The Abbey of Disillusion Ch. 05

I felt the cocks rubbing their way deeper, the flesh between my ass and cunt hot from the friction. The lustful women used me that way until they had found a harmony that allowed both to fuck me deeply, and I came from an orgasm that left me crying, tears being kissed away by Margaret as her hands controlled my head, letting her lick up my cheeks and kiss me fiercely.

"Do you like it?" The Mother Superior asked, her voice low and sultry, promising delicious sins if only I said, "Yes."

"I love it mommy!" I hissed, truthfully.

"You never stopped being a whore did you? You're an unrepentant slut." She said as her nails dug into my hips. She used her hands expertly to guide my body, facilitating their use of me. Her words, on some level, hurt, reminding me what a nasty pervert I was, despite my faith, despite my parents upbringing. I was reveling in the act of being taken by two women. I felt ashamed, but also brimming with a craving for more.

"Oh God I'm your slut mommy!" I cried.

Margaret asked the Mother Superior the most important question of the night, as she drove up and into me. "Can I fuck her like this everyday?"

Lord please say yes. I thought.

The abbess chuckled, "I'll say when you're allowed to use her, but be assured, she exist for us to fuck."

I groaned, humiliation flooding me alongside what I knew was about to be an otherworldly climax. "And to eat your pussies!" I moaned. "And lick your ass's, ahhh, and worship your tits... God, fuck me..."

We all moaned and clang to each other as we came. They filled me with their warm seed, drops running down Margaret's shaft from both my holes. As the Torok Grubre seems to do it left me hungry for more, which they were glad to provide. The Mother Superior cleaned herself while I sucked every bit of cum off Margaret, and when the abbess returned, she fucked me from behind, her thrust forcing Margaret's cock deep into my throat. I drank that load greedily and begged, "Uhh, Mommy I want to drink yours too!"

She obliged me, and together we lay in the bed, the room stinking of sex in the most pleasant way. The three of us lay on either side of Mother in the small bed, crowded but not caring because we could not be close enough, pressing our bodies together. Me and Margaret nursed at her breast for a time as we relaxed, and we unintentionally aroused the Mother Superior to such a state that she made us crawl under the covers, she lay on her side and lifted her leg, allowing me to lick her asshole while Margaret ate her pussy, our tongues touching at times over the soft flesh between.

"Umm," She moaned approvingly, "What sweet mouths my girls have, do you enjoy licking my ass, Caroline?"

To hear her say it out loud stirred my shame, which somehow made me want to paw at my cunt as I shoved my face deeper into her globes, extending my tongue in answer.

"And you Edith, are you mommy's good little cunt licker?"

"Oh God yes mommy!" Margaret said, reaching over she started fingering my cunt, I spread my legs gratefully and returned her attentions.

I stumbled back to my room near midnight, so out of sorts I didn't even realize Margaret had followed me until she plopped, naked, into bed with me. She mumbled something to me, perhaps, "I love you" as I reached for this journal, and she has fallen asleep with her head on my ass as I write this.

The Mother Superior said that Sister Margaret takes her first vows tomorrow. I know my secrets are safe with her, but I wonder if now there is no chance for bringing all this to an end. In my saner moments, as now, when the lust is sated, I realize that the incredible acts of magic to which I have been witness are what are church fathers warned us about, and I feel myself slipping steadily into a coven of what must be some form of witchcraft. The temptation is not just in the flesh, but in the rationalization that this could be okay, that the hammer will not eventually fall.

But I know that doom is out there, waiting. What is the price of these sins, and when will we pay it?

June 3, 1933

I awoke this morning as Margaret was kissing me goodbye, heading to her daily rituals. I was slow to rise, pondering my circumstance. I sat myself at my desk and attempted to write a letter to the bishop. I felt I could anonymously inform him of the cult, and he could investigate, perhaps before my Margaret got in too deep.

Yet I couldn't write it. I put the pen to paper and simply stared, befuddled. I thought back to the bishop's visit and my desire to confess to him. I began to wonder; am I under a spell of some kind? Perhaps I am bewitched, this would explain how the convent keeps its secrets. It may be that there is a spell in the Mother Superior's book that has allowed her to keep the nuns from going to the authorities, even if they realize the corruption running through their ranks.

The mechanism and method of such magic is currently beyond my understanding, the only way I can understand is to study the Mother Superiors books, and the only way to do that is to continue to grow closer to her.

Margaret came to see me in the evening, explaining that she would take her first vows tonight, and that I needed to be ready to head out around midnight, until then I could nap. Anxious, I paced in my room, donning a simple brown dress as instructed.

When the time came there was a quiet knock, and I opened door, surprised to see that the hallway outside my room contained a line of nuns, all walking into the gate, which was open to the forest. Some carried bags, others simply walked, arms crossed. Sister Margaret stood there, in a simple brown dress like mine, and said, "We're going outside."

Margaret reached up and wrapped something around my neck. Looking down I saw it was a thin line of chain, smooth and silver. "Sister!" I exclaimed, shocked and embarrassed. She smiled at me and tugged on my new leash, pulling me forward. I made to protest for but a moment, knowing it would be fruitless.

As I left my room I saw them, three men at the back of the line. I stared at them for a moment, startled to see men who were not of the cloth walking openly through the abbey. Each had a Sister on his arm, as though they led them to a dance. The men were dressed simply, in jeans and shirts, and reminded me of the field hands my father employed. Then we were moving, the line pushing me forward.

I proceeded into the gate, suddenly very curious, more intrigued than afraid. I'd wanted to see more of the forest, and now I'd have all this company to do so safely. The forest was cool, and as always it appeared to be a calm night. Perhaps there's no sun there, just 3 moons circling forever above a dreaming landscape.

The Mother Superior was there, dressed in red and carrying a large tome, she was the only one who wore something different. Sister West had Lily and was leading her around with her own chain about the poor girl's neck. Others were in a similar state, perhaps eight of us, concubines. I could now see how many Sisters were truly in this sect, and their number was 42. This made my heart sink, for there are only 58 Sisters in the abbey. I wondered how long they'd remain in the shadows, and if the last holdouts would soon find themselves concubines.

"Is this a dream?" I asked Margaret.

She smiled at me and reached out, "OUCH!" I yelped, grabbing my tummy where she'd pinched me.

"Guess not." She laughed.

We walked under the alien stars by the dim but adequate light of the three moons, and as we did Sister West approached us and began to speak, "The first moon, the dim red one, that's Far Darrig. He radiates vitality, the beating heart of living things."

I listened intently to this, hungry to know more about the world on the other side of the gate. I saw, curiously, that the Sisters were picking up sticks as they walked, loading their arms with fallen branches.

"The second moon," She continued, "The pale blue one, that's Zephyr. She brings peace and calm to the land, letting us rest from the labors we endure."

We kept to a trail, worn by many travelers and clearly discernable once I realized we were on it. As we walked I began to hear the music, and to see shapes moving in the forest. I got the sense that they were far enough away that the Sisters could pretend not to see them, and they could pretend to be watching us without our notice.

"Where did you learn these things?" I asked her, finding myself walking very close to Sister Lily, who gave me a sideways glance. I wasn't sure if it was anger, she may have been trying to connect with me.

"The natives of course." Sister West said. "The last moon is Athos, green and large, powerful and able to endure the hardships of life. With Athos as your patron, you can be sure to survive anything."

The trees were large, I couldn't identify the species, but they were nothing native to North America. The canopy was not very thick, and moonlight filtered down, but inconsistently. Because the moons were different colored this meant at certain spots and angles the colors were different, so that the whole of the forest seemed as a painting with a wavey discoloration about everything, and a faint glow from a light fog lended an unreal quality to the scene. It was beautiful.

"You know Margaret," Sister West continued, "You will be the first of us to take her vow already having your own concubine."

"Are the concubines usually... assigned?" Sister Margaret asked.

"Yes, but most of the concubines get passed around. Sister Philips does have a similar relationship with her concubine, and rarely shares her."

I looked around and saw Sister Philips walking beside a middle aged brunette wearing a leash, I noticed how they walked very close together, and then realized that they were holding hands. I suddenly wanted to hold Margaret's hand, and tentatively reached for it.

"What are you doing?" She asked and yanked on my leash to correct me.

"Sorry Sister." I whispered.

I looked back at the men, wondering who they were, drifters from Arkham perhaps? They walked through the alien landscape as though in a dream, not reacting to the sudden and bizarre occurrence of stepping through a portal to another world.

Before long we arrived at the banks of a river, the same one I'd seen in the distance on my escape from the labyrinth beneath the dungeon. Here there was a structure, but it was little more than a foundation, with a pit in the center and a simple alter at the back. The Sisters began to throw their collected sticks into the pit, and some set about gathering more, filling the pit, perhaps ten feet across, with fuel for what must be a bonfire.

The Mother Superior placed her book upon the alter and looked at me and Margaret, motioning for us to come to her.

"Tonight, you will take your first vows Margaret, have you adequately studied the text?"

"Yes Mother, I have." Sister Margaret answered plainly.

They began to discuss the specifics of the ritual, which was very complex, with rites that must be strictly adhered to. For the moment I was ignored, and I walked to the banks of the river, looking out across it. In the darkness its water was black and could have consisted of ink for all I knew. It was as though I beheld a dark reflection of the Euphrates flowing through the garden of Eden. When I looked up from the sight I saw him, a great centaur man, perhaps eight feet tall. He had approached so silently that he just seemed to have appeared, though I saw he did leave tracks.

Behind me the gathered women of the abbey began to shout in joy, "Chiron! He has come!" I saw behind him more figures emerging from the tree line, not only centaur, but satyrs as well. Though I had seen them from a distance, I stood in awe as they forwarded the river, their powerful bodies moving gracefully in and out of the water. They walked among the gathered Sisters and were greeted like family, with excited chatter and even embraces. I saw a centaur pick up a Sister and kiss her like a sailor returned from the Great War, another Sister buried her face between the tits of a buxom satyr, some laughed and held hands with the creatures. Some of the satyr played flutes, skipping among the joyful flock.

The first centaur I saw, whose name was Chiron, approached me. He had long hair flowing down from the back of his statuesque human face, and an air of calm nobility about him as he softly moved through the river. I remembered my dream, this was the same centaur. My mouth was surely agape. "Welcome to Gamaliel. Are you her new toy?" He asked me.

I didn't even have to wonder what he meant, "Yes." I told him, wondering how many 'toys' preceded me. The creature stepped up to me, towering over me by about three feet. Not only was he tall, but I felt his weight. The centaur's power was palpable, and I shrank back a step, conscious that he could trample me like I was nothing.

"Don't be afraid." He said, reaching out for my hand. I stared at his palm for a moment, and it looked wholly human. I gave him my right hand and he placed it on his stomach, then pushed it down. I was acutely aware that on a man my hand would be running down into his pants, yet the centaur did not bother with such things. I felt the strength of the tightly woven muscles under his skin and shivered.

"And is that the new wife?" He asked, pointing to Margaret where she spoke with the abbess.

I nodded and he slowly, still holding my hand, began to trot towards the pair. When we reached the alter I saw that some Sisters had been busy, painting runes on the stone floor. The abbess saw us coming and held up a hand, motioning for us to stop.

"Don't come ruining my ceremony, Chiron." She said, in good humor.

We stopped just off the alter. "I wouldn't dream of it my Lady." The centaur told her. At that moment a female satyr spring next to us, the ground quaking as she landed next to me, and I instinctively pressed myself against Chiron, as though he were safety. The satyr had black horns and pale skin, her lower body covered in a dark grey fur. Her eyes were dark, but not black, not lifeless. There was a glimmer in them of mischief, and she chuckled as Chiron reprimanded her for rudeness. Her dark areola were prominent on the white skin of her breast, and I found myself staring, she noticed this, and licked her lips for my benefit.

"Which of the men are mine?" She then demanded, in an excited voice that contrasted with her size and obvious physical power, almost pouting.

"Take whichever you choose Dea." The Mother Superior responded.

"Good and can I borrow this one?" She asked, looking at me.

"No." The Mother Superior replied flatly.

Dea gave a courtesy and pranced away, laughing.

"There is one other matter." Chiron said.

"And what is that?" The Mother Superior inquired.

"I have one of your runaways."

The abbess froze, as though suddenly a statue. For a long moment she stared at him, and then; "What is his condition? Have you brought him?"

"He is well, in fact the man is of some great health, much to the delight of Eisheth, whose fault it is that he is not here already. She will bring him along shortly."

"No," The abbess looked around, seemingly to check who else was hearing this conversation, "Keep him for now, I will come back for him. Speak no more on this for now." Her eyes settled on me, I think she meant to convey that I too should not mention what I'd just heard.

"The man is dangerous. He knows some powerful arts."

"I said no more." The abbess scolded, sounding annoyed.

"Very well." Chiron took the hint.

The next few minutes I spent in idle conversation with Chiron and some of the satyrs. The oddness of it occurred to me of course, but what could I do but accept that yes these things were real and yes, they wanted to talk about banal goings on at the abbey and Arkham, as well as sharing such stories from their own community. The satyr were mostly female, while the centaur were heavily male. I couldn't help but wonder if they copulated. I suspect they did for I saw some of them standing very close to one another, arms draped across each other, sometimes caressing.

It was then time for the ceremony, which was strange, yet familiar. The abbess began to make a sermon, but she spoke in an alien tongue, completely foreign to me. Sister Margaret knelt next to her, she murmured her own prayers in Latin, but seemed to match the rhythm of the Mother Superior. The fire grew as the sermon went on, it's orange light intense in the pale gloom of Gamaliel's eternal night.

The music of the satyrs continued during this, but it was played with a respectful volume, and a tempo that accentuated the sermon, establishing an air of the mystical. As I was pondering what was being said Margaret stood, discarding her clothes. She stepped to the edge of the platform, raising her arms she called out, "Sursum Corda!" which I recognized, it's the call to lift your heart in prayer.

I saw Sister West lead one of the men, a strapping young lad with black hair and tanned skin, up to stand beside Sister Margaret. She turned and, to my horror, kissed him. I felt a swell of jealousy, silly I suppose. Obviously, this was part of the ritual, but I didn't like it, something about her touching a man bothered me. Hypocritical perhaps, as I stopped counting men after the twentieth. Although that was before I'd found sapphic bliss at the abbey.

I looked to my right and saw the satyr, Dea, physically tearing the clothes off one of the other men. The man was pale and lanky, but handsome, nonetheless. He seemed to go along with it, complacent. A male centaur approached, and she growled a warning at him, "This one is mine first, Nessus!"

"I know," Nessus replied, "You warm them up so good I'll take your seconds."

The third man was being stripped with more care by a group of the nuns, they were sort of fawning over him, kissing him and rubbing his chest. This man had a full beard, with thick dirty blond hair. The sisters seemed to like it, and were running their hands through his chest hair, giggling like schoolgirls. The man accepted this stoically.

I looked around and saw that the revelry was spreading rapidly. Sisters were quickly discarding their clothes, mingling with the natives of the forest. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Sister Philips and her concubine crawling under a centaur who stood with arms crossed, passively allowing the smaller humans to explore his body. Sister Philips extended her arms to his large testicles, cupping them and giving them a slow message. Her concubine was kissing his belly, her hands working on his sheath. Inside the outline of his cock began to show, slowing growing and peeking out. The woman leaned in as it did and I nearly fainted when she started licking around the head.

"Fascinating isn't it?" I turned and saw Sister West by my side.

I shook my head, "It's ghastly, it's... well, they're beast..."

This made both her and Chiron laugh. "Well," She responded, "Mother Superior bids you to prepare Chiron for her."

"Wh-what?" I asked, barely comprehending.

"When she is ready she won't want to wait, she get's very worked up during these initiation rites."

I looked to the stage and I saw that Margaret was unbuckling her man's pants, letting them fall to the ground. He was starting to become less lethargic, kissing her back strongly, his hands slowly going to her exposed breast. My heart was in my throat as she reached down, touching his hardening shaft with her delicate fingers.

Chiron's hand was on my shoulder, "Shall we kiss?" He asked me.

"Would that, prepare you?"

"It's a start." He smirked at me, and his hand worked my gown, letting it fall from my shoulders. He picked me up like I weighed nothing and I wrapped my arms and legs around his torso, with his hands on my ass, holding me up, Margaret's chain dangling from my neck. I felt very small there, his chest was broad and warm, my tits were smaller than his pecs, though he was by no means feminine. I knew that he could break me with a modest effort, yet he was perfectly gentle, bringing me up so that I could put my lips to his. I have not been with a man for some time, and it felt strange. How quickly I've grown comfortable with the fairer sex, that now a masculine jaw seems so unfamiliar. Like everything about him, his mouth and tongue were large, and sucking it as he pushed into my mouth was almost like having a large man's cock pushing towards my throat. I couldn't deny a certain excitement, heightened by nervousness and fear.