny down, taking him to the hilt. She wanted every inch of the Shit-Pig’s monster cock inside her and watched her little belly bulge as it impaled her.

The second Succubus sat on his face, smothering him with her bubble-buttocks, her quim demanding the attention of Father Caine’s tongue which parted the lips of her lusty pussy, pushing into her depths in a long, searching caress, insinuating itself deliciously, by turns teasing her protruding clitoris and titillating her G-spot. She squealed her approval at Father Caine’s attentions. Each Succubus grabbed and tweaked at the other’s tits, billing, preening, squealing, enjoying the intimate attentions they lavished on each other and Father Caine’s frantic struggles beneath them. Four masturbating Incubi joined them, their immense members curved like sabres made flesh, urging the Succubae onwards to their climax, grunting like pigs, pre-cum splashing from their mushroom-headed cocks. They wanked hard, leathery foreskins flashing over empurpled knobs, the wet, fapping noise of their combined masturbation adding to the moans and squeals of the Succubae and the desperate, muffled screams of the suffocating Father Caine. One of the Incubi lost it, his fat cock spraying thick, long cum-ropes, spattering the breasts and grotesque features of the two Succubae who eagerly lapped and licked it, greedily gobbling down the satanic seed. His ejaculation spurred the three others and they too began to bellow lustily, cocks twitching and jerking powerful torrents, covering the Succubae and Father Caine in a blanket of sticky cum. The two Succubae keened their orgasms, the petite draining Father Caine’s cum into her tiny little belly, feeling his hot juice seed her. The face-sitter squirted her cum in pulsing, orgasmic floods, her body rhythmically tensing and shuddering, her roiling cunt pressed ever harder into the face of the choking, drowning, suffocating Father Caine.

“Let him breathe, my darling Succubus,” cooed Mother Superior as the bedlam subsided, “Let us not be greedy, there are others who have yet to take their pleasure of him, let us not suffocate him with our love so soon. Let him breathe, my sweet.” The face-sitter reluctantly raised herself from Father Caine’s face and then smirked malevolently at his desperate, gurgling, coughing and retching as he gulped for air. She allowed him three deep drafts before once again planting her cunny squarely on his face to continue his torment.

“My darling, please heed my words, Father Caine has more work to do tonight, we cannot yet release him from his mortal bonds. Let Father Caine breathe, my pet.”

This time, the reluctant Succubus gave in to Mother Superior’s cajoling and removed herself from Caine’s face, leaving him retching and spewing her cum, his blue, oxygen-starved lips gradually returning to their normal colour. The petite too dismounted, revealing, even in this state, perhaps because of it, Father Caine’s robustly erect cock. The petite busied herself in casually licking the Incubus-cum from her body with a tongue so obscenely long that there was no part of her tiny frame it could not reach. When she had cleaned herself, she licked and slurped now-cold cum from the other Succubus before nuzzling into the larger Succubus’s cunny and probing it intimately.  

Mother Superior addressed Father Caine:

“Father Caine, we are enjoying your company. I am aroused by the spectacle you, with the help of our devilish friends, have created. We see that your penis is still hungry but we shall not feed it again just yet. No, it is time for a different type of fun.”

Father Caine had recovered a modicum of dignity, at least he had stopped puking the Succubus juices that had been so recently and forcefully unleashed into his throat and was again breathing easily.

“Mother Superior,” his voice was a little shaky, it had lost the confident bluster used in the delivery of his confession, “Mother Superior”, he repeated, “What will you do with me?”

“I rather think you are about to find out!” And she allowed herself a little smirk.

Father Caine felt himself pressed onto his back, found himself looking at the ceiling of the crypt, his head lolling off the end of the bench. Then something was in his mouth, something thick and hot and meaty was sliding between his quivering lips and forcing him to open wide, stretch so wide. It pushed inside, gliding over his tongue and hitting the back of his throat where it paused for a moment. He was shaking, gagging, his scattered brain unable to comprehend his predicament. But what happened next drove reason fleeing from his mind as the thing in his mouth suddenly and forcefully drove its way down his throat and into his stomach. His eyes bulged wide and watered as he tried to breathe, spit dribbling from his lips, gagging on the huge member as it proceeded to fuck his mouth, his throat, his belly. He felt its heavy balls slapping into his nose and eyes, he was sure he was going to die. His hands were slapped away again and again as he tried to push back, to escape this torment; then a blow to his face from an unseen hand preceded a firm grip on his throat, as if this invisible demon was tightening Caine’s oesophagus around its invisible cock the better to stimulate itself. It fucked him hard, rhythmically inserting and withdrawing the full length of its tumescence, its vast girth ripping Caine’s gullet painfully. Just before Father Caine passed out, he felt his belly expand as the unseen demon unleashed a vast ejaculation into his gut, distending his stomach absurdly, the cum flooding back up his throat, into his mouth, forcing its way through his nose and past his lips, gushing onto the demon’s balls and spattering onto the floor, the stream ebbing and flowing with the demon’s pulsing ejaculation. 

Mother Superior and the assembled devils saw only Father Caine’s body responding to his tormentor’s attack, for the demon was invisible to them too. They saw Caine pinned by invisible hands on the bench; saw his lips stretch wide as if trying to engulf an Outspan orange in one go as the invisible member violated his mouth; they saw the look of stunned surprise in his eyes as the cock hit the back of his throat; saw his gullet bulge obscenely and heard his muffled screams as the monster forced its weapon into his belly; they watched his body jerk to the demon’s rhythm, whilst they drooled and masturbated; they squealed with delight as its ejaculation ballooned Caine’s  belly preposterously and then applauded as the pressure from his misshapen stomach forced the cum back up his throat, through his nose and past his lips; they rejoiced as Father Caine and the demon parted, leaving him limp on the bench, the devil-spunk in his belly now vomited without restriction, a limpid, tapioca fountain spewing from his mouth.

Caine regained consciousness to find Mother Superior towering over him as he lay on the bench, her legs akimbo and her cunt close to his face. Despite his ordeal, he reflected that she was perfection, asked himself how such beauty could be routinely hidden by a nun’s habit, felt his cock twitching into life again, responding to her radiant power, her physical magnificence, her command of the realm in which he found himself. She spoke, reproaching him:

“Father Caine, you have spewed our gifts upon the floor twice. Once might be considered an accident; twice might be considered rudeness. When one is rude, Father Caine, what does one expect?” He saw she was holding a stout leather crop in her right hand, a humbler in her left. He began to sweat, felt his testicles retract in fear. Before he could even begin to plead, two large Incubi seized him, turning him onto his belly, drew him into a crouch and roughly humbled him. Mother Superior delivered a vicious stinging blow to Father Caine’s buttocks; his scream rent the air and the assembly roared its approval as they saw the welt rise immediately. The Succubae and Incubi pressed close, allowing Mother Superior just enough room to swing her crop hard. Her second blow drew another welt, and her third. The throng roared encouragement, drowning Caine’s screams and pleas for mercy. Mother Superior found her rhythm and delivered a series of devastating blows to his buttocks, thighs and back. But she was careful not to thrash his balls, no, not just yet…

To be  cunt - inued.

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