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: LGBT themes, Cohesion, Corruption, Young, NC, Rape, Snuff, Sadism, WS, Scat, Menstrual Blood, MC, Black Magic, Devil Worship, Demons, and Evil themes.

AUTHORS NOTE: This story derives inspiration from a couple of sources – as they say, ‘there’s nothing new under the sun’. The first is the British band from the nineties called ‘Rock Bitch’ (I unapologetically borrowed many elements from their strange but wonderful world). The second is the character ‘Lucy Fur’, who I revived from a story I wrote many years ago (but never finished); echoing the villain of the 1987 movie ‘Angel Heart’ called ‘Louis Cyphre’. I know it all sounds a little contrived but watching the movie over again recently was inspiring. Hope you enjoy it and please let me know your thoughts.

CREATED: 02.11.2017 / REVISITED: 13.11.2023

The Baphomet 1


Fiona Stone was a journalist/reporter for the Christian Music Express (CME) for ten years but was retrenched due to the Magazine’s falling subscriptions. The talented writer decides to take on a freelance assignment. She is asked to do a feature article that follows the life and times of a rather controversial rock band called ‘The Baphomet’. At first, it was about the money. Though the whole dark ambient rock scene is not her forte, she pursues the assignment with the premise of depicting the band’s true narrative. She finds the band interesting despite the opinion of other critics who accuse them of being over-sensationalised; their whole ‘Goth-sex’ and black candles act as clichéd; and just a cover for the fact that they actually are not particularly good musicians. More so, there are accusations from Christian groups that claim their lead singer, the aptly named Lucy Fur (the ‘pun’ on the name ‘Lucifer’ intended), is in fact the female antichrist, making Fiona’s assignment even more challenging and affronting to her staunch religious upbringing and suppressed sexuality.


The week before Fiona’s interview with the band at their secret commune.

Ms. Fiona Stone’s hand trembled noticeably as they opened the jewel case, slipped the disc into her laptop, and pressed play. The opening credits immediately gave her a warning of what was possibly to come. The disclaimer disclosed that she should be aware that the content was strictly adult only and that it contained explicit nudity and/or graphic sex scenes. Her fingers subconsciously pressed against the thin metal body of the crucified body of Christ mounted on the heavy wooden crucifix that hung around her neck. For the first time in a while, she was aware of how heavy it felt.

She was shaking inside – shaking from a raw feeling of anticipated wickedness. She paused the recording right before the titles, got up from her desk, and walked briskly into her bedroom. She quickly stripped naked before the dressing mirror watching herself as she removed each layer of garment – as if it were some form of cleansing ritual that would end in complete nudity. The only thing remaining was the heavy crucifix that hung around her neck. She looked at her reflection as if it were someone else. She was not Fiona Stone. She felt oddly detached from herself – almost surreal and dreamlike. Her nipples had hardened just thinking about what she was about to do. Turning on her bare heels she skipped back into her home office (where the blinds had already been drawn). She checked the window coverings and made sure the lock was completely secure on the front door to her apartment – checking it not once or twice, but three times.

Convinced she had taken every precaution possible, she brought her laptop down onto the large wooden coffee table in front of the low couch and sat down in front of it. She had previously poured herself a large glass of sparkling white wine – she drank it down so quickly, that some of the content spilled from the corner of her mouth. It was her third glass and Fiona felt lightheaded. She wiped her mouth crudely and noticed that her hand was still actually shaking. Yes, she thought to herself — she was nervous but eager to get started nonetheless. She once again started the bootleg of the shock-rock band called ‘The Baphomet’. It was supposed to be a rare ‘uncensored live’ version announced the titles – the stage lights lifted and the strange all-female band to the roar of the audience came into view.

Fiona increased the volume to its maximum and the sound of appreciation of their fans filled her ears, at the sight of the five almost naked girls standing so boldly on stage that seemed to be decorated in all the trappings of a Satanic Black Mass. It was not the beginning of the concert, but about six or eight songs into their demonic show – the most sexually arousing part of the show (as she had heard) and the most blasphemous too! It was the part that had shocked others (she had been warned) – but secretly, she hoped it was as perverted as she imagined.

This thought gave her a powerful tingling sensation between her legs and an immediate flushing across her face. This is the part where others had said it was filled with vile and disgusting acts – no good church-going woman should ever have to bear. There was an acute mixture of apprehension, deep religious guilt, and an overriding sensation of sexual arousal.

The drumbeat throbbed as the hard-edged lead guitar crashed through the first few bars. The sixth member of the band, its lead singer Lucy Fur, strutted her way to the front stage taking hold of the microphone. She was conspicuously over-dressed (compared to the nakedness and shaved mons of the other five members) only her small firm breasts and blackened nipples were visible. She reminded Fiona of a druid-priestess with long wide cuffed sleeves, pagan antler-type horns, and Gothic-style dark-black eye make-up – not that Fiona had ever seen one, only in her most perverted of sexual fantasies.

The singer began to belt out the last song of the set – where the lyrics and stage act were said to be most profane and sacrilegious. Fiona could hardly contain herself with the excitement. The dark pagan music was unlike any of the conservative Christian songs or even the more contemporary songs of praise that Fiona usually identified with. These songs had nothing of the predictable vocals, folk-melodies infused alternative influences – no these evil hymns were raw, unrestrained, and full of omnipresent malice. Nothing had really prepared her for the wickedness of ‘The Baphomet’. It sounded so guttural, accented with screams and moans of drug-crazed ecstasy.

“Devils taunt me, made me horny,

Heaven warns me, threats and scorns me …”

The blasphemous words seemed to trigger Fiona into an outward groan whilst pressing her fore and index fingers deep inside her sopping wet cunt as the chorus was screamed out.

“I, I, I, I am not ashamed, I, I, I, I am devil-made …”

Two dancers wearing nothing but a wicked smile and a pair of large devil-like horns join the other band members, front and center, on stage. They both began dancing lewdly, running their hands over their naked breasts and down between their open legs as they began to masturbate themselves with inverted crucifixes in an effort to incite the audience, especially those in the mosh pit immediately before them. They danced around the lead singer and then each took turns kneeling before her to press their faces to her covered crutch as Lucy Fur ground her hips against their up-turned faces.

“You would blind me, gag and bind me I, I, I, I will not be tamed …”

The camera panned around the stage set and looked down upon the mosh pit that was actually crammed with now naked young male and female fans in almost equal quantities (they call them their disciples), all dancing vigorously, all eagerly frotting against one another, some unashamedly masturbating in unison with the sex performers onstage. The dancers continue their vulgar display but moved even closer to the front of the stage, pushing their pelvises forward as far as they could, displaying their evil-looking tattooed cunts – each emblazoned with the face of the devil across their pubis; where the devil’s mouth was formed vertically by their open vaginal lips. They thrust back and forth to the beat of the bass drum as they held their cunt lips open to display the pinkness inside – the camera zoomed in first on one dancer and then the next, making sure that their moist pussies filled the camera frame.

“Showing devotion. Satan’s ass must kiss!

Praise the horned one. Drink thy piss …”

As Lucy Fur sang these words the dancers began to urinate over the crowded mosh pit before them. The throng of naked fans went completely wild – all reaching forward, clambering over one another as they all tried to drink from the hot salty piss fountains as the dancers emptied their bladders over them.

“I, I, I, I am not ashamed, I, I, I, I am devil-made …”

Fiona bucked on the very brink of a powerful orgasm watching this obscene display. She pressed the pause button and re-winded the whole sequence in readiness to re-watch it again. She retrieved the empty wine glass from the coffee table. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it was about to leap out of her chest. Fiona panted to gain some control over herself in eagerness to follow this foul and debauched act. She pressed the rim of the wine glass against her urethra and pushed down on her aching wine-filled bladder. At first, only a trickle of dark yellow pee rang down the side of the glass, pooling at the bottom. She pressed again, trying her best to relax (which was not easy in her state of excitement). This time a more hearty flow noisily gushed out of her cunt and overfilled the slender glass, some spilling over the rim, over her hand, and soaking the rug below her bare feet.

Fiona laughed nervously. She felt so wicked. This was something she would have not done since she was a young and uninhibited child. If any of her church friends knew, they would disown her as a weird pervert. Yes, she was a piss pervert – she liked knowing what she was, knowing that she was finally prepared to admit to it to herself.

She placed the piss-filled glass onto the coffee table and gingerly licked her salty fingers that there coated in a mixture of her cunt juices and now her own pee. Her tongue tenuously tested the taste and rediscovering how much it turned her own to do so – she sucked each of the fingers. Emboldened by this, she lifted the brimming wine glass and took a large gulp of her dark yellow piss. It was heady and strong, but that only added to the deliciously kinky thrill that was caused through her mind.

Fiona pressed play and watched the entire urinating scene over and over, bucking her hips in time with the pagan beat. First, she half-drained the glass of urine and then rigged herself faster and faster – thrashing her hard little clit as she yelped with aberrant orgasmic joy. She removed her heavy crucifix from around her neck and pressed into her overheated cunt; then she dangled it into the glass still half-filled with her salty yellow piss – soaking the body of Christ in her waste fluids. She laughed again. It was a nervous but depraved laughter.

Yes, she felt so energized! She felt so alive!


What does the magazine, Christian Music Express (CME) say about THE BAPHOMET rock band? Absolutely nothing. But, the following was a recent article published by an alternative blogger called ‘Flinch’.

“Banned in over twenty countries, ‘The Baphomet’ rock band (circa 2006 – 2016) became infamous not only for performing live and highly obscene sex acts during their musical performances but also for doing so with enthusiastic audience members (called their disciples). Both males and females would strip naked as they danced lewdly in the mosh-pit that quickly deteriorated into a complete and utter sexual frenzy.

“Their onstage nudity and antics, which included the acting out of satanic sex rituals, urolagnia, and the screening of obscene pornographic videos during their concerts, led some critics to say that The Baphomet tried to use sex and paganism to sell ‘bad music’ – however, not all agree and some fellow musicians have voiced their appreciation of both the lyrical and musical contribution that The Baphomet band has made. Ironically, born from a polyamorous commune, the members of this now legendary rock band, The Baphomet, having borrowed much of their lyrical intent and theatrics from other black metal artists and are so similar that their story of homage could be construed as plagiarism.

“The Baphomet toured Germany, France, Switzerland, Netherlands, Sweden, Denmark, UK, Italy, Spain, Finland, Slovenia, Czech Republic, and Estonia while propagating their mantra of satanic liberation through sexual freedom. Of the six all-female band members who performed naked or near naked the most prominent was their lead singer, Lucy Fur, who claimed to be the devil incarnate. Dubbed the ‘Antichrist’ by highly critical Christian groups who claimed Lucy Fur’s blasphemous and sacrilegious performances were an affront to God Almighty and their beliefs.” For more information and other articles, contact flincher2016@protonmail.com


Fiona’s research into the band and its bazaar history had rekindled a sexual strangeness about her that she thought best to keep to herself. She had attended her regular church functions and had actively avoided contact with any of her long-time Christian friends. One reason, she felt that they may detect the significant changes she knew were happening; and at the same time, she had begun to loathe all that she had been and had believed in – years of indoctrination that just felt wrong. She thought about 1 Peter, chapter 5, verse 8 “Be vigilant, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” As she began looking for the most profane pornographic effigies of the roaring lion over the internet in the ‘spirit’ of research for her article, she knew that it was a thin veil for the real reason for her line of inquiry – besides the fact that she had taken to masturbating continuously as she worked.



Three weeks earlier.

Fiona Stone had always been a committed Christian. Her parents had brought her up to believe in the great work of God Almighty and to be afraid of his omnipresent wrath. She could not remember a time that she had not felt her Christian upbringing having influence over everything that she said and did. It was the way of her faith. Praise the Lord. She did it unquestioningly. So when she discovered a talent for writing and an interest in music it was natural for her to pursue a career in writing about the songs of her faith. Now, over a decade later, many of her colleagues consider her to be a truly seasoned writer.

She had worked in the music industry news most of her adult life. She had been a senior writer, focused mostly on Christian-based music, at the Christian Music Express (CME) when its circulation had dropped to the point that they had to make a number of retrenchments. Fiona had come to accept her retrenchment from the CME and actually thought of it as a blessing in disguise – now she would get a chance to write more critically about the industry she cared so much about and as a freelance writer, she would be able to pick and choose the assignments she wanted to pursue.

Unfortunately, the downturn was so severe that a lot of the freelance work she hoped for had also dried up and she had for the past couple of months survived on thin pickings. This is when the assignment for a number of feature-length articles for a rather obscure dark metal band called ‘The Baphomet’ came her way. It was a friend of a friend that had actually recommended her and now at the critical stage, she had to decide if she was in or out.

The problem that she faced was not the money at all – the pay was very generous, actually better than generous. She should have found the whole concept of this band far too creepy; that it should have made her feel dirty; going against everything she held dear – but what disturbed her was that it did not. In fact, it seemed to have a very opposing effect on her in a very physical way, emotional way … and dare she believe spiritual way.

She had as a young child found sexual attractions to both sexes and had begun to feel great joy in combining masturbation with fantasies about her young male and female friends (real and imaginary). There had been all manner of combinations and configurations – coupling male and female, female and female, male and male, threesomes, foursomes, and orgies of endless pleasure. Her young and unfettered imagination took her to strange exotic locations – the metaphysical worship of the vulva and the erect penis – delicious thoughts that brought her to the rapture of pre-teen orgasm over and over.

When she was not physically masturbating, she was thinking about it (getting herself wet in the process). In a short time, her fantasies become an intricate interplay between her furtive hyper-sexuality and something unexplainably supernal and folklore – akin to the worship of these pleasures with all manner of child-like mythical and magical creatures — faeries, cherubs, pixies, sprites, angels, mermaids, elves, fauns, and even unicorns and centaurs. There was still something undeniably naïve but the undertone of sexuality transmuted these childish daydreams into the seeds of unnatural carnal lust.

This all changed once her pious parents confronted her. Caught naked in the act of self-arousal, she bore the full brunt of her parent’s righteous scorn – as if performing an act incited by the devil himself. Young Fiona was told that ‘touching yourself’ was not only bad but also a crime against God’s natural laws, that it was disgraceful and would attract the attention of wickedness (of demons). They went on to say that masturbation was a filthy act that needed to be immediately and severely punished; a dirty sin requiring repentance; an evil sin never to be repeated. Young nine-year-old Fiona had been literally scared out of her wits. Never had she been so ashamed of herself, but at the same time, so conflicted, so confused.

Suffice it to say, she had buried any sexual thoughts deep inside herself, choosing the path of obedience and fear in the malevolent Lord. That was until now … And now the wetness between her thighs returned with potent vengeance. She felt giddy from unwanted arousal. Prayer and abstinence was the way of the Lord. What was it about this band? What was The Baphomet?

She looked up the words on the internet to be affronted by images of Eliphas Levi’s rendition of Baphomet; Goat of Mendes drawn as a winged hermaphrodite with a goat’s head and a torch between Hir horns. Fiona looked in shock at this creature of wickedness with horns, breasts, and an erect penis rising between its open thighs. It was as if all her suppressed childhood masturbation fantasies had re-emerged in the form of this ancient Horned God. The Baphomet was the god of lust; (S)He was the Devil or the Serpent in the Garden of Eden; (S)He was the Great Hermaphrodite, containing good and evil, male and female, darkness and light.

Fiona felt her most intimate of fluids trickling down the inside of her thighs at the sight of The Sabbatic Goat – it was a baptism of wisdom that went against everything her parents, her church, her friends, and her family believed in … she starred open-mouthed at images of The Lord of Perversions.

But what is a name? A band called The Baphomet surely engendered the most dangerous of flirtations – was it that she was now dancing with the Devil? Was it that the whole paganism, occult sex thing? Was this just a crass attempt to take something foul and unholy and make in commercially salable to the right audience? The clothing or lack of; the sex acts onstage; the cultish fans; the dark meaningless lyrics and questionable melodies? She had heard about other bands that had taken a similar route – trading in the trappings of Satanism, occultism, and devil worship for the simple fact that they were actually not that very good.

But Fiona had done her homework. She had seen critics slam them – despite their obvious success with a huge fan following and great sales figures. They had sell-out concerts across Eastern Europe and a string of alternative chart hits. Often most the reviews were more concerned about their onstage antics rather than the quality of their music or about their obsession with freedom of expression through sexuality. They had also stirred up a lot of hatred from Christian groups that Fiona was all too familiar with (good people, she thought) that had been affronted by the band’s in-your-face style that was downright sacrilegious – certainly, the blasphemous lyrics dedicated to sex with demons, with references to Satan being sexual, Satan being female were not taken lightly.

Opening her laptop, she clicked through to their official website and began to read from their mantra.

“… What is ‘The Baphomet’ all about? Good question. We believe in communication and information. This website is to give greater insight and detail to those who are already familiar with the band ‘The Baphomet’. It is also to explain in our own words, and from our point of view what we are trying to achieve, maybe to those who have first, or only encountered us through some gutter press shock-rock expose or hostile reviews.

“The Baphomet is a group of musicians who come from a sex commune. The community consists of many more persons than are in the band. All commune members are LGBT there are no exclusive monogamous couples. The community has been together for about ten years. It was the dream of Lucy Fur (our lead singer) to create a gender-less, matriarchal, tribal retreat where members could be free to explore their sexuality and psyche…”

To say that Fiona was conflicted would have been wrong. She was not. She felt that should have been. There was something about this that really had captured her complete attention.


The Baphomet/Discography/greatest hits:

  • Death Lover (2006)
  • Suck My Wand (2007)
  • Devil in My Pants (2008)
  • Gospel of Demons (2008)
  • Ritual Sacrifice/Ritual Slaughter (2009)
  • Darker Gods (2010)
  • Red Devil of Perversion (2010)
  • Temple of Evil (2011)
  • Fountain of Golden Waters (2011)
  • Flesh-Eater (2012)
  • Moloch’s Fire (2013)
  • Satan’s Whore (2014)
  • High Priestess of Hell (2014)


The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. How was she going to get through this? She tried to reconcile the article as just another journalistic assignment; that she would do what she had been paid to do and that was it. But that was not the truth and she knew it – her childish daydreams lurked just below the surface threatening to corrupt her. She even tried to depersonalize the whole process and think of it as a means to an end for her mortgage and unpaid bills – but once again, she knew she was rationalizing something that could not be rationalized.

Maybe the whole thing was a test of her faith in God Almighty? What would her parents expect of her? What would her priest expect of her? With so many unmet expectations – what should she do?

She had agreed to meet with one of the band’s members. Anjali Kara was probably a decent enough person beneath all the black-eye make-up and Gothic clothing. Fiona believed that inherently people were good – whereas others might say misguided … wondering about the association with the nickname ‘Kali’. She could not help but feel a little jealous of those who were free to explore their sexuality – she had even taken to question her own outward facade of piousness and godliness; whilst remaining inwardly sexually frustrated and constantly wet with depraved arousal.

It had been a long time since she had been unable to resist the temptations of the flesh – be it that of her own. Touching herself was a terrible moral sin… but she had reached a point where she found it hard to hold back. Her body felt the heat from within and her mind giddy with unchecked lewdness. She undressed quickly and lay naked across her stripped bed. She closed her eyes as if going to sleep. First, she allowed her fingers to wander across her quivering breasts, dancing upon her aroused skin, stirring her nipples to an urgency of hardness. Images flashed across her mind – forbidden things that she had buried deeply inside of herself for many years under the fear of God. Like rich treasures that surfaced within the ocean of her consciousness, she squirmed around upon the bare mattress, groping her breasts and finger fucking her electrified mons.

In her imagination, she found herself walking through the Garden of Eden, a place of purity and innocence; a garden where life was abundant; where nothing ever wilted or died; or rotted from worms. It was rich and fertile. But in this fantasy, she saw herself as the perpetrator; the instigator of evil doing; transforming the lushness into a sinister ossuary of sinfulness.

She observed from a hiding place, the presence of young nymphs and nymphets… dancing and prancing unaware of the sensuality of their nakedness before her corrupted eyes. Her cunt was wetter than she ever remembered and she groaned unrelentingly out loud as she envisioned herself becoming a demonic being, seeking to seduce and to force herself upon these innocent creatures – so young, nubile, and unsuspecting. As they danced carefree, childlike in minds and bodies, they were unaware of their imminent fate at the hands of Faith’s wicked alter ego.

She smiled sweetly and beckoned them to come to her side and quickly poisoning their purity with her sexual wickedness, she instructed them to touch themselves before her, as she instructed them, the young nymphs and young nymphets to touch themselves in their most intimate of places. They did not understand a first, until she showed them, masturbating them and masturbating with them. She took great pleasure in sharing the forbidden fruits and samples of the spoils of sin.

It was her conquest, to get them to willingly kneel before her; to kiss her eager vagina; to lick with pliant tongue … her pelvis bucked and her cunt dripped with carnal arousal as she imagined using them, turning the dance of life into a dance of fornication. They were all to pray, not to God, but to her; to worship her as the Goddess of Sex. She fellated the young boys until their little pricks twitched and sprayed their clear boy semen into the back of her throat – their young eager cocks, once sampling the corruption of their first orgasm, became ever eager to please her lusty desires. Soon she had the nymphs sucking nymphs, nymphets licking nymphets, nymphs fucking nymphets, and nymphs sodomizing each other. It was as she wished it to become – this was now the devil’s playground.



Evening of the first interview.

Fiona had dressed a little less conservatively than her usual self for their first interview meeting. She did not want to give off the wrong impression. If there was a real story here, she wanted to reflect a balanced narrative based on the facts. She thought that she was capable of doing that.

The band members all lived in some kind of remote and secretive commune. She would need to travel there to cover the band’s back story. Fiona already envisioned glimpses of the Bacchanalia’s Climax where they held gatherings in a secluded forest to ensure their privacy. She imagined festivals where the band’s disciples would prepare goats with their horns painted in gold; special torches dipped in sulfur and charcoal; and devotees wore fawn skins that emulated forest animals.

Fiona’s excited mind could imagine them all in skimpy outfits; or even complete nudity; each woman carrying sexy wands shaped like wooden phalluses. At nightfall, these celebrants danced in a forest clearing to strange music — quaffing down copious wine, dancing, leaping, whirling, screaming, and generally working themselves up into a frenzied state, inspiring each other into ever greater acts of ecstasy, whereby the whole scene would descend into a writhing mosh pit of sexual depravity. Yes, she wanted to see this. She wanted to participate!

Fiona took a deep breath and tried to bring herself back to the moment, as she was soon to meet Anjali Kara (aka Kali) – one of the band’s performers and one of the younger members of the band. The meeting had been arranged by, her ex-colleague without much detail besides time and place.

The venue was the Venus Bar and Luxury Motel in the old downtown. It was rather a run-down establishment with lots of dark and sleazy booths – not exactly the place that Fiona frequented with her bible buddies. Fiona sat at the bar, as she was early and ordered a stiff drink. The ambient music was loud and the audience was rowdy. Why hadn’t she pressed for a more sedate venue, somewhere quieter? It was too late now. She sat tight and checked her watch anxiously again.

Just as she was beginning to think the whole thing was a waste of time, an attractive mocha-colored woman in her late twenties with a lean build, small-breasted, and short purple-black asymmetric hair walked across towards to crowded bar. Her tight crop top accentuated the flatness of her braless boobs, but allow her nipples to stand proud against the thin fabric.

“Excuse me? Excuse me … Are you, Anjali? Anjali Kara?” Fiona ventured wishing immediately that she hadn’t.

This woman did not come across as approachable in the slightest.

“Who the fuck’s asking?” she answered through bright white teeth whilst chewing gum.

The woman stopped and looked Fiona up and down as if she were some kind of strange species from another planet dressed in her conservative white sleeveless trapeze and plain grey skirt.

“I’m Fiona Stone. The writer. We were supposed to meet here?”

Fiona’s eye looked down at the strange Indian charm that hung heavily around the woman’s neck. The chain of skulls with its metal medallion depicted a naked many-armed goddess hung right between the twin-crested points of the woman’s erect nipples. She pretended not to notice, but her instant blushing gave her away.

The ethnic woman grinned sardonically.

“Mrs. Stone?”

Her ethnic accent softened the words, but her expression was one of doubt.

“It’s Miss Stone. It’s for a feature article about the lifestyle, influences, and music of your band … The Baphomet.”

“Aren’t you a Jesus-fucking-Christ lover?”

“Am I Christian? Well … yes, but …”

“That’s fuck up! You do know anything about our band?”

Anjali placed her hands on her narrow hips — dancer hips and thighs. Fiona wasn’t sure if it was a pheromone thing or not, but despite her discomfort with the situation, Fiona felt a tingling between her legs just remembering how the erotic dancers had performed as part of their highly sexualized and satanic stage act. She could not help but ponder the lewdness of it all – so forbidden and foreboding. She remembered the dancers tattooed pubis – the face of the Devil.

“Well … yes of course,” she mumbled with a cottonmouth, “I’ve done my homework … I’ve seen a few bootlegs of your shows.”

Anjali laughed. Her black-on-black pupils seemed to penetrate Fiona’s facade, seeing right through her self-image of Christian decency into a deeper, more vulnerable layer below of unspoken secrets and desired depravities.

“I have a room upstairs. It would be quieter there.”


They entered the small room together, which was nothing much other than a bed, a couple of chairs, and small round table, a mini-bar, and a mirrored wardrobe that faced the bed. The view out of the window wall the wall of the building next door and the warm still air stunk of stale cigarettes, booze stains, and mothballs. The window fan rattled against the pane in a vain attempt to draw its artificial breeze.

Fiona took a seat on one of the fabric chairs – its material felt damp against her bare legs, seething with a grimy and well-used sweatiness. Beyond the bedroom, Fiona could see the attached bathroom consisting of an old porcelain sink, a rust-stained toilet, and a shower recess covered with a tattered plastic shower curtain. It was obvious the name was a complete oversell (boarding on fraud) – this was the furthest from ‘Venus’ or ‘Luxury’ as one could get.

“I need a fucking drink. I think you do too.”

“Yes please,” quaked Fiona.

The heat of the grim little hotel room matched the fuming heat between her thighs. Fiona ogled at the exotic Indian dancer as she retrieved the small bottles from the minimalist mini-bar. She imagined for only a brief moment what it would be like to kiss her tattooed cunt lips – kissing the Devil as she performed cunnilingus on this dark horse. She desperately tried to put the image out of her mind, unsuccessfully. Fiona retrieved a tissue from her purse and patted her brow, which was damp with her own perspiration. She felt so unsettled, so unsure of herself. She intuitively knew there was an undeniable attraction — to this woman, to this strange band, to the whole lifestyle that ran diametrically against her strict and orthodox Catholic upbringing.

“Whisky or Vodka,” asked Anjali holding up the miniatures.

“Vodka thanks,” she said accepting the bottle, twisting the lid, and then downing it in almost one motion.

Again Anjali grinned and downed her drink equally fast.

“Another?” Fiona nodded.

The effects of the drink were immediate, helping to take the edge off of things. Fiona retrieved her notepad and pen from her shoulder bag. She struggled to remain ‘professional’ about her assignment as well as obedient to all that she had held in high esteem.

“So why is your nickname ‘Kali’?” inquired the slightly inebriated journalist.

“It is not so much a nickname, but my adopted spiritual guide … the demon goddess Kali has shown me the way …” answered Anjali proudly.

“The Demon Goddess?”

“Yes, she is a Hindu goddess,” Anjali held up her necklace, “Kali means literally the ‘black one’ … Kali is a black-skinned sex demon. She wears a necklace of skulls around her neck and has four arms which she uses to flail her victims to death before devouring them. She is often seen with a protruding long tongue, which she uses to lap up the blood of her pre-teen victims. In my homeland, many young children are sexually abused and then sacrificed to her every month.”

“May I?” asked Fiona, as she reached to touch the amulet and to inspect it closer.

Touching the evil medallion sent a shiver through Fiona. She could not ever have imagined anyone worshiping such an evil demon … that demanded her followers sexually abuse young ones and then spill their blood … until now.

“She is most evil, yet to her devotees the Dark Mother is still able to dispense grace, protection, and inspiration – so that the female force is strong and dominant.”

Anjali smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Fiona. She tilted her head and looked Fiona directly in the eye.

“The Dark Mother works in mysterious ways, Miss Stone.”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“At first glance, I pictured you in your Sunday best mulling over some tardy hymn book. But then, when you mentioned the bootleg … I saw something else … a darkness sister, a delicious darkness in your eyes. The dark mother speaks to you too I see …”

“I’m not sure I understand?”

“Don’t be coy with me. You’ve been wet between the legs from the moment we met.”

“I assure you I haven’t.”

“Look at you. By the Great Goddess, you’re so aroused I can smell it. I know what you’ve been thinking about. You cannot lie to me. You want nothing more than to be naked before the Devil … to kneel before me and kiss his lips … admit it, Miss Stone. Admit it to yourself, if not to me.”

Anjali had removed her top and was stroking her hard black nipples that resembled bullets; then standing before Fiona, she slipped from her pants, revealing herself completely to the nervous journalist.

Fiona felt overwhelmed.

A strong force that brought about these events. Inevitability. The dark mother had spoken to her. She slid downwards from the edge of the chair onto the floor. Almost collapsing as she slipped forward. She was physically shaking from sheer excitement. Anjali had been absolutely right about everything. Fiona contemplated Anjali’s words ‘The Dark Mother works in mysterious ways’ – there was symmetry in all of this; was this rebellion against her strict and unforgiving upbringing?

“This is the will of Goddess Kali,” Anjali’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

Her hand stroked the hair on the back of Fiona’s head drawing her closer – pressing her head between her open thighs. Fiona stared at the smooth coffee-colored skins that led her towards the woman’s dark furrow. Fiona knelt on the grimy carpet on her naked knees. She could smell the dancer’s sexual sweat. Her labia were parted, moist, and oily. Close up the tattooed demon looks even more menacing.

“Kiss the Devil.”

“Yes-sssssss …” Hissed Fiona leaning forward and placing her lips against the dancer’s heavily tattooed mons.

Fiona drove her tongue deep between the woman’s labia, licking feverishly upon her vulva. Without warning Anjali urinated over the kneeling woman, soaking her face, hair, and clothing. Fiona responded by pressing her open mouth over Anjali’s cunt gulping her warm salty piss as it fountain’ed over her.

The sharp tanginess of urea in the Indian woman’s urine, cut to the back of Fiona’s throat, but she faithfully drank and tried to not spill a single precious drop of her unholy baptism. As the flow slowed up, Fiona continued her attack, tonguing the wet crevice, then sucking and pressing her tongue flatly against Anjali’s erect clitoris as she gripped her buttocks for support.

“Kali be praised! Yer that’s it! … fucking church bitch … suck my needy pissy clit and make me cum all over your fucking bible-loving face!” groaned Anjali.

Fiona did actually as she was ordered; applying all the gusto that she had pent up from decades of restrained, refusal, and self-denial – taking the thick little bud between her lips without stopping her tongue’s assault, hastening the pace for her strange lover, tongue-fucking her towards her first hip-thrusting orgasm for the evening.

“Aaaagrhhhhhhh! Fuck yer! Fuck yer!” screamed the dancer as she rode Fiona’s drenched face.

Anjali grabbed the soaked material of Fiona’s top as she began to buck wildly against Fiona’s face – more vaginal fluids washed across Fiona’s face, trailing down her slender neck, further drenching the reporter’s top that was already semi-transparent from the deluge of urine and fluids that had soaked her moments before.

“Blessed Kali – Mother of all perversion,” exclaimed Anjali.

She grinned ear to ear at the wretched sight of the journalist, her face, hair, and clothing drenched in piss and girl cum, unable to control herself.

“Undress my sister.”

Fiona stood up shuddering from her arousal. Nervously Fiona undressed herself. The wet fabric of her sleeveless top clung to her piss-soaked body. The smell of urea and sex filled her senses. She had never been so excited and never so sure of what she wanted. Her whole pelvis area quivered and her cunt was electrified from the unnatural thrill of kissing the devil between Anjali’s legs – she licked her lips, still savoring the dancer’s salty urine on her hips.

Anjali stood up and drew Fiona closer so that their nipples touched. She pressed her wet crutch against Fiona’s thigh and likewise pressed Fiona’s against hers. She ground slowly against the journalist until Fiona returned to the slow and deliberate rhythm, pressing herself against the dancer’s slender but muscular thigh. Anjali held Fiona’s head between her hands, caressing her piss-wet hair, and drew her face closer so that now their lips met in a deep and longing kiss. Anjali sank her tongue between Fiona’s lips – there was a sigh of pleasurable release from the journalist, accepting the sexual attention from this kindred spirit.

They both groped wildly at each other, sucking each other’s mouths, necks, and breasts threshing against each other. In the head of lust, they both fell onto the bed — Fiona on her back and Anjali on top of her. With their legs scissored Anjali thrust harder and harder against Fiona as they lay opposite each other on the bed, grinding their hips, as their clits fucked each other.

“Ggrrahhhhhhhhh …” groaned Fiona, as she was taken over the edge with the sheer strength of her orgasm, “Grrrraggggggghhhh … ah! Fuccccck!” she groaned again as one orgasm collapsed, and another reached its crescendo.

Panting out of breath Fiona collapsed flat on her back. Anjali dripped sweat as she crawled across her until she knelt over Fiona’s face. She laughed to herself and pressed her anus down over Fiona’s upturned face. Fiona lifted her hands to either side of the dancer’s athletic backside, supporting Anjali’s weight above her and at the same time parting the firm flesh of her cheeks so that she had easier access – kissing the dark brown flower of her rectum.

“Yes, Sister … Get your tongue inside me!” instructed the dancer.

Fiona licked the rippled surface of the women’s anus, pressing the point of her tongue into her nether hole. It was a slightly bitter taste, but not unpleasant – Fiona was too excited to care. She began to drill upwards into her shit tunnel, screwing her tongue as far as she could up Anjali’s dirty cave. At the same time, she felt Anjali lean forward and go down between Fiona’s quivering thighs making her squirm in an unfamiliar delight. She felt the roughness of the dancer’s tongue press against her over-sensitized clitoris that stood proudly from its fleshy veil.

“Mmmmmm …” moaned Fiona.

She was both in ecstasy and disbelief at the intensity of the pleasure, her voice muffled as it devoured Anjali’s warm, oily anus. She was now truly a damned soul, fornicating against the word of God – yet she felt free and alive and had no regrets.

“Urgh … Kali commands you to eat my shit!” groaned the dancer performing her tantric sadhana.

Her bowel loosened as she squirmed against Fiona’s face. Fiona pressed her lips harder around the circumference of the women’s anus in an effort to push her tongue even further up her intestinal tract — meeting the bitter taste of Anjali’s feces. As the dancer’s colon contracted over Fiona’s mouth, she felt Anjali’s waste meet the tip of her tongue. A strong perfume of fresh feces that might otherwise have made Fiona gag filled her nostrils, but with all the pleasuring she was experiencing between her quivering thighs and in the euphoria of the moment, she felt divinely exhilarated by this strong odor and the filthy act itself.

“Fucking shit-eating whore! Praise to Kali – The Mother of Perversion!” cried Anjali as she defecated directly into Fiona’s open mouth.

The awful taste triggered Fiona’s orgasm that had her dancing like a shit-eating rag-doll underneath Anjali’s stinking ass.

“Fuck yer! Hail Kali! Hail cunt! … Ggggrrhhh!”

Anjali came hard, bucking over Fiona’s face as another cascade of hot salty piss followed – squirting over Fiona’s prone body below. Anjali recovered fast and lay down next to her vanquished prey. She kissed Fiona’s shitty mouth, sharing the foul content of her orifice.

“There is great bliss and beauty in the forbidden rituals of perverted Tantric sex – demonic desires bring the most incredible of orgasmic delights, don’t you think?” Fiona nodded slowly. “The secret sadhanas of eating feces and drinking urine are but only the beginning of such taboo pleasures … you have much to learn and experience!”


To be continued?


If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com