Feature Writer: XP

Originator of storyline: Sinful Simone


Published: 01.06.2023

Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Blasphemy, Demon Sex

Note from XP: This is the continuation of a story originally written by Sinful Simone titled “The Corruption Of Sister Simone,” — which is based on a letter from a “tormented” nun. This is a fan story, as I am not the originator of this storyline or the characters involved. All creative credit should go to Sinful Simone — thank you.


The story begins, back on June 6, 1968, with the “Mother Superior Josephine Haywood” of the “Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent” receiving a disturbing letter from young Sister Simone about her seduction by a man called “Luke” who turns out to be a sexual demon. Following her disappearance, two other young acolytes, Sisters Amy and Wendy, became absent from the Convent. Disturbed by this letter and by the loss of three young nuns, the Mother Superior seeks the help of Sisters Margaret and Pamela to solve the mystery.

The Corruption


“… Dearest Mother Superior, had I known he was a demon, I never would’ve spoken to him …” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

The Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent was not a large or particularly reclusive order, and in these more progressive times of the sixties, the nuns felt a strong connection with the community at large. They worn their “official” habits and wimples within the Convent walls, but dressed as civilians whilst doing their community work in the village.

However, there was a disquiet in the Convent. Mother Superior Josephine Haywood, folded the disturbing letter and placed it into her desk drawer. At first, she was unclear about its true authenticity. Was it really penned by one of their own, by Sister Simone? Where was Sister Simone now? It had been almost two weeks since her disappearance — and now — two other young acolytes, Sisters Amy and Wendy, were also unaccounted for.

The elderly Mother Superior was still deeply shaken by the blasphemous words of Sister Simone, who claimed to have been seduced by the forces of evil. A seemingly reserved young man that was new in the village, by the name of Luke, had befriended the young nun, whilst she was doing errands there. The supposed seduction had taken some time but once he had taken her into his confidence, his true identity as a sexual demon, and his mission, to corrupt her became apparent. Such a disturbing and depraved story.

“Heavenly Father, deliver us from these unclean spirits,” she whispered under his breath as she clutched her Rosary.

This matter needed to be treated with the utmost covertness. It wasn’t good news for either the Convent or for their faith. How could this have happened, if it happened at all, she thought? She decided to talk to Sisters Margaret and Pamela, who had been mentioned, in a minor way, in Sister Simone’s ominous letter. They would need to look into this matter, discretely.

The letter mentioned a unique religious relic. A beautifully crafted gold crucifix that was encrusted with rare stones — rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and with literally hundreds of tiny diamonds that graced its unusual design. Maybe it wasn’t real. A fictitious icon, made up by Sister Simone, in her elaborate shame. The nun had said that Jesus had been depicted, completely naked, upon the cross with his genitals on full display. By all counts, a remarkable item of great religious significance or a blasphemous object of demonic design?

The letter had intimated that the demon had used it, as part of his seduction of her innocence — using mind control — to make her masturbate using this crucifix as an infernal dildo.


The two Sisters stood silently waiting for their Mother Superior to talk. Patience was a virtue. They knew nothing of what they were summoned to do. They kept their eyes respectfully lowered as they awaited instruction.

The Mother Superior looked deeply concerned. Despite the hardships of her years in the service of the church, the Mother Superior was a very attractive woman — her femininity and elegance hidden beneath the dowdy uniform of subservience. Today, the fine lines around her mouth and eyes showed her age, though her face still radiated purity and beauty.

“Sisters,” she began, “We have a delicate situation. I will need your utmost candor and your discretion at all times. You understand?”

The two younger nuns nodded in synchronicity.

The Mother Superior reluctantly shared the content of Sister Simone’s depraved story with the two nuns. They both read the letter’s content without uttering a single word.

“You must understand that no word of this is to be revealed to anyone. Our investigations must be kept between us,” the elderly Mother Superior motioned with her forefinger to her lips, “At this moment, we have three of our sisterhood missing. We cannot assume anything. All we have is this rather dubious account, supposedly from Sister Simone, of their disappearance being something preternatural. Demons at work or something more earthy? Sisters Amy and Wendy seem to have vanished without a sign. Of course, this could be just a hoax. Yes, probably a hoax. But we must consider all avenues.”

“Where do we start?” Sister Mary asked.

“You must investigate a place, called Lou’s Diner. Sister Simone mentioned a luxurious apartment building, nearby. You’re looking for a penthouse suite. I know it’s not much to go on. But that’s all we have for now. Now, observe only, do not engage. And report back to me. You understand?”

“Yes, Mother Superior,” replied the Sisters in unison.

The younger of the two, Sister Pamela, looked very troubled.

“You looked upset by this,” said Mother Superior to Sister Pamela.

“It’s nothing. I’m just concerned for the well-being of our Sisters,” she replied in half-truth.

She didn’t voice aloud her real feelings. It had been troubling reading this blasphemous letter. But as she’d held the letter between them, she’d felt a faint, but distinctive buzzing, in the back of her mind. It hadn’t been painful. More like static that clouded her thoughts. There was a lethargy to this unexpected sensation … like something darkly stirring her deep inside … and strangely her vagina had become instantly wet … 


The two Sisters were dressed in their regular clothing. Their hair was tied back in ponytails. Their long dresses and modest tops concealed their inner beauty. Nobody really paid much attention these days. Nuns no longer looked like strange penguins dressed in their old-fashioned black gowns and white wimples.

The town was busy in the late afternoon. It was pleasantly warm and the sun brightened their dispositions, regardless of this strange assignment. Demons working in their village seemed rather incredulous. Sister Mary had found Lou’s Diner easily and now they were on the lookout for an apartment complex with its luxurious penthouse suite.

“Something of a Southern upbringing … the letter had said,” mentioned Sister Mary, as she thought about its significance.

“Do you believe she was really seduced by an incubus?” asked Sister Pamela, “I mean, do you think Sister Simone made all this stuff up … you know … about a monster with red skin, black irises, claws for hands, cleft hooves, a forked tail … and enormous genitals? Why would she do that? Why?”

Sister Pamela held her head. It was that strange dull thumping in the back of her mind. Again, not painful but a little overpowering. She squeezed her thighs together as her vagina began to moisten even further.

“Are you okay?” asked Sister Mary.

“Yes … Yes … Just a little migraine.”

“Do you want to go back to the Convent?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” answered Sister Pamela, “I’ll be okay in a moment.”

They sat down in the diner and Sister Mary got her a glass of water.



“… Then something compelled me. And I’m ashamed to admit this, Mother Superior — I rubbed Jesus’ erection with my thumb. As I did so, I felt a feeling I’d worked so long to repress since taking my vows. I felt aroused. I felt my crotch tingling with forbidden excitement. I looked down at Jesus again. Grinning, erect Jesus …” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

Finally, the two nuns got going again. Two blocks away, facing a private garden and some parkland, they found an apartment block that fitted the vague description in the letter. The concierge stood behind a lavish reception counter, more like a hotel than an apartment building.

“Afternoon. Can I help you ladies?” he said with a Southern twang in his voice.

Sister Mary remembered the Mother Superior’s words about, “Observing only, do not engage,” but how to investigate without some interaction.

“We’re realtors. Our client is looking for an upmarket apartment in your area. We were passing by and thought that this could be a likely location,” lied the nun.

“Well, actually the penthouse floor is vacant right now. Maybe, I could ask the owner to give you a call. Do you have a card?”

Of course, they didn’t. Sister Mary smiled sweetly.

“Would … would it be too much to ask … if we could just take a look first?”

“I don’t think it would hurt,” said the concierge as he fished out the key from behind the desk, “I won’t be able to escort you. Got to stay here. Rules, you know. Over there is the lift. It’s the only one for the penthouse floor. One button — up or down.”

“Thank you,” replied Sister Mary.

The lift swiftly took them to the topmost floor. The key opened the lift door right into the apartment. Maybe they had expected an empty place awaiting sale or rental, but to their surprise, it was still fully furnished. The views over the parkland were breathtaking. The place was enormous. With gorgeous hardwood floors, marble kitchen counters, a newly renovated bathroom, and expensive-looking modern art on almost every wall — but no sign of this mysterious “Luke” guy, or Sisters Simone, Amy or Wendy.

“This looks like the place,” said Sister Mary.

“Why did they leave their furnishings behind?”

“Maybe demons don’t need furniture?” answered Sister Mary.

They both laughed but the sound was hollow in the huge penthouse.

“I will look through the lounge, dining, and kitchen,” said Sister Mary, “You look through the bathrooms and bedrooms.”

“What exactly am I looking for?”

Sister Mary shrugged her shoulders.

“Anything that could give us a clue to where our Sisters have disappeared to.”

“What if the sex demon took them to hell to rape them for eternity?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” cautioned Sister Mary.

They split up and Sister Pamela found herself in the master bedroom. The bedroom was painted entirely black. There was evidence of dozens of red candles burned to just stumps. There was a king-size bed with crumpled black sheets — but beneath the sheets, there was no mattress, as it was more like a stone slab — maybe it was an altar bed for demonic magick?

She reached out and touched it.

Once again the loud, droning buzz filled her head. Sister Pamela’s mind vacated all thoughts all at once. Voices began to scream at her. All of them saying dark, sinister things. None of the voices were her own. Alone, Sister Pamela, felt her vagina aching to be touched. It quivered and quaked, as if highly aroused. Vaginal fluids flowed down the inside of her quivering legs. Her mind filled with the description of Sister Simone’s sex demon. The demon that had brought her to screaming orgasms as it used its tongue and its enormous cock.

”Undress … undress … undress …” said the voices urged her in her mind.

Without a conscious thought, Sister Pamela stripped naked and lay down, prostrate, across the black altar bed. She felt invisible hands squeezing her small A-cup breasts and pinching her stiffening nipples; while other invisible fingers found her aching pussy.

“Yes … Yes …” said the voices.

It felt as if she was on fire. A fire that needed to be quenched so desperately. The invisible fingers felt relentless as they began to penetrate all her holes. Fingers in her anus. Fingers in her cunt. Fucking her. The droning in her head seemed to rise like an unholy chorus … but Sister Pamela seemed to welcome its unholy song.

“Aaarghhhhhh … take me … take me …” she groaned unabated.


Sister Mary seemed almost lost in the maze of rooms. The huge apartment seemed to go on forever. There was a half-empty bottle of whisky left on the counter. She could do with a drink. The letter, she remembered, had accused her and Sister Pamela of being drunk together. It had been true. The Mother Superior had said nothing about that.

How could Sister Simone have known? And what of all the other accusations — her so-called visions — Sister Margaret and Sister Theresa playing poker, betting with money they stole from the donation box? Sisters Amy and Pamela, and herself, drinking to the point of passing out. Sister Wendy performing oral sex on the wife of a parishioner. Father Callaghan masturbating in the confessional. Father O’Brien doing things with young altar boys.

Yes, she had been drinking in secret. It seemed a small sin, but a sin no less. She opened a glass cabinet and retrieved a crystal-cut glass. The light from the window danced in rainbows across its facets as she poured aged whisky from the bottle. Just a single shot, she told herself.

A moment passed. Another shot. The strangeness of the drink seems disproportionate to her consumption. What was going on? Why was her head spinning and cunt so wet — as if infected by a powerful aphrodisiac? She thought about Sister Wendy. She’d always had a thing for her. Was it true, what the letter had said, that she’d been orally copulating with one of the wives? She easily imagined so. Sister Wendy had that demeanor. Was it her or the drink? She began to think about Sister Wendy performing cunnilingus on her — the little cunt slut — eager to get her tongue deep into Sister Mary’s juicy labia.

Sister Mary’s hand was shaking as she opened her legs and pulled her soaked panties aside. Her clitoris sparked with sinful joy as she gripped it between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it furiously and rubbing it up and down. She imagined Sister Wendy’s mouth sucking it like a tiny cock. Fuck, yes! She needed to pleasure herself so desperately. It was all she could think of. Masturbation. Masturbation. Masturbation. She needed it now. There seemed no stopping this sensation.

Just at that moment, she heard a loud cry from the bedroom. She tried to control her ragged breathing as she pulled her dress down over herself, wiping the cunt juices from her fingers on the fabric. She smelt of girl cum … but there was no time to conceal this … something was wrong.

‘Aaargghhhhhhh … take me … take me …”

Finding her way to the master bedroom was easy as she followed the guttural sounds. As she entered the darkened room, it seemed to suddenly brighten. The candles that had been inert burst instantly into life. And there on the altar bed was Sister Pamela. She was completely naked with her legs splayed wide. Her hands gripped the damp bed sheets as she seemed to be physically lifted above them by something unseen — something that seemed to be fucking her hard and relentlessly — it was as if Sister Mary could see the indents in her skin of invisible hands lifting her, holding her, molesting her … raping her.

“Let her go! Let her go!” cried Sister Mary in desperation.

Sister Pamela’s body continued to jerk and twitch as her invisible rapist continued its onslaught, ignoring Sister Mary’s pathetic pleas.

“Aarghhhhh … help … help … help me …” groaned Sister Pamela, who seemed to welcome the invasion one second and then regret it the next.

Sister Mary gripped the edge of the altar bed in an attempt to climb up and help her fellow Sister. But as she touched its hardness, her ears began to ring, immediately filling with a loud cacophony of jarring sounds. Dark voices from the shadows whispered blasphemous things. A kaleidoscope of obscene images, and wild sexual depravities, punched their way into her mind — it was as if the entire bedroom was filled with demonic energy.

She couldn’t remember how she became naked, but soon she found herself held, above the black altar bed, just like Sister Pamela. Whatever had her, had intent to penetrate her too. It was impossible to control herself, she knew it wasn’t natural … she knew it was evil … but still, her body desperately wanted it … no prayer was going to save her now … she felt the wanton evil enter her slimy vagina. It felt so hard and wet, so thick and long, filling her, reaching deeper and deeper, further and further inside her, until it was bumping against her cervix.

“Aaaarghhhhhhhhhhh …” her screams joined the agonized cries that filled the demonic bedchamber.

Her mind said no, but her body rippled with an uncontrollable sexual hunger.




“… And so, the visions kept coming. Bishops with secret families. Priests helping former Nazis escape Germany after the war. Giant palaces in the Vatican, filled with enough gold to eradicate world hunger three times over. Soldiers killing innocents in God’s name. So many atrocities were committed in the name of Jesus …” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

Sisters Amy and Wendy hadn’t been that close at the Convent.

Sister Wendy had never disclosed her sexual preferences for other women, especially for young, pretty ones. Convent life had been very difficult for her — leaving behind her wants and desires. But she’d always thought of her lesbianism as her own cross to bear. Though the Bible didn’t make overt remarks about female homosexuality (as it did about male homosexuality and sodomy), it was still against her vows of chastity as a Bride of Christ. Though Jesus had suffered forty days and forty nights in the wilderness, with the Devil tempting him, with all the pleasures of the world, Sister Wendy wasn’t particularly keen on the suffering part.

She’d recently had a secret and steamy relationship with the wife of one of the parishioners, but that was over. Adultery was a terrible sin — it gave her such a thrill — but unfortunately, the woman and her husband had moved away. She missed the lust. Dirty cunt sucking lust. Maybe it was for the best. It felt like another lifetime away. Now, she could atone for her sins and promise never to repeat them.

Sister Amy was a sweet young thing. She’d not been long in the Convent before Sister Wendy had noticed her. So pretty. So naive. So innocent. Like a glittering prize. So difficult to ignore. Sister Amy had made her vows as a Bride of Christ but that didn’t stop Sister Wendy from imagining all the sexual things she wanted to do to her.

Sister Wendy had always had a mild fetish for sexual sadism. There was something about being dominating that appealed to her nature. Mistress and slave. Sex slave. Since Sister Amy had arrived at the Convent, Sister Wendy had begun to masturbate whilst thinking about fucking this little vixen with a nice fat candle. Yes, if only. It was something that Sister Wendy could never explain but the urge towards the much younger nun seemed to overpower her better Christian judgment.

Today, Sister Wendy’s head ached from these bizarrely blasphemous and depraved thoughts, as did her oily loins. She’d make the excuse that she needed Sister Amy’s help to go down to the village for Convent supplies. Just a few essentials, she’d said. Sister Amy had agreed.


With their chores done, Sister Wendy suggested that they take a short walk before returning to the dull life of the old Convent. She wondered if she dared to make a move on the younger nun. In her carry bag, she’d kept a well-used candle, that had been purposefully carved into the shape of a man’s phallus. It was thick, long, and deliberately black. It smelt heavily of Sister Wendy’s vagina and anus.

Was this the opportunity she’d hoped for? Sister Wendy’s heart was in her throat. Dare she do anything? Rejection was always a possibility. But today, she felt confident. 

They’d walked into the private garden, behind a rather luxurious looking apartment building. The sign said, “No Entry”. They shouldn’t have been there without permission — but what the heck — the gate had been left open.

Young Sister Amy looked so content. They both sat beneath the hanging foliage of the old knotted trees, enjoying the glimpses of heavenly sunshine that warmed their bodies. Sister Wendy thought about the garden and the knotted tree … the Garden of Eden … all she needed was the wicked serpent.

They had both known Sister Simone through their bible studies. She’d been a very passionate student, who’d excelled in her seminary work. However, it did surprise them to see her on that occasion, as she walked arm-in-arm with a handsome young gentleman. They looked like a couple as they walked directly toward them — closer and closer — until they stood right in front of where the two Sisters were sitting.

Sister Simone seemed to have no problem looking them both in the eye. It was as if she’d expected them to be there. But how could that be? Then, to both of their surprise, Sister Simone turned and kissed the man on his lips. It wasn’t a kiss of thank you or goodbye, but an open mouth kiss. The Sisters could see their snake-like tongues moving back and forth as they sucked at each other’s faces with a passionate urgency. Sister Simone’s eyes remained focused on the two Sisters, as they both watched her, voyeuristically.

Sister Wendy felt the familiar wetness of arousal as she saw Sister Simone’s hand grip her lover’s bulge between his legs. She massaged his erection as she pulled it free from his open fly. She continued to masturbate him in front of the two nuns. They were both transfixed. Finally, Sister Simone broke from their passionate kiss. She licked her lips.

“Go on …” she urged, looking directly into Sister Wendy’s eyes, “You know you want her. Your cunt is on fire. Take her. Here. Now. Show us your true desires in the Garden of Sin.”

The Garden of Sin … yes …  it sounded like the perfect place for the things she wanted to do with the little fucking harlot. To fuck her and make her just like herself, a hungry cunt whore. Yes, she wanted to dominate this sweet, young Sister Amy desperately. But here and now? In front of another Sister of the Convent. It was all strangely bizarre but yet she felt compelled to do as she was told by Sister Simone. The serpent had spoken. It was as if she’d been brought here for that very purpose.

Sister Wendy grinned broadly as her hand gripped the back of Sister Amy’s head firmly. She forcefully steered the youngster’s face towards her. She was hers. All hers. Sister Wendy wasted no time in kissing the girl’s dainty little lips. But Sister Amy didn’t seem to be so amicable to kissing her fellow nun. She stiffened and tried to push back against the hand that held her in this vulnerable position. Sister Wendy’s open mouth pressed hard over hers.

“No …” came the only muffled sound from Sister Amy as Sister Wendy forced herself upon the young virgin.

“Excellent,” said the deep voice of the unknown man, “Bring them both to the altar bed.”

‘Yes, my Lord,” replied the hissing voices of Sister Simone.



“… Suddenly, I felt his hot hardness pressing against my wet, aching pussy. I spread my legs and tilted my hips, allowing him easier access to claim my virginity. A pillar of burning flame entered my maidenhead. I screamed and he roared. Oh, my dear Mother Superior, Luke’s cock burned wonderfully inside my virgin pussy. He thrust it in roughly and deeply. He buried himself in my willing, holy hole…” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

Sister Amy was still crying. She didn’t understand what was going on. It all seemed so unreal. One minute she was running errands for the Convent with Sister Wendy. Next, she found herself stripped naked and held down upon a hard stone surface in a completely windowless, black room, filled with red and black candles. She tried to twist and turn, but her wrists and ankles seemed to be held invisibly in place.

She turned her head to the left and the right, looking for purchase, but found nothing to help her out of this peculiar situation. She could see herself, laying spreadeagled a naked starfish, in the mirrored ceiling above. The artwork that donned the black walls looked medieval in origin. Like the demonic designs of witches and devil worshipers. What had she gotten herself into?

“Help me. Help me,” her voice sounded languid and slurred as if she’d been drugged.

She saw Sister Wendy, stand up above her on the altar bed — shamelessly naked and masturbating herself, she positioned herself between Sister Amy’s open leg. She could see that Sister Wendy’s fingers thrusting into her hairless cunt slowly and wantonly, and rubbing her engorged clitoris, as she looked scornfully down upon her. Her expression was one of twisted pleasure as she looked upon the young nun as nothing but a piece of meat — what had gotten into her? Why was she doing this vulgar, evil thing?

She was not alone. Sister Amy saw that Sister Simone also stood naked on the altar bed. When Sister Amy looked upwards into the mirrored ceiling, she noticed Sister Simone behind her, positioned so that her legs were on either side of her head.

Sister Wendy knelt between her legs and began to kiss Sister Amy’s virgin peach. There was nothing gentle about her seduction. Her grip was firm, demanding and soon Sister Amy felt the older nun’s tongue invading her. The Sister’s pupils appeared like pools of blackness. Sister Amy thought she looked mad or delirious — as she feasted upon the girl’s tight, young slit … pressing her tongue harder and deeper with every second.

“Stop! Stop! Please stop!” cried the young virgin nun.

But her calls for reprieve seemed to fall on deaf ears, as she felt Sister Wendy’s tongue penetrating further inside her — devouring her — seeking to orally deflower her as if she was to be literally eaten alive.

“Who is your God?” asked Sister Simone.

“The Baphomet!” answered Sister Wendy, as she momentarily lifted her head from her joys of cunnilingus.

“Yes … The Baphomet promises us unlimited lust. The Baphomet promises us eternal pleasure. The Baphomet promises us all the depravity we desire. But before that, there must be a sacrifice. Now, prove yourself worthy. Prove your love of evil. Of darkness. Hail Baphomet!”

“Hail Baphomet … What must I do?”

“Take this …” Sister Simone handed a bejeweled crucifix made of solid gold to Sister Wendy, “And break her repugnant virginity — give her virgin blood to the Baphomet!”

With those words, Sister Simone bent down on her haunches, so that her juicy, hairless cunt hovered just above Sister Amy’s helpless face. Sister Amy could only look up into the darkened groove that threatened to suffocate her as it began to press down over her nose and mouth.

”Fuck her. Fuck her for the true God,” groaned Sister Simone, whose voice no longer sounded feminine — more guttural, like an animal.

Sister Wendy held the unholy inverted object between the virgin’s open thighs. Her hands were shaking with a nervous energy that seemed to surge from her wet loins. Yes, the sacrifice must be made. She pressed the long arm of the phallic crucifix against the small opening of Sister Amy’s maidenhead.

“Yes … show her what a crucifix is really for,” groaned Sister Simone as she released a torrent of yellow urine over the upturned face of the young girl.

“No. Stop! Stooooo … Ooooop” the young girl cried, gulping for breath, as she tried to breathe and spit out the hot, salty urine as it squirted across her face, hair, and into her mouth.

Sister Amy felt a sharp pain between her legs. She tried to scream but Sister Simone’s full body weight pressed down upon her lower face. She screamed into her capture’s open, wet vagina — the vibrations of which seemed to trigger orgasmic sensations in the cunt of the evil Sister as she gripped her fat, blood-engorged clitoris and rubbed herself back and forth over her victim’s face. The sacrifice had begun.


The demon continued to watch them all closely.

Their plaything, young Sister Amy, was no longer moving. She was no longer breathing. Their sacrifice had been made. Her little cunt was bloody from where the virgin had been viciously fucked, by the sadistic Sister Wendy, with the unholy crucifix. The Baphomet’s crucifix.

Now, the two naked, sweated-coated Sisters lay opposed to each other on the altar bed. Their oily vaginas, and fat clitorises, pressed hard and hungrily against one other. Their splayed legs scissored each other as they both rubbed frantically together with wild obsession.

The demon would join them soon. His beast of a cock would fill their holes. His evil seed would fill their mouths, vaginas, and bowels. But for now, he was content with just watching them … voyeuristically … he’d made some subtle changes. Their hair had become blue-black, their skin was almost chalk white, and their breasts were c-cups. He’d made some less subtle changes too, as both Sister Simone and Sister Wendy, appeared more hermaphroditic … their clitorises appeared long, thick, and very phallic.

“Christ be fucked! Christ be fucked!” Sister Simone cried as they pressed their clitorises into each other’s vaginas.

“Arrghhhhhh …” Sister Wendy screamed as another powerful orgasm ripped through her sweat-soaked body.

There’d be no stopping them. Hours upon hours of raunchy sex. Filthy, dirty, perverted sex. Devil worshiping sex. Another demon Sister was brought into their fold. It was just the start. Soon all at the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent would bow down before the Baphomet. They would all look like the Baphomet. Their penal clitorises would be eager for penetration. Rape. Abuse. Human sacrifices. On earth as it is in Hell. The Convent would soon become an inbred, den of iniquity, where unspeakable acts of demonic depravity would become commonplace.



“… Anointed in demon piss, I felt reborn. Dripping with the contents of his bladder, I looked up at him and smiled. I ripped the rosary from around my neck and threw it into the puddle of demon cum and piss on the floor between my knees. He looked on with approval …” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

The demonic energy had finally dissipated … For now.

Sister Pamela sat slumped over, her legs pulled tightly to her naked chest. She looked exhausted, and battered, and was still sobbing into her bruised knees.

Sister Mary felt ravaged too. Her body ached all over from the sexual trauma. Her body was badly battered too — both inside and out. What had happened? There was evidence of bleeding, blue-red marks, and scratches covering both of them. But they had survived it. Whatever it was, it had been preternatural. Evil sex spirits. An incubus a succubus or both? She knew that this was the handy work of a demon without a doubt. And whatever fate had befallen upon Sister Simone and the other nuns, would have been just as unholy.

Sister Mary put her arms around the younger nun and hugged her naked form against hers. But still, her clitoris throbbed unnaturally.

“It’s all my fault. We should have never come here. I’m so, so sorry,” apologized Sister Mary.

She felt a strange mixture of guilt and pleasure.

“It’s not your fault. We … we … didn’t know what we’d walked into!”

What was more disturbing than their sexual abuse, was the unexpected thought that still lingered in Sister Mary’s mind — how she’d welcomed it — this was an unnerving thought. How could she have enjoyed it? How could she have wanted it to fuck her and bring her to such a powerful orgasm?

She’d remember the words of Sister Simone’s letter to the Mother Superior that described, in detail, the pleasures of demonic possession. No. It was completely wrong. This was pure evil. They had been raped and now whatever had possessed them, was still at large. And things were never going to be the same again.

What were they supposed to do next? Go back to the Convent and tell the Mother Superior that they had found the apartment described by the letter from Sister Simone — how they went inside and were both raped by invisible sexual demons — when their Mother Superior had told them explicitly to only investigate and observe, not to engage. Would their Mother Superior even believe them?

They hurriedly dressed themselves and took the lift downstairs to the lobby. They held each other for mutual support. For Sister Mary, forbidden sexual sensations seemed to still linger as she held onto Sister Pamela. No doubt it had been non-consensual in its complete savagery … but the intone of secret enjoyment remained … dare she imagine, that she was glad it happened … she knew she couldn’t share that thought. She clenched her thighs together, trying to ignore the continuous heat between her legs and the overwhelming desire to masturbate herself.

Returning the key to the concierge, they weren’t sure what he’d make of what they both looked like, all beaten up and ravaged. But as they reached the reception counter, it was empty. No concierge. Nobody.


In the relative safety of the Convent infirmary, Mother Superior listened in abject horror to Sister Pamela’s recollection of the events. Anger rose inside of her, hearing the young nun’s description of their misadventure. The molestation. The spiritual rape. The cuts and bruises were evidence of the truth in this wayward yarn.

In all her years, in the Sisterhood, she’d never come across such an incident. She’d heard stories before. Yes, there were a few tales of Sisters being ravaged by unseen hands. But they were just stories or maybe the overactive imagination of suffering sexless clergy. She’d witnessed many unexplained things. She’d seen stigmata. She’d seen self-flagellation in the name of their faith. But this was something else.

As a mature nun, she’d almost concluded that the Devil was just a fictional character. The so-called nemesis of their Lord Jesus Christ … just words on a page of their beloved Holy Bible. A book, she admired and loved dearly, with its stories of the twelve disciples, but somehow removed from the modern realities of the 1960’s. Never had she ever imagined the power of evil being able to inflict such pain and suffering upon her Sisterhood.

“I … I cannot explain it … it … it … but it happened, Mother Superior,” wept Sister Pamela as Sister Mary held her tightly.


Sister Mary returned to her private chamber.

There had been thoughts that she’d withheld from the Mother Superior. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Her body suddenly ached. The night was warm and the darkness seemed unnaturally inviting. Had she imagined it? Not the rape. That had been so real. Maybe rape wasn’t the right word, after all, there seemed to have been some unspoken recognition of her part in all this.

To bring them both directly into harm’s way.

Whatever she’d drunken in the apartment had had a part to play too — there had been a secret joy in watching her fellow Sister being ravaged. She’d tried to help her, or had she? Had she been more concerned for her pleasure? Her clitoris throbbed beneath her gown. It felt unnatural — but again, not an unwanted sensation.

There was a strange droning sound in her mind. What was that seemingly dulling sensation? Like a throbbing beat filling her senses with debauched images of the naked bodies of males and females. Like those awful Medieval depictions of Hell — but somehow these visions didn’t depict demons torturing them for eternity — no, quite the opposite, they all seemed to be engaged in bestial fornication. Evil, red-skinned creatures with breasts and deformed sexual organs, huge like horses. The naked men and women seemed aroused, eager to participate. They had black hair and shaved genitals. Their skin was pale (as if they’d never seen the sun). The men were all erect. The women’s breasts were full and their hard nipples obvious as their cunts gushed with juices — their clitorises deformed and as huge as the men’s penises.

It was a scene that seemed to call to her. “Come … Cum .. our dark orgy is about to begin.” The naked men and women all looked drunk or drug-fuelled as they began to fornicate with these unholy creatures. Sister Mary’s resistance had waned. Her body’s memory reminded her of the joyful feeling as demonic cock filling her mouth, vagina, and anus. 

“Yes … I’m yours,” she whispered in the darkness. 



“… Screaming, I came hard. Drool flowed from my gaping mouth, my body convulsed on the black altar, my pussy tightened around The Demon’s cock, and my ass squeezed the crucifix dildo. I saw stars. My orgasm only fed The Demon’s burning lust. He roared with pleasure, wrapped a claw around my torso, and lifted my body from the altar. He stood up and started sliding my body up and down his cock, using me like a masturbation aid. I bobbed helplessly on his cock as his claws dug into my skin …” — Extract from letter from Sister Simone, June 6, 1968, to Mother Superior Josephine Haywood of the Sisters of Christ’s Mercy Convent.

She hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe she’d been too busy praying to the Abrahamic God? But now it was too late. The sounds of chaos were all around but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Tracing back the steps she saw their downfall. She’d never expected Sister Mary to trick her into coming down into the catacombs. She’d said something about the letter being a lie and that she could prove it.

Why had Sister Mary’s face looked so pale? She appeared so anemic. She’d been very convincing. Why the catacombs? There were parts of all of this that didn’t add up but in Mother Superior’s eagerness to solve the problem, she’d been led into a trap.

Now the metal bars of the catacomb’s enclosure were impenetrable without the key. Sister Mary had the key and now the Mother Superior was locked behind these bars — a prisoner beneath her Convent — as all Hell began to break loose.


Sister Pamela was still catatonic. She refused food and water and appeared to be wasting away. Sister Margaret tended to her in the Convent infirmary, which wasn’t set up for this kind of psychosis. Sister Margaret had noticed that there was also a significant change in Sister Mary since her rape incident but somehow she seemed to have survived it better — if “better” could describe it.

“Sister Pamela, you must try to eat something,” said the motherly nun.

Sister Pamela said nothing. Did nothing. She just sat in bed, rocking back and forth, hugging herself in her inner struggles.

Sister Margaret shook her head. They needed outside help. This was beyond her capability. She wanted to speak to their Mother Superior, but she was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t like Mother Superior Josephine Haywood to be AWAL, especially at times of great need. She’d heard that Sisters Simone, Amy, and Wendy were also unaccounted for. What was going on?

”What happened to her?” asked Father O’Brien.

The elderly nun shook her head, she’d called the Father for his occult knowledge and expertise in exorcisms. Maybe this is what was necessary to restore order. It was a last resort.

“Ever since she returned from her chores in the village, with Sister Mary, she’s been in this state. I’ve tried everything. She refuses to talk, to eat, to drink. They both claimed to have been raped by something unseen. My examination of her … brought about my fear it’s something preternatural, Father.”

“What do you mean?”

“She initially recalled a story, to the Mother Superior and myself — about a malevolent spirit attacking her — that it had savagely raped rape … it … it all sounded so horrific. The cuts and bruises corroborated her story. I’m no expert at these things, Father.”

“That’s why I am here. Where’s Mother Superior?” the impatient Father asked.

”We don’t know, Father,” replied the elderly nun.

“Where’s Sister Mary, now? I need to speak to her … she must have seen or heard something to give us a clue of what we’re dealing with here. I heard that three other nuns are missing… Sisters Simone, Amy, and Wendy … are these events all connected?”


Four naked figures gathered, in the shadows of the catacombs, beneath the Convent. Two of the nuns kissed passionately, their tongues moving back and forth between each other’s mouths as their pale bodies rubbed urgently against one another. Their lust for sexual perversion seemed to burn through their veins. Corruption was their hunger.

“I did as you asked,” said Sister Mary obediently as she knelt and kissed Sister Simone’s throbbing clitoris that seemed unnaturally large for her slim, small build, “Mother Superior is here in the catacombs but she will not be a problem.”

”Then, we’re ready to begin,” answered Sister Simone.

Standing naked next to Sister Simone, in the form of a handsome young man, was Luke. The demon stroked Sister Wendy’s oily hair, his hand pressed her head forward, urging her to use her mouth to pleasure him. Pressing her mouth upon his turgid cock, he moaned unabated. How things had changed.

“Aagrh … yes! Throat me you fucking bitch. Aaarrgh. That’s it. Fucking deeper. Deeper!” The demon moaned as he spasmed and face-faced Sister Wendy harder.

Sister Wendy seemed more than content to satisfy his demonic needs, her fist wrapped around her clitoris which seemed to be as big as Sister Simone’s. Their demonic form had only become more obvious in the hours they had spent inside the Convent. 


“Who’s there?” it was the demanding voice of the Mother Superior.

The light in the catacombs wasn’t very bright. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be in her youth. She heard voices. Moans of pleasure. Maybe someone could help her. Maybe they could find the key and open the barred door.

“Hey … who’s there? Can you help me!”

Four shadows moved in her direction. They seemed unmoved by her pleas and in no hurry to assist her.

“Hey … It’s Mother Superior. Can you help me, please!” her voice echoed in the empty darkness.

And then she saw them. Three women and one man. All naked. She immediately recognized Sisters Simone and Wendy. There was a man with them that she didn’t know. A sense of relief washed over her.

“Sister Simone … Sister Wendy … thank God you are already!” her voice sounded concerned, “Can you please get me out of here? It was Sister Mary, I don’t know what got into her … please, open the door and let me out.”

She’d feared for the fate of the two missing Sisters — but as the moment moved on — her relief seemed to turn to despair as she saw they stood together with Sister Mary (the nun that had tricked her into this false imprisonment). Why were they all naked? What in hell was going on? She thought to herself.

“Mother Superior … You know what’s going on,” said Sister Simone, as if she could read her thoughts, “You read my letter, didn’t you?”

The Mother Superior swallowed hard as she remembered the content of that disturbing and blasphemous letter. That incredulous account of demonic seduction. Sex with the Devil. How one of her Sister had fallen for a sexual demon — and drawn into a world of sin, depravity, and evil desires.

“Let me introduce myself,” said the voice of a young handsome man.

The Mother Superior wasn’t unmoved by his naked maleness. His body looked toned and subtly muscular. Maybe slightly androgynous. His attractive features were more of a handsome angel. But she suspected he was the opposite. The man’s penis was fully erect. His sexuality seemed to make her mind twist upon itself.

No. No. No … he was evil. 

Her vagina began to become subconsciously wet without her consent. He seemed to have a sexual power over the nuns and now her. This was wrong. She must fight temptation. She watched, as Sister Simone made no secret of pleasuring him in front of her. Her small, delicate fingers wrapped around his long fuck-stick and began to stroke him.

“You may call me, Luke,” said Luke, “But there’s no need to be coy. I am here to help your Sisters learn their true calling.”

“Fuck God!” said Sister Mary as she pressed herself urgently against Luke’s muscular thigh.

“Fuck Jesus!” said Sister Wendy as she mirrored Sister Mary’s efforts.

“Why are you doing this?” cried the Mother Superior.

The demon just smiled. The whiteness of his teeth appeared carnivorous.

When your eye is healthy, your whole body is filled with light,” quoted the Mother Superior from the Gospel of Luke, “But when it is unhealthy, your body is filled with darkness!”

“And how can your Sisters serve the light — if they have never experienced the dark? Your Convent is full of sin, Josephine. Your nuns are sluts. Your priests are pedophiles — they have been falling — long before my arrival. I just gave them a little nudge in the downward direction. You’re a fool, if you cannot see it.”

“Let me out!” screamed the Mother Superior as she shook the bars.

“Not just yet. But let me give you a taste of what is yet to come … look at your Sisters and what they have become, already …”

Sister Simone stepped closer to the barred enclosure that imprisoned the Mother Superior.

A horror struck her, as the Mother Superior, looked upon what the demon had done to her Sisterhood. Their young bodies looked so pale, so fragile — like a kind of sickness seemed to affect them. Their limbs looked overly gaunt — skeletal. Their long hair was black as raven wings, as were the pupils of their eyes. Their breasts looked swollen, budging, with oversized nipples — disproportionate to their body frames.  And between their legs — their clitorises seemed more like male sex organs … more like the Baphomet … as rigid and upright as the demon’s cock.

Sister Simone stroked her clitoris. Her fingers danced up and down. She smiled as she stroked herself.

“What has God done for me? Can he satisfy me? No … Soon everyone here will bow down before the true God,” moaned Simone, “And you will be the first to be sacrificed for the glory of Hell.”




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