Feature Writer: Cheeslord
Feature Title: THE ABBESS 7
Published: 09.08.2025
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: Demonic possession of nuns, human sacrifice, weight gain.
Author’s Notes: The Abbess: (Chapter 7 of 9)
The Abbess 7
Despite a thorough search of the surrounding woods, the last witchfinder appeared to have escaped. This news displeased the Abbess, and she gave Magnus a new task as penance – to arrange the ‘accidental’ destruction of the witchfinder house in Newcrofte. She also tasked Sister Lyre with bringing about all of the Abbeys political influence to undermine the authority of the Witchfinders Army, cause them to fall into disrepute and ultimately to persuade the King to declare them illegal.
This would take time and subtlety however. In the meantime, it was more important than ever that Sahje continue her researches. The time was almost at hand, she assured the assembled Sisters. She required only a few more resources, which could be acquired by the combined powers of Magnus and the Abbey with ease. Then she needed each of them to agree to partake willingly of her magic.
One evening at the meeting of the inner circle, she explained her requirements to them. Even the Sisters Superior had some qualms about what would be required of them, but the zeal of the Abbess to achieve her goal of immortality, and the soothing, reassuring words of Sahje won them over. After all, what matter the price to be paid next to the glory they would achieve?
Of what value would be a small number of lesser lives which would probably achieve nothing more than mediocrity, next to the incredible, infinite works that they would surely bring into being? What worry a minor involvement with demons and the powers of black magic, when they were assuredly of a strong enough will and firm enough purpose to control it, binding the dark power to their perfect minds?
Magnus, surprisingly, seemed the most reluctant, despite the number of lives he had taken (both deserving and not), but Emelda refused to even discuss the idea of facing eternal life without her right hand by her side (or possibly slightly in front of her if it got really dangerous).
Eventually they all agreed to proceed with the plan. All were superficially solemn, but secretly gleeful in anticipation of the new powers they would shortly, very shortly, be privy to. This anticipation manifested itself in the evening’s debauchery, which was the greatest yet, involving drunken crawls through the domains of multiple Sisters, indulging in each of their vices to the extreme.
In another weeks’ time, all was in readiness. Magnus had tripled the guard and posted scouts and lookouts around the land surrounding the Abbey — nothing must be allowed to disturb them tonight. The final supplies had been delivered. Captives had been taken, both from the town of Newcrofte nearby, and from amongst the lower orders of nuns, for certain special purposes.
The chambers had been prepared. Close to midnight, the Abbess, Magnus, the Sisters Superior and a number of their most devoted acolytes who could be trusted to assist them with anything, however dark, all assembled within the inner sanctum, which was then sealed tight and guarded by the finest of the Legions elite troops.
Within the central complex of rooms was a large chamber which the Abbess herself had designed without thinking about it at the time — she felt certain that a use would be found for it, unaware that Septuthiroth was guiding her hand in preparation for this day.
The room was sumptuously furnished, with rich carpets, drapes upon the walls, and ornate chandeliers of gold, silver and brass. In the centre, amidst a region of plain stone flooring containing many drainage channels, stood a large copper tub — larger than a bathtub, big enough to accommodate many people. It already was half filled with a thick black liquid that emitted a too-sweet, unnatural scent.
Before it stood a stone slab, its dark surface slightly angled down towards the tub and shallowly concave in form, but with channels cut as deep as the bottom of the depression running down to the lower edge which slightly overhung the large copper vessel. Beneath the tub a series of small burners maintained the temperature of the liquid within, while broad, strong looking metal steps led up its side. Around the circumference of the vessel and on the stone floor beneath were carved many symbols, incomprehensible to all but Sahje. A brass altar to one side was decorated by heavy red drapes, and held a book, a large bronze bowl, a jewelled box and a long, wickedly curved dagger with more markings etched along the blade.
Large cages were placed in the four corners of the room, and each one contained a number of naked figures, male and female, evidently alive but gagged and bound by their arms to the bars across the top of the cages, keeping each individually helpless.
The chamber was warm, heated by several fireplaces around the edges, and slightly smoky with thick candles burning from the chandeliers and sconces around the room. Despite the plethora of light sources, there seemed to be a heavy darkness within the room, from no discernible origin, as though all the flames in the area were slightly muted, and just subtly redder in hue than normal.
The Sisters, Magnus and the Abbess lounged on plump cushions, surrounded by their most loyal servants, as Sahje began the ritual. All participants were dressed only in fine golden underwear made chiefly of metal links and red silk, and many ostentatious jewels.
That was the first rule of the demonic pact that Sahje had taught them — to be naked was to be exposed, vulnerable, judged. They must never be completely naked — always some item, however small, must conceal a part of their bodies — even a ring or necklace would be enough to be seductively part-concealed by shadow, but to be entirely nude would be to lose all power.
Sahje began by reading from the book, a potent tome of unholy demonic lore, one of the most powerful and dangerous artefacts in the witchfinder’s collection. She spoke in a language not recognised by anyone — by any human — in the room apart from her.
It was Infernal, the language of Hell, each syllable having an unnatural cadence and a feeling of being hideously wrong somehow, although Sahje incanted them with an expression of intense pleasure upon her face. Continuing the chant, she circled the room, encompassing all the participants, while maintaining the litany in a strong, confident voice.
Emelda was impressed with how far she had come since her rescue from the forces of the Church. From a scared, naked fugitive she had become a powerful, self-assured woman. Parading her body around the room clad only in jewellery and skimpy golden chain, showing off her toned skin, the smooth, deliciously rounded curves of her large chest and broad, well padded hips, she was in perfect control of the proceedings.
She felt a strong sense of lust for Sahje — she wanted her again, wanted to rub her hands all over that smooth skin while she whispered promises and chanted magics in her ear, wanted to feel her soft, exquisite tongue … patience, she thought. After this night we will have all eternity to sate our desires over and over again. When the Abbey was so powerful as to control all the world, the just rewards for those who built it up would be … unparalleled.
As Sahje continued to circle and chant, the darkness in the chamber seemed to grow, and there was an increasing sense of malevolent presence. Strange smells of sulphur, excrement and burned flesh wafted around the room above the strong scents and perfumes the Sisters were wearing. There seemed to be a discordant throbbing noise in the background, like a diseased heartbeat, faint bestial snarls, moans and screams of no clear source. Any doubts the sisters had about whether this could be all just fakery melted away as they felt the powers of absolute, merciless evil beginning to focus on the chamber.
Sahje’s acolytes now took up the chant from positions where they had stood unnoticed around the room. Unlike Sahje herself, they each wore a hooded robe of red and purple, marked with infernal sigils. The material was a very thin silk however, so that their bodies beneath, youthful and attractive, could be seen without difficulty. Sahje signalled to Magnus’s men who stood by the cages, and the first prisoner was brought forth, a skinny man who wriggled and struggled, making bleating noises as he tried to scream or plea through the tight, heavy gag. He was roughly manhandled to the stone slab and fastened atop it, with manacles around wrists and ankles.
Slowly and deliberately, making sure he could see everything, Sahje took the long, curved dagger from the altar and came alongside him. Holding it aloft she chanted another incantation in the unholy tongue. It appeared almost as though a thin red mist issued from her body as she spoke, and swirled around her, while her eyes, and the carvings on the blade, seemed to contain a slight crimson gleam that was not present before.
With no hesitation at all, she proceeded to plunge the weapon into her helpless victim, piercing his heart with a single blow. Blood fountained up, covering her arms and hands as her face showed an expression of pure glee at the taking of a human life. The blood flow slowed as the victim’s struggles ceased, and the majority of it ran down the channels and into the large tub below.
A portion of it however was caught in the bronze bowl, which two acolytes had silently taken from the altar to bring to the other side of the slab from Sahje. This bowl soon filled to the brim with its cargo of gory fluids, and was brought forth to be placed before the assembled Sisters.
Sahje took the jewelled box from the altar and came to join it. Kneeling by the bowl, she stroked the surface with one finger while invoking another demonic spell. The blood within began to undulate, as though things were moving just below the surface. A yellow vapour started to rise from its surface, lending a slight haze to the room and giving a feeling of mild euphoria and intoxication as it was breathed in.
The bowl was then brought to each participant in turn, while Sahje produced a series of fine needles and inkwells from her box. Using a mixture of the writhing blood and dark inks, symbols were tattooed into the soft belly flesh of each Sister (and Magnus) in turn.
The feeling of the needle piercing their skin over and over again was the last physical pain they would willingly allow to be inflicted on themselves — that was the second rule of the pact. The demons would be bound into their flesh forever. They could not abide physical pain — it disrupted their control, blocked the bond between possessor and host. No Sister could ever willingly allow themselves to feel discomfort again — not a requirement that any of them found particularly onerous.
Each set of markings were slightly different, containing the names of the individual demons that Sahje had communed with and prepared for the ritual as well as symbols of binding and permanence. To be given a presence in the mortal world, especially one in a position of power and protected from banishment, was a great boon to a demon, and Sahje had extracted many bargains, promises and favours in return.
The process took some time however, and while the sisters waited their servants moved amongst them, bringing drink and refreshments. They had all fattened up even further over the weeks and months while Sahje researched and prepared her ritual, and as is often the case with the immensely obese, they needed to eat almost constantly now to maintain the fullness of their huge stomachs. Even sisters Lyre and DeLor, the slimmest of the Sisters Superior, now had substantial girths, though still overhung by their huge breasts, especially in the case of Sister DeLor.
Eventually the work was complete, and each participant sported a tattoo in demonic script across their bellies. These elicited feelings of prickly wrongness, of something unnatural and alien on their skin, but also of a great sense of their own bodies’ sensitivity, of the importance of the pleasures and pampering of the flesh, such that they tended to stroke and caress themselves even more than they usually did, especially their swollen, obese paunches.
Sahje signalled for the guards to bring forth a fresh prisoner. The previous body was unceremoniously dumped through a hole in one corner of the room – a waste disposal chute to a partially flooded chamber in the bowels of the Abbey where spent material was sent to rot away. As the next victim — a middle-aged woman with mousey brown hair and dark eyes — was strapped to the block soaked slab, a seductive finger beckoned to the Abbess herself to come forwards. As supreme leader of the abbey, she would be expected to set the example for her brethren to follow.
As rehearsed, she arose (with the help of some assistants, for her reclined bulk was not now easy to lift by her strength alone) and came to the centre of the room, carefully ascending the steps before stepping down into the copper vessel. The dark liquid, now brown in colour, felt warm and thick around her legs. She wished it came up higher, to support her weight, but there was plenty of space in the tub to be filled.
She advanced to the foot of the slab. Smiling at her from the other side of the copper wall, Sahje passed her the knife. Emelda raised it above the woman, who stared at her in mute terror, too frightened even to struggle. Sahje had been very clear about this — the deed must be done by her own hand, and of her own free will.
The victim must be innocent, at least of any offence to her, and preferably (though not essentially) a virgin. She thought this one was probably one of the lower nuns rather than an abductee from the town — some of the least favoured sisters had been included in order to ensure there would be at least one true virgin in the ritual, which was a requirement.
Her hand trembled, for a moment hesitant. She looked at the woman, then up at Sahje, her lips parted in an expectant half-smile, anticipation and encouragement written on her face. She focussed her will, thinking of the great towers of the Abbey, marble and alabaster. The huge statues, how much bigger and more glorious everything could become — the power, the beauty, the riches. How exalted she would be! She needed this! She must have it! With a snarl of desire that overcame all last vestiges of decency and humanity within her, she plunged down the blade.
Her cut was less accurate than Sahje’s. Some of the blood sprayed sideways and was wasted, but Sahje quickly corrected, channelling the flow with her hands so that the majority ran down into the vat. With a gleeful smile, the sorceress incanted another passage of the rite as she smeared excess blood over Emelda’s breasts and lips.
She gestured for her to be seated in the growing bath — its colour was becoming more red with each sacrifice, and the level of the fluid was rising — and for the next sister to step up as the guards once again dispensed with the body to fetch a fresh one from the cages. As Emelda seated herself she felt the murky liquid against the sensitised skin of her new tattoo. It seemed to seep inside, giving her a feeling of dark, unholy, gleeful love of wickedness permeating her body. It felt so good, she could not help but sigh with pleasure as the evil flowed into her.
The victims were struggling harder now, having been placed such that they had a good view of the proceedings, but the guards were rough, smashing and breaking what was necessary to ensure compliance. Each sister came forth and repeated the ritual, each one momentarily hesitating to strike the blow, but each sister had seen their leader’s example, and each was consumed by their own vices.
Sister Lyre thought of the power and influence she would wield with unlimited time to weave webs and set snares, of the veils upon veils of deception she could spin like a huge dark spider, until truth itself became subservient to her dictating what it was desired to be.
Sister Horslip thought of the perfect order she could impose — the cruel punishments she could devise, the absolute terror she could inflict upon all the world until everything happened perfectly in accordance with her will — and even when she was obeyed precisely she would continue to inflict torments, because deep down she loved causing pain for its own sake.
Sister DeLor thought of all the fun she would have — with a perfect body for all time nothing could ever stop her delicious sexual appetites. She would devise ever greater depravities to arouse herself and all those around her, for all eternity.
Only Magnus showed no hesitation before making his sacrifice — in his long career he had been no stranger to slaying the innocent and the helpless when it suited him or his employers. He thought only of being able to grab all he could for himself for all time, more sex, more food, more pleasure, more enemies crushed beneath him, the life of a beast without conscience or restraint.
Sister Creed simply thought of the infinite wealth that could be amassed, all of it in her keeping, locked in her vaults, or shoved into her vast body. She was the last to partake, requiring several acolytes and guards to help her heave her enormous bulk up the steps into the copper vessel — despite Emelda’s efforts, Creed had remained consistently fatter than her, and thanks to her unique desires substantially heavier. Her hippo-like immensity filled the copper vat to the very brim with what was by then a bright red fluid.
With each sacrifice, the metallic vessel had brought forth more intoxicating vapours, and by now the air in the chamber was hot, thick and cloying, with multi-coloured smoke circulating to every corner. The demonic noises had become louder, but Sahje’s strong voice continued to boom out devilish exhortations above their pandemonium.
Finally, Sahje herself stepped into the great bowl with the rest of the supplicants. Her acolytes brought the bowl she had used before, still full of blood, and placed it on the top step next to the vat. She launched into another magical spell, hands tracing patterns across the surface.
As her voice rose in pitch, it appeared to be accompanied by other voices, dark, bestial, speaking synchronously with her, filling the room with their malevolent syllables. The blood in the bowl became more agitated, bubbling, boiling, emitting a foul smelling column of vermillion smoke.
From within this maelstrom a serpentine head emerged, followed by the body of a large snake. Its skin was moist, purple, patterned with symbols. Its forked tongue flicked in and out. Its eyes glowed with a sickly green light, and its skin seemed to emit more purple vapours as it moved. There was something deeply unnatural about it, as though it was something in the form of a snake that yet had no place in the natural order of things. It coiled around the bowl, almost filling it with its bulk.
Sahje smiled lovingly at the creature and delicately extended her hand towards its face with no hint of fear. The serpent enthusiastically coiled around and up her arm, resting across her shoulders at its thickest point with its head descending her other arm to take position in her open palm.
She advanced through the thick blood, a look of pleasure and smugness on her face, across the narrow space remaining that was not occupied by the supplicant’s fat bodies, to stand in front of Emelda. She knelt down before her, hand bearing the head of the snake plunging below the surface and down the curve of her stomach, into the tunnel made between fat thighs and bloated belly.
Emelda saw the serpents’ coils move as it travelled across Sahje’s shoulders, down her arm. She felt the soft body writhe between her legs, forcing itself deeper in, tasting, searching and probing her engorged flesh for the opening of her sex. Finding it, it thrust itself in with surprising strength. She could feel it inside her, moving up, pushing deeper. She could feel its evil, stronger and more potent than anything she had ever known before. It was an abomination against nature, against goodness, against humanity and the order of the universe. Sahje leaned across to her head, smiling.
She whispered but one word into Emeldas ear: Septuthiroth. This was the final step of the ritual. Emelda could not back out now. She focussed on her desires, her lust for glory, power, fame.
“Septuthiroth, I welcome you into my body. Be inside me for all time. Be one with me, one will, one mind, one power!”
She forced her legs as far apart as her fatness would allow; willing the demon to enter into her, she discarded all defences. She felt the serpent give one more wriggle and it passed up inside her completely. The feeling was indescribable. Her fat body throbbed and pulsed with multiple orgasms. She felt defiled to her core, and at the same time swollen with dark, unspeakable power. Her already huge belly seemed to bulk out several inches more as the unholy essence permeated her body. She gasped and groaned with sheer wicked, corrupted pleasure, panting the name again.
“Septuthiroth…ohh! Septuthiroth!”.
“I am here, Emelda.”
The voice spoke inside her body. Inside her head. Rich, deep and dark.
“What? Who?”
“I am Septuthiroth my child. Be not afraid. We are one body now. I am within you, always. Bound to your will. I will protect you, nurture you, love you. We will achieve great things together, you and I; the world will tremble at our power.”
“I …I …”
“Fret not my angel, my princess, my queen. You are in control. Your mighty will shall be done. The glory and the honour and the power are yours for ever and ever. If I might counsel your magnificence, rest now. Allow the ritual to be completed. Allow my brethren to come inside of yours. Then we mayb… enjoy our newfound relationship more fully.”
The words, the voice, all were exquisitely pleasing to Emelda. Overcome with sensations she leaned back against the copper wall of the vessel and watched the rest of the ritual.
The blood in the bowl had boiled away at the summoning of the serpent, but Sahje simply refilled it from the large pool in front of her, and once again performed the spell. Emelda found that now she could understand the words she was using.
She was calling out in the infernal tongue to a named demon with which she had made a prior bargain, entreating it to come into this world, for a willing vessel was ready to receive it and the way was prepared. Again the blood boiled and another serpent was summoned, of different colour and shape to the form Septuthiroth had taken, but still recognisably a snake.
For Sister Creed, she summoned forth Haguemamnon the Golden, Embodiment of Greed and Queen of Avarice, in the form of a golden hued snake, fat and torpid.
For Sister Horslip, Hekaxucryne, Lord of Torments and Keeper of the Black Pit, in the form of a thin black cobra with a hood made from poisoned spines.
For Sister Lyre, Seriphantuthant, Mistress of Lies, Lady of Deception, the Shadow which Cannot be Seen, in the form of a tiny but brightly patterned multicoloured snake which writhed unceasingly.
For Sister DeLor, Venethrax the Seducer, the Poisonous Corruption that Penetrates the Stoutest Heart – a bright green snake with three eyes on its angular head.
For Magnus, Sahje called forth Flail the Blue-skinned Brute, Lord of the Maelstrom as a great serpent the size of an anaconda but in the aforesaid colour. Magnus looked somewhat concerned at her approach burdened by the huge demon, but with a kiss, followed by gentle sucking of his lower lip, she opened his mouth. The demon form slithered down his throat, seeming to shrink and elongate as it passed. Magnus belched suddenly. His eyes became distant for some moments, and then he laughed, loud and booming. His laugh appeared to be infections, as all the other supplicants joined in, laughing manically, raucously, filled with dark, unholy glee.
Daemonic voices seemed to join in with the chorus of mirth. Sahje in particular bent double with laughter, staggering and swaying amidst the Sisters until eventually she slipped and fell on her back amongst their fat bodies, continuing to laugh as her splayed limbs moved amongst them, groping soft flesh and being groped back in return by fat hands.
“The rite is now completed,” announced the sorceress triumphantly as she floated on her back amongst blood and fat, “Our power waxes, and none may now stand in our way. Let us welcome our mighty new allies, our partners, our most intimate lovers, with great celebration.”
Her body seemed to tremble with ecstasy as her arms and legs stretched out.
“Mmmm … the power … so much … so delicious,” she murmured to herself.
Her hands moved to her plump, rounded hips, and then smoothly came around to caress her flat stomach, and down to her sex, as she began another chant. All of the sisters and Magnus joined in as the demons within them took up the incantation.
They all understood now — this magic was a demand that the laws of nature themselves be corrupted, perverted, changed by demonic will. The spell was very powerful, but could only work in situations where the demonic influence was already very great, such as this place at this time.
As they chanted, Sahje’s reclined body began to float up to the surface of the lake of blood, giggling and moaning at the power being manifested through her, and then rose above it, blood dripping off her perfect form, down her breasts, off her large buttocks, as she touched and caressed herself all over and continued to rise on her back towards the ceiling of the chamber.
Slowly, the other participants began to follow suit, fat bodies gradually rising up from the cauldron as the laws of gravity itself were subverted by unholy will. For each of them the sensation was as though their body was surrounded by rough, bestial fur bearing them aloft. They hung floating in the fume-filled air, bloated stars of evil in a nightmare sky, each one obsessing over their bodies, which had gained even more fat as the demons merged into them, and gloating over the god-like, twisted powers that were now at their command.
It was Emelda herself who spotted the platters of cakes and bottles of wine still unconsumed about the room. Within her head she communed with her demon-lover, thrusting her desires into him, finding affirmation. Her eyes flashed purple with bestial lusts and her fat bejewelled hands gestured, as infernal will compelled the cakes to rise up from the platters, circling towards her mouth. One after another they flew in between her parted plump lips and she swallowed each one down whole.
“More,” she moaned, her stomach already full.
Wine bottles now floated up from the ground, corks popping as she grabbed them with her fat hands, draining one after another before releasing them to fall into the blood below.
“More!”
She was swollen with alcohol as well as food now, but the excess just served to drive her lusts to new heights of insanity.
“Yes, yes, my sweet Emelda, indulge and indulge and never, ever stop,” the voice of Septuthiroth said inside her.
There were yet more platters of food. The other possessed had now noticed what she was doing however and matched her, food and wine flowing up in every direction, grasping hands groping to seize every morsel as demonic wills wrestled with each other over the food and drink.
Emelda was pleased to notice that her patron was the strongest of all the demons there present, granting her the largest portion of everything to stuff into her beloved body. It was only appropriate after all that as Great High Abbess her demon should be the greatest, the most powerful amongst them. The golden chains that formed the skimpy clothing of all of the sisters were now stretched tight, digging into the soft skin of their hips, their heaving bellies, their spherical swollen breasts.
“Hmmph… errrk! Urrp!”
Emelda gasped as her stuffed-to-the-limit body belched and gurgled and farted with the pressure of food inside.
“Mrrr … mhhhrrr … MORE!”
Her limbs and chins quivered and jerked as her gluttonous appetite overcame any vestigial sense of restraint or self-control within her. Her soul was fully blackened now, swollen and pulsating with infectious pustules of spiritual rottenness, carefully tended and massaged by Septuthiroth as he coiled smugly around it, proud of his dark works.
Some of the more quick-witted servants rushed to the nearby kitchen now that all the food in the room was gone, and brought back whatever they could find in haste, an unholy frenzy to obey the will of their leaders gripping them. The kitchen within the inner sanctum was active through day and night, constantly producing food to service the gluttonous hedonism of the Sisters Superior, so they were able to find a number of cooked meats and a great many pies, preserved meats, extra cakes, kegs of beer and of course more wine in huge pitchers, jugs and barrels.
All was raised up by the diabolical wills of the possessed, their obscenely over-stuffed bodies quivering with pressure as they forced yet more food and drink into themselves. Their gaseous eructations and flatulence brought forth palpably dark, stinking clouds which added to the thick miasma within the chamber.
One by one, with pings and twangs, their undergarments began to fail against the onslaught of expanding blubber — this did not discomfit them, as they were all laden with much jewellery, but it provided a tiny amount of relief from the pressure, which was quickly used to cram in yet more excess fare. As swollen stomachs compressed layers of body fat against their genital regions, all of them began to feel the intense arousal of their own flesh pressing against itself. Shoving a large cream sponge roll down her throat one heavy, laboured bite at a time, Emelda surveyed their loyal acolytes, guards and minions below.
“Mmmph – urp! – Aaaah! Wh – erp! – Worship us, for we are your Gods!”
As she finally managed to speak through her cream-stuffed throat, her voice was amplified by Septuthiroth’s own strong tones, her desires amplified by his despotic will. The effect on their loyal followers (and those present for the ritual had been carefully hand-picked to be the most devoted, the most ambitious, the most wicked amongst them – people the Sisters felt they could ‘trust’) was immediate.
They all fell to their knees, seized by a need to obey the combined will of the Abbess and her dark, unholy consort. As they chanted a random mixture of improvised, sometimes clumsy words of praise and worship, Emelda’s pride and lust swelled yet further. Thick drops of glutinous fluid dripped from between her legs as her sexual desire reached a fever pitch.
“Worship me! Worship me! More … MORE!”
This time her intonation was lower, more sultry, leaving no doubt as to the intent. With a grunt, Emelda shifted the focus of her will slightly — her engorged body began to descend to the worshippers below, followed by the rest of the possessed, sycophantically copying their leader’s example, but also seized by their own overwhelming lusts and desires, which they had no inclination to even attempt to control.
Emelda floated into the crowd; her taught, swollen belly was touched and massaged by many hands; tongues licked and kissed her in every intimate region; swollen penises were pressed into her smooth hot flesh or sought to find entry between the thick layers of fat that protected her sweet centre.
The Abbess cackled with glee at the unrestrained lust for her magnificent body, and exhorted her followers to greater depths of depravity, as behind her, her fellow sisters, Magnus, and Sahje, all descended into and joined the frenzied orgy. Lips and tongues pleasured hard nipples, swollen areolae, puffed up clitorises. Penises found their mark in mouths, vaginas, hands or sometimes just layers of belly fat, pumping huge quantities of hot semen to swell and pleasure, to lubricate the rampage. Hands grabbed soft, swollen flesh of every kind.
The Sisters giggled and yelped and moaned loudly as pleasure upon pleasure built up into a final climatic quivering collective orgasm that caused the entire crowd to twitch and thrash spasmodically in an uncontrollable paroxysm of obscene, insane, ecstatic frenzy, before sinking down as a single fleshy organism, a pile of exhausted bodies which slept where they lay amidst the cushions and plush carpets, the sticky fluids and discarded crumbs of food and drink. Amidst the gore and the blood and the fumes. Amidst the detritus of dark magics and demons and crimes against nature and humanity.
They slept.
The next day, the sisters awoke feeling surprisingly good. Previously, they often felt the need to seal themselves off in their inner sanctum for days following their indulgences, but the demonic powers drew strength from the hedonism and fed a portion of that back to their hosts, restoring their bodies and removing the negative effects of the night before. The excess weight they had gained stayed of course — they all loved the continuous expansion of their flesh to new heights of obesity. In fact, arranging their small army of personal tailors to let out seams and expand robes was now a priority, as they had become somewhat tight.
Squeezing into their fresh clean robes, the Sisters met to plan for the future. All marvelled at how pure and chaste they looked with their formal clothes on, but when they met each other’s eyes with smiles and winks, each knew the corruption and depravity that lurked beneath now. It was so hot and delicious. Each knew that the day would be but a slow build-up of lust and desire towards another night of feasting, orgies and debauchery. And another, and another, for they could not be stopped now.
The demons within them were spurring them on to greater depths of sin and corruption, and they would not disappoint. Emelda in particular loved the way Septuthiroth whispered to her constantly in her head now, telling her how strong she was, how wise, how righteous, how in-control. She would never know a moment of doubt or fear ever again as long as she had that delicious voice inside her.
They planned the growth of their network of influence and connections, the acquisition of more wealth for the Abbey’s vast hoards. They planned a new tower, much bigger even than their current one, one that would pierce the clouds and dominate the landscape for miles around. They planned to grow their banking services about the land, to take over brothels in all cities, to supply interrogation services to tyrants and wicked kings. They planned to repeat the rituals, selecting the best of their acolytes for the honour of possession, or perhaps even offering the precious gift to select nobles and lords, to cement their hold over the aristocracy.
The demons granted them new drive and ambition with which they would build up the Abbey to such greatness that it was the premier power in the whole world. When they had achieved this, it would be time to review the religious orthodoxy. When they had amassed sufficient power they would define new truths, new history, a new religion, better than the old one.
One with living goddesses of divine, immortal flesh. The Sisters were quite dizzy, quite intoxicated with the possibilities they now saw before them for absolute power and its uses. And if their loyal, their beautiful, their powerful demon consorts wanted to play with the rump population, with those not directly required for the glory of the Abbey, then did they not deserve such indulgence? Emelda found everything Septuthiroth did to be incredibly arousing – she looked forwards to watching what he would do to the people when she let him off the leash.
Septuthiroth was pleased with his work. The corruption of the Abbey was complete. It was now a powerful bastion of darkness, and better still he and his allies had gained physical presence in the world. From here he would press his advantage to expand his power to all the rulers of the earth, and initiate a reign of darkness, with the pathetic mortals finally enslaved to demonic will.
Septuthiroth was, as demons are wont to be, especially in these circumstances, rather arrogant. Had he been less so, and perhaps more wise (a trait the legions of hell seldom possess to any great degree) he might have spotted a pattern in the turn of events.
Twice, the forces of justice had come to the Abbey and attempted to thwart his purpose. Twice they had been rebuffed.
Following the universal pattern of narrative lore, a third time was now an inevitability.
THE END OF CHAPTER SEVEN