DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: Religious themes, Supernatural, Age-Play/Young, Demonic/Satanic, Abuse, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship.

CREATED: 08.04.2022 / REVISITED: 09.11.2023

Secrets 2


“Everybody has secrets, everybody lies, and everybody cheats …” E.K. Blair

Tomas. Outwardly he had the facade of a devout and upright man. He was a regular at church services. He was the owner of a Christian bookshop. But bookish Tomas had a dark secret. At forty-two he’d experienced little in life but craved everything that was not permitted by his godly beliefs. He longed for forbidden things, dark things, nasty things.

Angelica. She was the devout wife of a preacher. She was a volunteer at the local convent orphanage looking after the young disadvantaged children. She never complained or had a harsh word to say about her husband’s long hours dedicated to his religious duties and serving his needy parishioners. But petite little Angelica had a dark secret. It was a heinous and twisted secret that churned deep inside her — that made her wish for the wickedness to consume her.

So Tomas met Angelica.

Would it be that they would be fooled by each other’s pious disguises; or would they see each other for who they truly were? … They sat that there is a war going on inside everybody. One side is greedy, wicked, selfish, and evil; while the other is kind, caring, loving, and gentle. Which one wins? Well, that depends upon which one you feed!


  • Mr. Tomas Stern – Owner of “The Zion Bookshop”, short, effeminate (42)
  • Mrs Angelica (Angel) Bartholomew – Christian, married to Father Eaton (46)
  • Father Eaton Bartholomew – Angel’s husband, preacher/priest (58)
  • Sister Magnolia – Young nun (26)
  • William – orphan (13)
  • Tabatha – small, petite orphan (9)


“Crime is the soul of lust. What would pleasure be if it were not accompanied by crime? It is not the object of debauchery that excites us, rather the idea of evil.” ― Marquis de Sade

What a rush.

Tomas and Angelica talked incessantly about what they had both dreamt about. It was completely bizarre to imagine that they could possibly have shared the same dream — and the opportunities for further exploitation were not lost on either of them. Had they been blessed with an evil gift? As they recalled the incident at the dark theater … the devil dance of the young ones … the sadistic revelations and of course, the eventual downfall of a sodomite surrender.

Angelica excitedly told Tomas everything in detail. As she recalled her nocturnal vision; she described how, seeing the boy ballerina being sodomized by Tomas, she had jumped onto the low stage of the auditorium. While Tomas had been in the process of wildly raping the young child; she’d viciously gripped the ballerina’s flaccid cock between her front teeth, and in a fit of sexual hysteria, had bitten it off.

The sight of this had driven the others crazy with insane lust. The blood had sprayed everywhere; pooling in the black plastic sheets … piss, blood, semen … a ritual sacrifice … an offering to the evil spirits that had created their shared vision. There had been a sound … like a demon’s growl … a savage acknowledgment? Yes, both Tomas and Angelica recognized that beyond there being no consequences or limits to the evil things they could do together — there seemed to be an encouragement, if not expectation of twisted passion and relentless diabolic behavior.

As they recalled the night of horrors to each other, in minute detail, they both frantically masturbated — compared everything that they had experienced in the nightmarish “Dark Libertine“.

It could no longer be just a coincidence or hallucination; but more like a demonic happenstance. Some kind of bizarre connectivity between their kindred spirits. Actually, they were beyond caring about why … they just knew that they were blessed by the darkness and that they both hoped to experience more of the same … and maybe secretly emulate the darkest of their desires in reality.


It was Sunday morning and Angelica had made her way to the Saint Bernadette’s Orphanage.

It was an awfully rundown place, overcrowded and managed by inattentive and inept nuns of the St. Bernadette Order. Angelica had been originally participating in a number of programs to help the orphanage raise funds but found that she loved to get involved at the grassroots level with the children themselves. Outwardly, their church and the institution welcomed any help they could get. The sisters of the nunnery tried their best, but it just wasn’t an easy task with the under-resourced and overcrowded orphanage. There were so many unloved and unwanted children.

Sister Magnolia was still considered a young nun at twenty-six. She and Angelica had become fast friends — and though neither had admitted it to the other, there was a sexual attraction between them; as well as an unhealthy interest in the young boys and girls of the orphanage. Sister Magnolia was known to Angelica’s husband, Father Eaton Bartholomew, as having a past peppered with sexual problems — and through her confessions — he had “guided her towards the light” — or so he thought. Of course, Sister Magnolia had fed him bullshit and she had no intention of missing out on the opportunities that this badly run orphanage had to offer for a horny pedophile.

Angelica and Sister Magnolia talked about many things. Angelica was aware of the Sister’s bisexual tendencies. And when they were alone they often touched each other in an “almost” intimate way. Lingering hugs. Kiss on the lips. A caress of the face. Holding hands. Their legs pressed against one another. Neither made the obvious move.

“I have a lover,” confessed Angelica.

“But what about Eaton?” asked Sister Magnolia in mock shock.

”What about him?” she sounded disgruntled, “He’s such a fucking bore in bed.”

They laughed.

“Thank you for letting me borrow one of your habits … we’re exactly the same size.”

“So what was the occasion?” asked Sister Magnolia naively. Then the penny dropped, “… Oh … I see … Something naughty … kinky?”

“Always. It has to be our secret, okay?”

“Of course … I love kinky stuff,” replied Sister Magnolia! “And I won’t say a word to anyone, darling.”

She always was calling Angelica darling, in the most affectionate of ways — more like a lover than a church friend.

“One day soon, I want you to meet him.”

“That would be interesting,” answered the wayward nun.

“Would you like that? Really? I mean, really?”

“I would love to watch the both of you,” ventured the Sister, whose voice had suddenly become very clandestine and maybe a little nervous.

“Won’t you want to … join in? Maybe suck some cock … together?”

“Mmmmm …” moaned Sister Magnolia,

“But aren’t you forgetting your vows to Jesus Fucking Christ? Aren’t you his bride? What about God Almighty?”

Sister Magnolia laughed nervously, “What about him? He’s boring in bed. But I bet you aren’t?”

“Are you propositioning me, Sister? Want a trashy threesome in a sleazy motel? Get some cock and cunt together?”

“You’re making me very horny!” replied the nun.

Angelica was about to lean over and kiss the nun’s mouth when the door burst open. A young boy, called William, ran in — out of breath and sweating from his efforts. Sister Magnolia was annoyed but covered her anger for the interruption. William was a slight boy. Petite and effeminate. He was prone to bullying by some of the older boys. Both the nun and Angelica waited for the boy to catch his breath.

“Sorry Sister. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I was just … I was just …”

“You’re about to just tell us what’s going on,” said Sister Magnolia, finishing his sentence, “You’ve been hurt?” the boy had dark bruises, “Your shirt is torn. I can see blood. Take off your shirt William.”

William did as he was told, but kept tight-lipped about the circumstances. His body was thin and bony. Angelica wanted to touch him … to put her hands down the front of his pants … to touch his sweet little genitals.

“Take your pants off,” said Sister Magnolia. William looked momentarily resistant. “There’s only us here. No one else. Don’t be silly and take off your pants.”

Angelica shot a quick look at Sister Magnolia. She had a ravenous look in her eye. It dawned on her that this wasn’t usual procedure … that Sister Magnolia had been hiding a proclivity towards young boys and maybe girls. Angelica subconsciously licked her lips as the boy pulled down his pants, exposing his naked form beneath. Without any underwear, seeing his severely concave backside, protruding bony hips, and bony genitals was almost too much for Angelica.

“There are more bruises. Turn around,” ordered the nun as she pushed his hands away so that he couldn’t cover his genitals.

The nun put her hand on the boy’s flaccid little cock, as if to examine him — but her touch was much more inappropriate — as it appeared that she was demonstrating her power over the child to Angelica. The boy didn’t pull away. It was as if they’d done this before. The boy’s cock didn’t remain flaccid for long. As the nun rubbed his foreskin back and forth, the boy soon became erect. His pocket rocket was ready to blast off. He closed his eyes and shot clear boy semen over the nun’s fingers.

“Get dressed and get out!” ordered the nun.

The boy left and closed the door behind him.

”Taste him. I know you wanted to suck his delicious little boy cock,” said the nun, as she offered her semen-coated fingers to Angelica.

Angelica didn’t need to be asked twice, She licked and sucked each of the nun’s fingers. The boy’s semen was delicious. Sweet yet salty. And licking cum from a nun’s hand felt even more perverted. It was the first time she’d experienced anything like this — but of course — not the first time that she’d imagined it.

“Now we have another secret between us!” said the nun.

“How did you know that I wouldn’t be completely horrified?”

“Because I see the hunger in your eyes. You’re here because you want to take them to bed. You don’t care about their welfare or their plight. You want to use them for sexual gratification — just like me — oh how delicious to abuse these little pieces of fuck meat. Satan is all powerful … It’s our secret … from one pedophile to another.”

Sister Magnolia was a devil worshiper, a pedophile, and much, much more. Angelica couldn’t wait to tell Tomas.


Tomas could hardly contain his excitement.

Hearing about Sister Magnolia and her antics with the young orphan boy. He sensed that this would bring their mutual pedophilic pleasures to another level. It was one thing to dream it, or even to fantasize about it, but it was a whole different thing altogether — to actually do it.

Angelica had described her experience with the wayward sister in explicit detail and Tomas had been like a jumping bean — unable to resist furiously masturbating to his lover’s description of what she had in mind for the three of them. Knowing that the boy was reluctant, excited him even more. The idea of their resistance to being molested only enhanced the satisfaction of taking their innocence.

The dream of the Dark Libertine came crashing back into his mind. The young orphan’s unwillingness would begin a new journey for the lovers. How far would they go? The nun had said something about the fact that children ran away from the orphanage from time to time, never to be seen again. Who would miss them? Nobody. Angelica and Tomas could do anything they wanted to these poor children and nobody would be the wiser.

Their evil minds twisted plots of ritualized rape, murder, and even human sacrifice. Just like in The Marquis de Sade adventure. No limits. Yes. Oh yes. How much closer to their strange dreams could this reality become — the deviant dreams that seemed to get more and more frequent … even more and more bizarre … even more and more evil … the longer that they were together.

Angelica had told Tomas about another insidious dream that she’d dreamt about the two of them; only to find that Tomas had almost the same experience. She had awoken in their secret place and taken the elevator down to her hellish pleasure. The selection had been crazy … Blood Creatures … Black Goat … Incest Rites … Infant Crucifixion … Temple of Sodom … Phallic Obsession … and once again, they had both chosen exactly the same … the more obvious choice would have been the “Temple of Sodom” or maybe “Infant Crucifixion” … but no, instead their twin destination had been the “Black Goat”.


The “Black Goat” … maybe something that Angelica tried to see what would happen if they picked something different — but that wasn’t to be the case.

Angelica watched the pornographic wall open up to reveal the elevator to hell … she moved inside it. She was overtly horny as hell. She eyed the selection and closed her eyes as she randomly pressed a button. It was marked “Black Goat”. Within seconds the lift was descending; deeper and deeper into the realm of hell. She didn’t think the downward journey had ever been so long before. Her juiced-up cunt was throbbing desperately for her fingers to penetrate herself.

As the doors slid open and she stepped out, she suddenly realized her stomach was bloated. It bulged forward as if she were seven months pregnant. Her body had been oiled in red slippery juices … blood, urine, oil, or a strange combination?

She couldn’t help touching herself — rubbing her hands over her tightly rotund form that had turned her belly button inside out. Angelica’s breasts had swelled too. Her tiny boy breasts were weeping with milk (the consistency of runny semen) from her hardened nipples. And her cunt was open. Her vaginal juices flowing. Her clitoris seemed thicker, harder, bigger, and more sensitive than ever before.

A young nymph, no older than six, greeted her.

The naked young girl seemed to treat her with great reverence. Angelica wanted nothing more than to grab her and stuff her little face against her gnawing cunt — but just as she thought about it, Angelica was distracted — all around her were the sounds of animalistic grunts and screams. These sounds were accompanied by slavish whips; the clanking of heavy metal chains; and of children in excruciating pain.

Though most would have been horrified, these sounds only excited and beckoned her.

In this twilight world, of the Black Goat, the only source of illumination came from crackling oil torches that lined the blood-red rock walls. The waif fingered herself and then put her naughty fingers into her own mouth. She grinned at Angelica knowingly. Her expression seemed to mock the cries of distant agony that surrounded them both.

Was this hell?

“Hail, The Black Goat,” sang the naked young waif, “The Chosen One awaits you, my Goddess!”

Goddess? The girl bowed lowly and indicated that Angelica should enter the huge phallic gates that lay before her. She did. She felt movement inside her bulging stomach. Alive. Something was alive inside her stretched womb. She walked the short distance to enter the cavernous rock temple.

There was heat from naked flames and the smell of burning meat. The sounds of chanting and suffering got even louder beyond the gates — like fingernails on the surface of a blackboard. The screeches of distress filled her ears. She slid her right hand between her legs, no longer able to stop herself from frigging her oily horny cunt. It felt so damn good.

Above her, from the rock ceiling of the temple, hung naked bodies of many young and fragile boys and girls held by long blackened chains. They looked like insane party decorations — Like a blood lust grotto devoted to the vampire queen — Countess Elizabeth Bathory.

A group of four preteen boys wearing goat-like masks awaited her arrival. Seeing the pregnant woman, they all immediately knelt in Angelica’s presence. The young goat-faced acolytes were all completely naked and proudly showed off their disproportionately large erections. Their beady eyes peered through the smoky temple; as their gaze looked upwards towards the throne, upon which sat the Black Goat. Their Baphomet. Their God.

“Hail the Goddess!” cried the goat-faced acolytes as they feverishly masturbated themselves.

The four young acolytes urged Angelica to move closer.

There she noticed, for the first time, the looming figure of something evil, demonic, and very sexual. Seated upon a throne made from the skulls of babies, was a baphometic demon with a huge cock protruding upwards from between its thighs. The image was one that she’d masturbated too many times. The goat demon had beastly hind legs that were covered in thick black hair. Instead of feet, it had cloven hooves. Beneath its evil snout were the breasts of a woman, capped with inch-thick nipples. Spouting from its back, Angelica saw a pair of wet-leathery wings.

But there was something else about this demon — and she knew those eyes.



“I think that if there were a God, there would be less evil on this earth. I believe that if evil exists here below, then either it was willed by God or it was beyond His powers to prevent it. Now I cannot bring myself to fear a God who is either spiteful or weak. I defy Him without fear and care not a fig for his thunderbolts.” ― Marquis de Sade

The church bells tolled on Sunday morning. Father Eaton welcomed the throng of parishioners as they entered the coolness of the small chapel. He smiled and shook hands.

“May God be with you,” he said repetitively as men, women, and young families filed in for the morning service.

As much as he tried to keep his mind on the sermon, his thoughts about Angelica seemed to trouble him deeply. There was something different about her that was unnerving and unsettling. It was as if he was living with a different person. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly — it was just something he unconsciously sensed rather than actually knew.

It had been in the early hours of the morning. They had been sleeping separately for days (or rather nights). Angelica had said that it was because she didn’t want to disturb his rest — citing the importance of his devotion to the community. But on one particular night, when they had both shared their marital bed, something totally queer. He viewed “making love” as a duty rather than a source of pleasure. He had never masturbated or even thought about sex outside the context of his own religiosity. Of course, it had meant that their sexual activities had been very infrequent — often awkward and something to be performed with all the lights off.

He had always assumed that Angelica had felt the same.

But, during the early hours, while she was fast asleep, he heard her mumbling in her dream state. He thought at first that she was having a nightmare — as she mumbled strange utterings, almost like guttural chanting or incantations.

“… Kneel … Kneel … kneel … before the Black Goat … worship … worship …. worship our Dark Messiah … hail … hail … hail … the Lecherous One”.

What’s more her entire body seemed to wriggle uncontrollably next to him. Next to him, her body was soaking wet with perspiration. Even her conservative nightgown was twisted up and drenched in her wetness. And most disturbingly of all was that in the ambient light of their bedroom, he could see her fingers moving between her thighs, touching herself in a manner that Father Eaton could only describe as ungodly and disgusting.

“Oh … oh my … God forgive …” he muttered to himself as he watched helplessly.

He could no longer just watch. He had to do something to stop this blasphemous behavior. He went to awaken her. His thoughts were that this was, some kind of, night terror. But just as he laid his hands upon her, she turned towards him — Her eyes were wide open — though she seemed unaware of him or her surroundings. Her small hands pressed down upon his shoulders, pushing him backward onto the crumpled bedding as her body moved to climb on top of him. He was dumbstruck. For such a slight woman, she seemed incredibly strong. Father Eaton fell backward awkwardly as she mounted his upper body and straddled his face.

Father Eaton tried to sit up. He tried to turn away. After all, his wife was a small, fragile thing. But the priest felt completely helpless against her uncharacteristic domination — his limbs suddenly felt heavy and totally listless — as if all his strength had been sucked out of him.

All he could do was simply blink in the semidarkness.

Still staring with unfocused eyes, his slight wife lifted her soaked nightgown over her head. She growled. She moaned. She blasphemed.

“… Kneel … Kneel … kneel … before the Black Goat … worship … worship …. worship our Dark Messiah … hail … hail … hail … the Lecherous One.”

She began to gyrate as she lowered herself over his upturned face. The smell of her unwashed vagina filled his nostrils. Urine, Feces and other smells collected into something that he couldn’t begin to identify and his stomach wanted to revolt because of it. Then, as her open cunt hung above him, it dripped with a slimy wetness that soaked his face. He tried to close his mouth — but couldn’t. He tried to close his eyes — but couldn’t. The acid-like slime burned his eyes while what dripped into his mouth felt chunky and vile.

Her strong little fingers gripped his wet hair, pulling his head violently backward against the bedding. His breath became ragged and labored as she forced herself downwards upon his open mouth — wriggling and grinding her sweat-drenched perineum forcefully over his chin, mouth, and nose.

Oral sex was not something that the priest would have ever included in his list of acceptable sexual practices. It was disgusting and barbaric (as he saw it). In fact, to him, the thought of touching his wife’s vagina was simply revolting — what purpose would it serve? Certainly, nothing to do with procreation — and how could anyone enjoy such a filthy activity?

But there was Father Eaton, pinned down beneath his highly aroused wife as she began to frantically masturbate herself upon his face. He wanted to scream, “Stop, stop!” But his mouth was filled with her. Filled with her disgusting cunt juices. His senses filled with her unnatural pheromones.

”Lick me! Lick me! LICK ME!” she moaned.

She must be possessed, he thought. Could this be the work of some sexual demon that had possessed his dear innocent wife? Something completely unnatural was at work here. Had they been visited by evil?

But despite his feelings to the contrary, his penis had suddenly become erect. As if it had a mind of its own. He didn’t understand why — maybe he was being infected by this vile infestation too. Maybe this sleep-bound evil was polluting him with its dark depravity. He felt his wife reach back behind her. Her delicate fingers freed his erection from his pajama bottoms and began the masturbate him with a vice-like grip as she fucked his face faster and faster.

”Eat me! EAT MY CUNT, YOU FUCKER!” she cried.

The obscenity, the dominant posture, all screamed in his mind as devil possession … His idea of sexual congress had been just missionary position, he really wasn’t that familiar with her intimate anatomy — but now with his mouth over her open cunt lips, for the first time, he felt the nob-like end of her erect clitoris. Her fingers tightly gripped his unwilling cock, pumping it up and down to the same rhythm as her facial masturbation.

“Christ be fucked! Fuck God. Rick God!” she exclaimed, riding him wildly.

Her blasphemous voice echoed in his mind.

Though his mind said, “No” … it was his body that just said, “Yes” … Without realizing it, he found his tongue begin to lap feverishly at her juicy gash — devouring her copious fluids. The salty sour taste filled his mouth and throat. The aroma of sin was overpowering. She adjusted her position so that his disobedient lips instinctively closed around her thickened, erect clit … as if it were an act of homosexuality … like sucking a young boy’s cock. The thoughts tormented him, but still, his body reacted with fervor.

“Fuck the Holy Spirit!” she groaned, “Fuck Jesus! Rick God! Fuck God! Fuck God!” she screamed as he suckled upon her sensitive clitoris like a little boy cock.


Light filled his eyes. Father Eaton awoke. It was a new day. He climbed listlessly out of the bed, naked. His body looked bruised and scratched. In the absence of any logical explanation — he said nothing. And it seemed that the events of her bizarre behavior had been completely forgotten. It was as if she had experienced complete amnesia.

Father Eaton, however, remembered every detail of his strange encounter. He had prayed for God’s advice. What should he do? Maybe I was an isolated event? Maybe the visitation of evil was gone? Could she have been temporally infested with some kind of devilment? Or was this a form of punishment from God? What had he done wrong? Why was it happening to him?

There was no answer.

“Did you sleep well?” He tested.

Angelica didn’t answer right away.

“Did you have a nightmare last night?”

She seemed to be a little distant. Pondering other things and unaware of his thoughts or line of questioning.

”I think I must have had a strange dream,” she started, “I cannot explain it, Eaton. I hope I didn’t disturb you?”

“No … everything was okay …” he lied.

Father Eaton flushed. He’d felt his estranged wife orgasm over his face. A flood of the most vile and disgusting fluids had literally squirted over his priestly face. And then almost simultaneously, he remembered how powerful his orgasm had been. Beneath the weight of her body on his torso, he’d bucked wildly. Out of control. He’d never experienced anything resembling a strong orgasm. And what he’d experienced that night had been so overwhelming. It was nothing like the feeling of their routine intercourse. He’d never shot so much semen. He’d never cum so hard that his entire body had rocked violently from it — Sleep had followed. Gripping him and taking him down.

And in the morning everything seemed so normal. Angelica had been up before him. That was a first. Maybe it had been him that had been dreaming. A nightmarish episode that he needed to forget — But he couldn’t.


They met at the orphanage in the late evening.

The entry hallway was still busy with orphanage life, even at that late hour with most of the volunteers preparing to leave after doing their tasks. Black-clad nuns hurried about their duties and young children were ushered to their respective dorms.

Angelica introduced her new lover, Tomas, to Sister Magnolia.

Sister Magnolia shook Tomas’ hand briefly. Everything seemed very formal until they were all finally behind closed doors. Sister Magnolia had worn her special habit that had been altered, much like the one that Angelica had worn. Her cunt throbbed in anticipation of their wicked agenda.

“Thank you for your patronage,” said Sister Magnolia for the benefit of a few of her colleagues as they looked on inquisitively, “Let me take you on the guided tour.”

Angelica and Tomas nodded in agreement.

It was the quickest of tours. They completely skipped over the usual visit to the chapel, their kitchens, the work rooms, and the dorms.

The naughty nun took the couple directly to the orphanage washrooms — which were filled with a multitude of naked and half-naked children — she knew without any exchange of words what the couple would be thinking about — and even as her loins brushed discretely against the inside of her habit, her own arousal was becoming increasingly and teasingly unbearable.

”So this is the washroom for the youngest of the girls,” narrated the nun (as if describing a process), “And over on the other side is the washroom for the boys.”

Their eyes were glued upon the throng of nubile young bodies of various ages as they showered and washed themselves before bed. Another two nuns crossed their path but didn’t give the couple a second glance, as tours by potential beneficiaries or child adopters were quite the norm around the orphanage — though the thoughts and feelings that Angelica and Tomas were specifically having were certainly not.

“Tabatha,” called the nun.

A young child of about nine years old, dressed in her simple surplice, skipped over to the group of three adults.

”Tabatha, meet Mr. Tomas and Ms. Angel,” introduced the nun, “… And this is Tabatha.”

”Hello Sir. Hello Miss,” replied the bright little cherub.

”Hello Tabatha,” said Angelica, as she bent down on her hunches to look the young urchin in the face, “That’s such a pretty name and you’re such a pretty young girl too,” she gushed as she reached out and stroked the girl’s long black hair. “Such soft pretty hair you have.”

The girl remained still and didn’t seem to be bothered by Angelica’s petting.

”Thank you. Miss.”

“Tabatha is good friends with William,” explained Sister Magnolia, with a knowing glint in her eye, “Now run along, I asked the two of you to meet us in the cellar. Your special duties will be to make Mr. Tomas and Ms. Angel very happy — you understand?”

”Yes, Sister. Make you all happy.”

“Very good,” said Sister Magnolia, turned on her heels.


Sister Magnolia led Angelica and Tomas through a small maze of walkways, they descended downwards into the more subterranean levels of the old orphanage — places less frequented by the regular routine of the decrepit orphanage.

Arriving at a locked antechamber, the nun opened the sliding door. Inside Angelica noticed that the walls had all been painted black. There was a huge inverted cross against the rear wall. There was an altar erected beneath it with the trappings of satanic worship. Even in such a holy place — there was a hiding place for a resident evil. Across the floor was laid a king-size mattress covered in black plastic sheets. Obviously, their nun friend had done this before. There were no windows and the only light sources were copious candles that the nun lit as they walked. With the small pin-pricks of candlelight, Angelica saw Sister Magnolia close the sliding door behind them.

Once inside with the door closed behind them, she kissed Angelica.

After their scenic tour and its concentration on the nubile young flesh of half-naked orphans, Angelica was already highly aroused. It was a long and deeply passionate kiss. Their tongues eagerly explored each other’s mouths as Tomas, their voyeur, looked on enviously. She could see Tomas’ cock tenting in his loose pants. Angelica pulled him close and pressed his mouth against the Sisters. And as the two of them kissed, Angelica rubbed his turgid cock through his pants.

“We want to fuck children … We want to fuck them now!” Angelica said impatiently.

Just as Angelica spoke there was a knock on the sliding door. Sister Magnolia looked through a small peephole and then smiled evilly.

“And so timely … they are here.”

She opened the sliding door, just enough for the small children to enter the basement and then she slammed the door shut behind them. The horny nun instructed both Tabatha and William to remove their clothing as Angelica and Tomas watched with bated breath



“You have to give in to your pleasures in order to get what you want. You may come across bad things, but something good will happen in the end …” — Marquis de Sade

Father Eaton waited in the coolness of the cloisters.

He had thought of nothing but his nightmarish experience with his wife, Angelica. His mind burned with insufferable guilt and shame. He really needed discreet advice. His mind was a mess. Maybe the opinion of a religious colleague would help? Maybe a woman’s opinion on the situation would be constructive?

“Sister Magnolia,” started the priest, as the young nun appeared, “May … may I ask your private counsel?”

Sister Magnolia stopped in her tracks and smiled pleasantly, “And how can I help you, Father?”

“Well, Hmmm … Sister, it’s a very delicate matter. I don’t know where to start?”

“Maybe … start at the beginning,” she answered softly and reassuringly.

“Okay. Yes. The beginning. Yes. A good place to start,” he muttered. Father Eaton’s pulse rate was already racing with just the thought of relaying his wayward tale of darkness. He continued, “Well … You see. Something happened the night before last. I mean. I think it happened. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. You see, my wife was asleep and I thought she was having a nightmare. She was muttering things. Awful things. Terrible things. Blasphemous things. And while muttering she was … she was … she was touching herself … and her entire body was drenched in sweat.”

“Oh my,” said Sister Magnolia, “How unsettling for you …”

“Yes. Yes. Oh yes. Unsettling indeed. Then, as I went to awaken her from her nightmare, she suddenly pressed me back against the bedding. I mean … she was so strong. I couldn’t move. She … held me down. I mean, I tried to get up, but I just froze. I couldn’t fight back and in no time she was sitting upon me.”

“Sitting upon you?”

“Yes. Um. Yes. Sitting … with her female parts against my face. I couldn’t move or turn away. I mean my wife is not strong enough to manage this on her own … And it was as if there was something else … holding me down against my will.”

“A nightmare you say?” asked Sister Magnolia.

“I’m not sure. I honestly don’t know. It felt so real. And I recall every detail. Usually with dreams or nightmares … there is a vagueness about it all. But this wasn’t like that at all. What could it mean? It happened, I’m sure … but was this some kind of demonic possession?”

“I think you’d better sit down, Father,” instructed the nun, “Let me get you some water.”

“Thank you. Thank you, my dear. I really feel so uncomfortable talking about it,” answered the priest taking a seat in one of the hard wooden pews.

Sister Magnolia returned with a glass of warm water.

“There,” she said calmly, “Now, tell me everything again from the beginning.”


Tabitha crawled back into her dorm bunk.

Nobody said a word. Nobody had missed her. Nobody asked her about her brief disappearance. Nobody cared. Her little cunny hurt a bit. The man … Mr. Tomas … had put his thingy inside of her. It hadn’t been as big as Sister Magnolia’s dildos. But it still made her feel sore.

When they had first arrived at the dark cellar, the “bad nun” (as she and William called Sister Magnolia) had made them kneel naked on the dirty mattress, before the big black cross and a dark statue of the sex demon. They were forced to drink their own pee from a silver chalice. And then made to do the sex dance, before the man and woman, and touch themselves between their legs. Tabitha liked to touch herself … but doing it in front of strangers always made her feel awkward.

The man and woman seemed to like her being awkward. It excited them more, to know that she found their naughty games unpleasant. So, she played along. She’d pretended not to want to be seen … but after a while, she brought herself to cum-cum (as she called it) several times for their enjoyment. The adults had been rubbing themselves too. The man stroked his thingy and the woman put her fingers inside of herself.

The bad nun had her special black gown on. This was different from the other “good nuns”, as it opened in the front so that she could touch her small tits and cunny openly. The three adults had been kissing, licking, and touching each other’s private parts as they watched William and Tabitha do the sex dance and bring themselves to cum-cum.

The man cleaned the cum-cum from William’s fingers and limp penis and the woman licked Tabitha’s little cunny to taste her cum-cum juices.

The woman … Ms. Angel … had then pressed Tabitha’s face between her legs. She was very hot down there. And tasted strongly of juicy cum-cum and piss. It had been rather suffocating — but Tabitha had licked and licked and licked … until the small lady screamed with joy and squirted even more cum-cum over her face and hair. She smelt of this bad woman.

Tabitha knew better than to object to any of the bad nun’s orders. The bad nun wouldn’t be pleased. If they disobeyed or refused anything she asked, there would be hell to pay. Reluctance was okay — but William and her must do the bidding of the bad nun. Always. They knew that punishment would have been awful if Tabitha had not done exactly as she was told.

The man had put his thingy into William’s bottom. He groaned a lot as he pushed in and out. He seemed to like that more than her tight little cunny. She was happy he liked little boys more than little girls. William had cried out in pain, but that only seemed to make them both the man and woman even happier. As long as they were happy. And then it would be over.

After the man-made cum-cum inside William’s bottom, William was made to clean the man’s dirty thingy. It was all slimy and brown with, what the woman called, his ass-butter. William hadn’t wanted to do it — but the bad nun had told him that he’d better do it and do it good or else. It was gross. But William did as he was told.

Though they both didn’t like doing stuff for the bad nun — it did have its benefits. They got special treatment and treats that the other kids didn’t get. The bad nun promised that they may both be able to leave the orphanage for a trip soon. Tabitha hoped it would be somewhere nice, like the beach or the fun park. But there was always a catch — the bad nun was always horny — and the bad nun was always up to something bad … that’s why they called her the bad nun.


Sister Magnolia called Angelica. They smirked secretly over the phone as she recalled the conversation between her and Angelica’s pathetic husband.

“He thinks there is some kind of demonic infestation,” said Sister Magnolia, “He didn’t say it out loud, but I think he fears that you’re becoming some sort of sexual demon … a succubus!”

“Well, I shouldn’t want to disappoint him then?” replied Angelica as she couldn’t help but finger herself at the thought, “Maybe I should choke him out with my horny wet cunt? Or cuckold him … so he will be forced to watch Tomas fuck my dirty little ass?”

“Oh yes,” groaned Sister Magnolia, “Fuck God! Hail Satan. Maybe seeing you masturbate with a crucifix would induce him to have a fatal heart attack?”

“Mmmmmmm … Yes … Fuck Christ … that would be something … now … I need more children darling. Tabitha and William were absolutely lovely. That tight little cunt of hers tasted so divine. And Willy’s little willy … mmmmm … Hail Satan … I cannot wait for the opportunity for us all to offer a child sacrifice to the Dark Lord. I have such perverted, evil, and murderous dreams …”

“Hail Satan. Hail Satan. Soon my love. Very, very soon. I have been grooming a few more of the younger ones for our next session. I know how much Tomas loves the little boys.”

“Yes … he certainly does.”


Father Eaton looked up from his Bible reading. It was getting late.

Angelica was already in her prim and proper nightgown and was getting ready for bed. He was half expecting her to sleep in the spare room, but she didn’t. Father Eaton felt a moment of panic. He prayed quietly to himself — asking God to give him strength. Why was he so apprehensive?

He thought about the conversation he had had with Sister Magnolia about the incident with his wife. He’d asked her to keep it all between them. This secret could hurt his reputation in the community — as nobody would really understand — hell, he didn’t understand it himself. There was such a powerful feeling of guilt and shame — as if he had had something to do with this. That he’d been responsible. That his orgasm had meant his participation had somehow been mutual. And then there was still a gnawing thought of the involvement of sexual demons. He knew that such things existed — succubi and incubi — sent by the Devil himself to torment the faithful. The thought of such an infestation in his own family was almost too much to comprehend.

Despite all his description of Angelica’s sexual misconduct, Sister Magnolia had advised him not to try and awaken her during these dangerous periods of parasomnia — that maybe he would have to “go along with her behavior”.

She’d mentioned reading on the internet about these conditions; where the parasomnia frequently talked in their sleep (she didn’t particularly mention the blaspheming); and in more rarer cases, known as sexsomnia, that the suffer may found to frantically masturbate themselves; and even attempt sexual intercourse with their partner— without any memory of this upon awaking.

He really didn’t warm to the idea of “going along with her behavior” — but the danger caused by waking her in such a state — outweighed his religiosity and conservatism towards anything overtly sexual. And all this psychological explanation only seemed to appease his conscious thoughts — his subconscious still mulled over his deep suspicions of the interference of the Devil.

“I am off to bed,” suggested Angelica, “Aren’t you tired Eaton?”

He was tired. He felt a deep weariness in his bones. Inexplicably … he found his penis becoming erect.

“Hmmm … You go first. I will be upstairs shortly.”

He watched her go upstairs — waiting for his unwanted erection would subside — but it didn’t.

Entering their bedroom (to his momentary relief), she was fast asleep by the time he climbed into the bedclothes. He turned off the lights as quickly as possible and turned on his side to try to sleep.

He wanted to sleep.

He needed to sleep … desperately.

But there he was — blinking in the darkness — he tried to ignore the fact that his penis had become painfully stiff — as he listened to Angelica’s slow breathing. The desire to touch himself was awful. Unchristian thoughts crossed his mind. He tried his best to ignore this carnal feeling in his groin. Were they both possessed by something truly evil? Was she infecting him with her whorish wickedness? Was her body being used by the Devil himself?


Father Eaton opened his eyes suddenly.

The darkness still surrounded him. His heart raced with the abruptness of his awakening. The bed seemed to shake beneath him. No. It wasn’t the bed. He felt his wife asleep next to him. No. She wasn’t asleep. Her body seemed to be squirming next to him — in a disgustingly disquieting manner — that he now recognized, as what Sister Magnolia had described, as sexsomnia. To his further dismay, he found that his cock had stiffened without his consent. He didn’t want to know. Yet … he wanted to see. Confused with his own troubled emotions, he switched on the bedside lamp and turned towards her.

In the yellowish glow of the bedside lamp, he saw that his wife had pulled back the bed sheets. She was lying on her back, completely naked. Her nightgown was gone. Her eyes appeared open – but reflected the lamp light — they appeared like two black pools. Her mouth was also wide open. She groaned out loud. Her tongue lulled from between her crimson-red lips. Her entire body shook with a strange energy and was covered with beads of salty sweat. Her chest was heaving up and down. Her nipples looked swollen and erect … And from between her splayed legs, she jerked like an angry beast.

“Oh my good God!” the priest gasped out loud.

Between her white knuckles, he could see that she was tightly clutching an antique wooden crucifix — its longest wooden arm was buried inside her vulgar vagina. The body of Jesus was blasphemously pressed up against her clitoris as she thrust its length in and out of her gaping hole.

“Fuck me, Christ! Fuck me! Fuck me, Jesus! Fuck me! Aaarrgghhhhh!” she moaned.

Father Eaton clasped his chest. The pain was sharp. Almost rhythmical … a terrible shooting pain.

“Eurgh …” cried the priest as he fell backward, his eyes clenched tightly in acute agony.

“Fuck me, Christ! Fuck me! Fuck me, Christ!”

His breath was ragged. The pain seemed to subside as quickly as it struck him. As he lay on his back, he opened his eyes and there she was. Standing over him. Her shamelessness was on full display. His own body seemed to have a mind of its own — his cock jerked and was weeping with copious amounts of sticky fluids. The desire to masturbate himself was almost overwhelming.

Their bedroom seemed to be alive with shifting shadows — that belonged to neither Angelica nor himself. He felt an unnatural prickliness from this omnipresent darkness that seeped between them and surrounded him. For the first time, he was without doubt that this was evil — that he and his wife were under demonic attack — and his powerlessness only compounded his fatalism.

As Eaton timidly looked up he saw that her gyrating, slimy cunt was still stuffed with the antique crucifix that his mother gave him. Her fingers moved like insane claws, thrusting it upwards as she masturbated herself with it — fucking its length in and out of her oily hole — her face was snarling. He hardly recognized her. She appeared, less like his wife, and more like some wicked demonic whore, as she stood over the diminished priest.

Eaton began to cry as his own fingers moved to clutch his turgid flesh — masturbating his own cock up and down — to the same slavish rhythm as his estranged demonic wife. The evil succubus, that stood above him, looked down and was gloating over his weakness with her fathomless black-in-black eyes — Evil. Twisted.

“Drink water from your own cistern,” croaked the succubus quoting Proverbs 5, “Flowing water from your own well.”

“Stop …” whimpered Eaton. He wanted her to stop, “Don’t …” His lips moved, with a mind of their own, “… Don’t stop! … Don’t stop! …”

As the words left his lips, a torrent of hot piss sprayed over his face. It filled his open mouth, overflowing with its sourish saltiness. It soaked him and stung his eyes.


Tomas lay exhausted from his profoundly disturbing dream.

The Black Goat. It had been more than a dream — it was a vision — a vision of himself as a powerful sexual demon. A baphometic demon with an unquenchable thirst. Angelica had appeared in this crazy fucked-up dream too. She was, as usual, his wicked and very willing demonic companion — prepared to do anything and everything for him. She had been brought to him by his goat-masked acolytes. Angelica appeared to be very pregnant, her stomach filled to capacity with an unborn offering. Unchristened — a sacrifice to be made, for his delight — after all — he was the Black Goat.

He had been seated up a great throne of child-size skulls, deep in the recesses of his rock temple, surrounded by sights and sounds of human suffering. The intermittent screams of anguish and severe pain. It had been like music to his ears. Young ones; many of them bound, chained, crucified, or tortured for his twisted pleasure. Was this hell … or his heaven?

A self-examination found that his legs were no longer that of a human. They were animalistic, covered in black fur. Instead of feet and toes, he possessed cloven hooves. And there, between his thighs, in the place of his usually eager little boy cock, he possessed a huge appendage that stood straight upward — turgid and very hungry — always fully erect.

His left hand toyed with his baphometic breasts. He cupped his tit-meat and his nipples hardened instantly with an urgent need to be suckled upon. The fingers of his right hand rolled his hairy testicles, as the urge to fornicate had become almost an intolerable burning lust, to fuck and suck. The word “rape” formed in his demonic mind. Yes, he needed to rape an offering right now …

The Black Goat bent forward and found that he could easily lick and suck his own meat. He did it. He took hold of his thick, veined shaft, stroking it vigorously as he guided the angry bulbous crown between his own eager lips. It tasted good. Hot salty fluids flowed across his lips as the “serpent ate its tail”. His mouth closed tightly around his throbbing cock as he sucked upon it delightedly … and his tongue lapped his dripping cock head. This was a pleasure he’d only ever dreamed about. To self-suck. He pissed into his mouth. He groaned with delight at the taste of his own hot salty urine — straight from the source.

He liked being a sex demon.




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