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, Hermaphroditic Transformations, WS, Coercion, Corruption, Young, NC, Rape, Bondage, Snuff, Sadism, MC, Blasphemy, Black Magic, Devil Worship, Demons, Satanism, Historical

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Based on the film by the same name. The movie itself wasn’t fantastic, but it inspired this story. I hope you enjoy it.

CREATED: 25.02.2019 / REVISITED: 19/11.2023

The Devil’s Doorway

(Adapted from the 2018 film of the same name)

BACKGROUND – Magdalene Laundries in Ireland

The Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, also known as Magdalene asylums, were institutions of confinement, usually run by Roman Catholic Orders, which operated from the eighteenth to the late twentieth centuries.

They were run ostensibly to house ‘Fallen women’, an estimated thirty thousand of whom were confined in these institutions in Ireland. Named after the Biblical figure, Mary Magdalene, they became primarily Catholic institutions. Women sent there were often charged with ‘Redeeming themselves’ through lace-making, needlework, or doing laundry. By 1920, Magdalen laundries had almost entirely abandoned claims of rehabilitation and instead were, “Seamlessly incorporated into the state’s architecture of containment.”

Though these women had committed no crime and had never been put on trial, their indefinite incarceration was enforced by locked doors, iron gates, and prison guards in the form of apathetic nuns. In 1993, a mass grave containing some one hundred and fifty-five corpses was uncovered in the convent grounds of one of the laundries. This led to widespread media revelations about the operations of these institutions. According to reports, the asylums became, “Particularly cruel” and “More secretive” in nature, and “Emphatically more punitive.”


It is the fall of 1960. Father Thomas Riley and Father John Thornton have been sent by the Vatican to investigate a ‘so-called’ miraculous event in an Irish home for ‘fallen women’ — only to uncover something much more sinister.

Riley and Thornton try to find who is behind the ‘sham’ of the statue of the Virgin Mary that purportedly weeps human blood. Armed only with a 16mm film camera to record their findings, the priests instead discover a depraved horror show of sadistic and depraved nuns, satanism, and demonic possession.

There are definitely supernatural forces at work here, but they aren’t doing the Will of God. The priests soon come to learn about how the nuns pray on innocence and naivety. The hapless priests are ill-prepared for this web of evil, devil worship, sexual perversity, and even murder. Soon they become prey and not predators.


T’was the late hours on the second Sabbath of October 1960, that Father Thomas Riley and Father John Thornton arrived at the gates of the infamous Saint Magdeline’s Home For Fallen Women. The Autumn hues of burned scarlet, bright amber, and rusty brown adorned the long acres of nobbled elms that lined the long gravel roadway to this remote and desolate place.

The anachronism of the ivy-covered convent buildings looked as old as the ancient trees. The decrepit stonework and masonry scared from too many centuries of seasonal extremes. Even the vines of ivy struggled to manage their foothold on the grim walls that made this place more like a fortress than a refuse for rehabilitation.

The wind howled angrily as they stepped from their car. Father Riley looked up at the tempestuous skies and watched as the grey clouds blotted out any remaining sun. He hated the place immediately. What a strange assignment from the Vatican that had brought them here to Saint Magdeline’s Home For Fallen Women in search of the divine.

He grunted and gathered his scientific equipment from the rear of their vehicle and joined his much younger associate, Father Thornton, at the narrow steps that led upwards to the Home’s doorway. The aged priest sighed. Any bravura associated with his task was long deceased from his toils. He was tired. Very tired. An older sister of the cloistered nuns met them at the doorway. Dressed in a drab grey habit, she looked them both up and down, as if they had come forth for illicit purposes.

“What business do you gentlemen of the cloth have with us?” she croaked.

“Orders from the Vatican, Sister. I have the approbation of the Pope. A miracle has been reported and we are obliged to investigate.”

“There be no miracles today, Father. Best you turn around and head back down the old coast road before sunset. The ways around here can be dangerous after dark.”

“There be no turning back, Sister. Call of duty. Did you not receive the communication about our visitation then?”

“I am afraid not. Communications have not been functional since the storm. About two weeks ago we got cut off. It’s something that you get used to out here in the wilds.”

“Then please accept my sincerest apologies for our unannounced arrival, but we’d appreciate your kind assistance with our investigation.”

“The Mother Superior will need to be informed. She is not one to entertain guests.”

“God’s work calls, Sister.” Father Riley handed the unfriendly nun an envelope that contained the nature and details of their assignment. The nun took the sealed envelope, closed the door, and disappeared without further conversation, leaving both Father Riley and Father Thornton to stand outside on the doorstep.

“Well, this is a great start.” Remarked Father Thornton.

“Patience young man. This is no presage, just a temporary obstacle. Son, I’ve investigated more miracle scams than I care to mention. This will not take long.”

“It’s freezing out here. Shall we wait in the car?”

“If you must.”


The Mother Superior pointed to the two uncomfortable chairs that affronted her large wooden desk. She appeared solemn and resolute in her obstructionism of their task.

“We are a rehabilitation home, Father. The sisters work tirelessly to do their part — but I assure you, there are no miracles here.” She laughed insidiously — but it wasn’t either funny or friendly, more like the crackle of firewood in the fireplace.

“Well, that may be, but we still need to take a look. It was reported that …”

The Mother Superior raised her crooked arthritic hand, stopping Father Thornton in mid-sentence.

“Yes. Yes, I can read young man. I take not these issues facetiously. The statue of Our Lady, the Virgin Mary, supposedly crying blood.”

“Maybe, if we can take a look?”

“Maybe it’s a practical joke. There’s nothing valorous here. The shenanigans! I am sorry that you both wasted your time coming all the way out here — but I must insist you leave the Home immediately.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. It’s the Pope, you see. He’s looking for miracles. It’s always good for the press. Good public relations for the church in these troubled times. He’s had us running up and down the country.”

The Mother Superior said something inaudible. And then reluctantly nodded her head.

“Make it quick.”

“It’s never quick. Science and all that. We have to take samples. Take film footage as evidence – miracle or not, it’s going to be a few days — maybe the best of a week?”

“Gainsay. Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“Take it up with the Pope. I’m just following orders.”


The two priests stood in front of the lone statue. Father Riley shone his torch upwards toward the head of the Virgin. It was beautifully carved in the purity of its alabaster whiteness.

“Well, it does look like blood?” Said Father Thornton.

His 16mm film camera purred as he captured its first footage of the alleged miracle.

“Well, it could be a great deal many things,” Father Riley paused and looked around, “It could be the wax of a red candle deposited there by a window draft.”

For a moment the gaunt-looking Sister Teresa that had been assigned to them for the evening was not in earshot.

Father Riley continued, “I hate these places. I hate the people who run them. They all just give me the creeps. Miracles don’t belong in a place like this. I just want to get this done as quickly and expediently as we can.”

“OK. It’s just … you know. God works in mysterious ways … right?”

“Yer. Sure he does.”

Father Riley tried not to sound bitter and twisted. But he was miffed. He could not even remember the last time he truly believed in divine miracles — let alone witnessing one firsthand. In all his years, in all his work, nothing had ever come close to inspiring him. Yes, he thought, this was another of these hopeless times. At best he’d find it a fraud. He did not relish having to stay a day longer than necessary.

“It’s late. The light is bad. An early start upon the morrow, maybe?” asked the nun.

“Sure,” replied Father Riley.

“The Mother Superior has assigned you each a separate room in the old wing. It’s down the main hallway and to your right.”

Sister Teresa indicated that they both followed her.


Father Riley unpacked his simple travel bag — more importantly, he readied the scientific equipment he would need to disprove and expose this hapless sham. The Pope wanted a miracle — well he wasn’t going to find one here.

How could someone do such an offensive and shameless thing? Faking tears of blood? He’d seen it all. He really was beginning to hate this thankless work. It had started off as an adventure — to find ‘true acts of divinity’ as his fellow Vatican brothers had described. But after two decades of abject failure, he was still no closer to a discovery; never far from disappointment; and dare he admit it to himself … never further from his God. He felt forsaken and forlorn.

Miracles were relegated, in his mind, to the likes of the Old Testament — where the world saw through different lenses — where strange phenomena, freaks of nature, and unexplained happenings, were the constituents of these fables that we now referred to as ‘Miracles of God’.

“God, give me strength,” he said to himself, “Why am I so forsaken?”


Father Thornton, slipped into his night clothing and settled in the rough cotton sheets provided by the Home. It was cold outside, but no warmer it seemed in the darkened rooms of their monastic accommodation.

He had sensed the disbelief in his colleague, Father Riley, who was experiencing a crisis of faith. He could see that he was jilted. The old priest had tried to disguise it – but his hatred for work was beginning to cloud his objectivity. Maybe he has been made virulent through his past failings.

Would they ever find a new Miracle of God? Evidence of the divine? The Holy Grail, as Father Riley had described it. They had not been together too long, in fact, he’d felt Father Riley’s initial resentment of his participation.

Maybe Father Riley had been a loner too long? Unnecessary — he’d told the Vatican Ministry. But with the overwhelming need for photographic evidence, the young priest’s skills with the camera had made him invaluable — as far as they saw it.

So here he was on another mission.

He pressed his cold fingers together as he closed his eyes and said the Lord’s prayer. He felt the fatigue behind his eyeballs and sleep overcame him quickly. But as he sank deeper into the dreamy darkness, young troubled voices echoed in his head. The sound of children — unhappy, restless, abused … they sounded like tortured souls … in constant pain and suffering.

Father Thornton awoke. He jumped upright. He looked over at the hanging clock. It was three in the morning exactly. He’d been crying in his sleep. The wetness of his salt tears soaked his face. The air was still and cold — almost frigid. The voices had sounded so real – so close by. But despite the unpleasantness of the awakening dream, the father found his penis to be rigid between his legs. The hard-on refused to soften. What was wrong with him?

Reflecting upon his awakening dream, he was confronted with the vision of pauper girls of various ages. The children were all poor or appeared to be dressed in either dirty and torn or ill-fitting clothing. Some were simply unclothed. Their nubile young bodies appear emancipated and ill-nourished. All rib cages, jutting hips, and collar bones. Their faces were gaunt and lacked the sparkle of their youth. Melancholic little faces.

He was not alone in this vision. He saw several cloistered nuns – none that he recognized by name. It was then, that he had a revelation … His first instinct was that the nuns were there to help these poor and unfortunate children — but he knew that was a lie. No, amidst the torment and abuse that befell these unfortunate young souls, the nuns were there to administer.

Oh, God help them!

His dream vision continued. Even as that wretched thought gained purchase in his mind, one of the elder nuns grabbed a young girl. Father Thornton was shocked at how the nun acted so inappropriately, hitching up her gown over her waistline and exposing her nakedness below. She roughly pulled the young girl across her naked lap. She grinned sardonically, pressing flesh against flesh.

The nun looked up from her misbehavior at the priest and simply laughed as she began to beat the girl’s bare backside over and over. The anguished child yelped for leniency that never came. Instead, the nun seemed even more animated by the girl’s suffering and increased the veracity of her attack. Smacking her red raw skin even harder, the nun was not sate, but her pleasure was obvious to all to see. Other nuns similarly hitched up their gowns grabbing the youngsters by the hair so that their faces were pressed against their hot wet sexes.

Father Thornton watched in complete amazement. He was paralyzed to act against this sinful performance … but still, his penis throbbed terribly.

Such perversity, he thought.

The terrible shock was followed by equally terrible guilt. Such carnal sinfulness. His right hand brushed against the hardness beneath his nightshirt. Sacrilege — how could he take pleasure in seeing such unadulterated abuse? Uncomfortable between his conflicted thoughts and his physical arousal; he rolled onto his front, pressing his unwanted hard-on into the mattress, and tried to forget this aberrant vision. Wrestling with an addictive compulsion to masturbate, the young priest began to rub back and forth as he prayed to the Lord for His forgiveness.


The morning light had just begun piercing the dark reassesses of the old home when a young attractive nun came to fetch the two priests.

“Father Riley, Father Thornton. I am so glad you came,” she talked only in whispers, “I am Sister Angelique and I will be replacing Sister Teresa.”

She showed them back to the large statue of the Virgin that graced the inner chapel. It was made of pure white marble and looked majestically over the chapel entry. Sister Angelique appeared to be very young. Maybe young and naive? Thought Father Riley.

“Blood?” asked Father Thornton, as he looked upwards at the reddish fluids that seemed to flow from the corner of each of the Virgin’s eyes.

“It was I that called the Vatican,” she confessed to them.

“Why the secrecy?” asked Father Thornton.

“I wasn’t sure what to do, Father. I knew the Mother Superior would deem it blasphemous of anyone to assume that this phenomenon be anything other than utter foolishness. But, I still felt compelled. I saw the Virgin bleeding from her eyes. The first time, I simply cleaned it away — but every time I cleaned it, the bleeding would start over again,” she paused, “This must be a sign? The signature of a divine miracle? Was the Virgin trying to tell us something, Father? Like a message from our God Almighty? The signature of a divine miracle? The Virgin is trying to tell us something, Father. Like a message from our God Almighty?”

“We don’t know, Sister Angelique,” reassured Father Thornton.

“Best not to jump to any conclusions as yet. Let us do our work. Though science all secrets are revealed,” added Father Riley.

Father Riley opened his bag and began the process of taking samples in various glass test tubes, while Father Thornton recorded everything on his 16mm camera.


“It’s definitely blood, Mother Superior,” reported Father Riley smugly, “And from my initial findings, I would say that the blood type be a rare kind. O-negative. We will be testing every Sister in Saint Magdeline’s Home — including yourself.”

The Mother Superior looked angered at his suggestion.

“I think this investigation has gone on far too long. Testing blood types? This is unacceptable!”

“Yours is not to determine what is or isn’t acceptable Mother Superior.”



Leaving Father Riley to undertake the blood tests, Father Thornton followed Sister Angelique through the maze of narrow corridors. He had suggested to her that he should take some footage of other areas of the Home as part of their research. His camera purred softly as he recorded every detail he witnessed. Sister Angelique showed the good father into the main work area of the laundry workroom itself.

The large room was filled with long rows of large industrial machinery for pre-wash, washing, and tumble drying of vast volumes of laundry. Between the heavy machines were large open vats and tables piled high in various types of laundry.

The room seemed to be a buzz of activity, mostly on the part of the dozens of scantly dressed, pre-teen and early teenage girls.

Upon his arrival, they all stopped their chores to stare at the priest.

All eyes were on him. Father Thornton felt uncomfortable but continued recording dutifully what he saw.

Most of the girls just stood and stared. Some grinned sardonically like Cheshire cats. A single young girl stepped forward and posed for the priest (somewhere between a fashion parade and a striptease). The others giggled and nudged each other at the girl’s playful antics. She smiled and danced provocatively before the priest’s camera.

Suddenly, without warning, a stern nun grabbed the girl by the ear.

“What in God’s name?” she said and slapped the girl hard around the back of the head, sending her toppling to one side, ”And you can turn that blasphemous thing off … You here! You’re inciting their illicitness!” she scolded the priest when she realized that he was recording everything.

Father Thornton stopped reluctantly.

“My apologies Sister Aine,” said Sister Angelique.

“Leave. Now! Both of you,” she ordered.

Father Thornton turned to leave (embarrassed by his own thoughtlessness), but long enough to notice the angered nun returning her attention to the young girl. The girl was now crying on the floor. The nun slapped the girl hard with an open hand, knocking her sideways to the concrete floor.

“Acting like a common harlot! How dare you!”

The nun produced a thin cane from within the folds of her grown and brought it down, in an angry stroke, across the girl’s exposed legs.

The girl yelped in pain, pulled her knees in, and tried her best to retreat.

“Sister!” cried the priest in open protest.

“Are you still here? I said leave! Now!”


It was three o’clock in the morning when Father Thornton jolted awake.

He’d been sweating profusely, to the point where the bed sheets were drenched in his sweat and his nightshirt clung to his clammy flesh. The nightmare had been disturbing.

However, it seemed that the more disturbing it was to the priest, the greater his shameless excitement. Yes, again, his flesh stood upright and turgid. His hard precum-coated cock was demanding of un-priestly attention.

He wanted to resist the temptation of touching himself, but as he lifted the moist fabric of his nightshirt and his sinful hand eagerly wrapped itself around his swollen fat cock. He began stroking his sinful flesh. Oh, yes! Oh fuck yes, it felt good to be wicked.

“I must not …” he thought.

But he lied unto himself as he continued his shameless self-pleasuring, moving his foreskin back and forth faster and faster.

He thought back to how he’d witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the Sisters of Saint Magdeline’s Home. That poor young girl. She had been no older than twelve years. Yes, she’d definitely been flirting with him. Maybe it had all been just a bit of innocent fun.

But he doubted it and neither did Sister Aine. The Sister had taken the difference in the girl’s behavior and had punished her in front of thirty or more other young girls of various ages. The Sister had beat her with the short cane to make an example of her. The other girls had just watched as if the beating was something of a common sight. But Father Thornton had been affected by it. Dare he admit, even excited sexually by it.

When Father Riley heard about it he had been deeply upset by the abuse and had taken the matter before their Mother Superior.

“Punishment father … They’re all little whores, tramps, sluts, harlots… Jezebels!” accused the callous Mother Superior.

“But, she was only a young child. The cruelty of it all. It is not fit behavior of the church to be treatin’ children this way? And you Mother Superior to allow such a thing?” scorned Father Riley with clenched fists thumping on the desk.

“You’ve some neck on you. Coming into this home and casting aspersions on me. Who do you think you are? You send all the country’s dirty wee secrets here, here to my home, and sally off without a care in the world. Sweep it all under the carpet and they expect us to hide the dirty laundry. Isn’t that it, father? Leave all the dirty work to the women.”

“Mother Superior, I don’t think that … ”

“No! You don’t, do you? You worry about how we treat the girls. What about how you treat us? Leave us to hide all the messes and cover it all up and sworn and all holier-than-thou. Do you know how many of the church’s messes that I personally have had to clean up? Do you know how many of the babies born here had fathers who were fathers, father?”

Father Thornton began to drift off. Half awake. Half asleep. In his mind, echoes of the argument between Father Riley and the Mother Superior began to blend back into the wickedness of his evil nightmare.

He could hear the disturbing sound of crying children. The groaning voice of an illicit nun. The sharp crack of the thin cane. The onomatopoeia of a bleating sacrificial goat. The evil nightmare churned like the huge laundry machines … Around and around … Grinding into his mind.

He was back in the damnable workhouse filled with those clunking and churning machines. He found himself surrounded by young nubile orphans. They were nasty young girls. All little whores, tramps, sluts, harlots … Jezebels! All naked and exposed.

He couldn’t help but look on lustfully upon their bare flesh. He filmed them like an eager pornographer. No longer embarrassed by his own arousal of their nakedness, as he filmed and looked wantonly upon their flat undeveloped chests and hairless pouting vaginas … All seemed ripe for sexual molestation. Embarrassed by his own desire for lewdness? He knew he should be, but he wasn’t. In fact, quite the opposite, he wanted them to look at his aroused state … To see the effect they had on his libido. He filed with one hand as the other wrapped around his shaft as he continued to point the camera at them.

Now he noticed that the evil Sisters of St. Magdeline’s were all naked too, spare their black and white wimples. All were masturbating themselves. Each Sister carried her own savage little whip to administer corporate punishment … Not for sexual misconduct, but oppositely — to make sure of compliance with their deviant sexual needs.

A nun beckons to Father Thornton. Encouraging him to capture the debasement and debauchery on film. Pedophile porn. He masturbated eagerly as he watched. His camera purred as he recorded their evil acts for all prosperity.

It seemed ritualistic.

As the process unfolded, there was something distinctly pagan, like a Witches’ Sabbath. The evil nuns brought forth a goat with a black studded collar on a chain leash. The naked young girls gathered around it, stroking it and kissing the foul creature.

The nuns made a way so that Father Thornton could clearly capture the debauchery on film. He zoomed in, to capture young fingers stimulated by the goat’s obscene genitals, bringing it to an erection. Its goat cock looked almost human, but disproportionately large as it bulged below its hairy torso.

Father Thornton overheard one of the young girls say, “The Devil has a strange penis.”

One of the naked orphans clambered beneath the animal’s belly as others assisted in inserting the goat’s long narrow phallus into her tiny vagina. The amorous goat bleated loudly. The well-endowed animal slid its strange sex organ into the young girl as she hollowed in both pleasure and pain from the animal’s penetration. The goat’s strong hind legs immediately began bucking and rutted against the youngster as its slimy semen dribbled forth from their bestial coupling.

Father Thornton groaned unabated as young fingers found his erection, masturbating him as they all continued to watch and film, as the goat fucked youngster after youngster.

“Ave Satanas! Cum semine frigidissimo!” cried one of the onlooking nuns.

Father Thornton bucked against the small fingers, that rubbed his foreskin, testicles, and oily anus. He groaned loudly and shot his load over his cheek, chin, and face. Spurt after spurt of slimy semen accompanied the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced.


The testing of the blood of all the sisters and the orphans had failed to reveal the identity of the perpetrator of shame. Nobody tested positive for the rare blood type.

The two priests made their way down to the catacomb beneath the home accompanied by three of the sisterhood. By happenstance, they had heard from one of the orphans that there was a girl that the sisters kept there. According to these accounts, the girl was a deeply trouble lass. Wild. Uncontrollable. A girl with no name and no apparent history. Another mystery? She was supposedly very pregnant, almost ready to give birth, but so inexplicably violent that all the sisters seemed fearful of her.

The Mother Superior had reluctantly agreed to allow the priests access — so Sister Aine, Sister Teresa, and Sister Angelique had escorted the two priests into the bowels of Saint Magdeline’s Home.

“I warn you. She’s violent. Don’t get too close. She’s already caused much harm to others,” Sister Aine reminded them as they approached the grim cell.

The place was more like a filthy dark dungeon. There was no natural light. Water seemed to seep through the cold brick walls making everything damp, cold, and clammy. Father Riley let out a gasp as he noticed, there on the grimy floor, was a small girl. She was shackled to the wall with heavy irons and virtually naked. Only a dirty one-piece dress covered her bodice. Her belly was disdained and bloated with pregnancy.

“This is no place for a pregnant girl. It’s shameful!” exclaimed Father Riley.

He stepped forward to examine the girl. She looked harmless, weak, and malnourished.

“Be careful,” cried, Sister Aine.

Just then the girl lurched forward against her restrains. The chains held her fast so that her progress was little more than a few feet — not enough to reach the unsuspecting priest. Growling in a wild animal, the girl thrashed about.

“Grrrrhhhh …”

“See. See. She’s uncontrollable.”

“Hold her. All of you. I need a blood sample,” he replied.


Then next evening the statue of the Virgin bleed from the eyes. A long line of congealed blood ran done the statue’s smooth whitish cheeks. Sister Angelique had called both the priests to observe.

It was complete pandemonium.

It wasn’t just the single statue in the small chapel, but now all the statues, throughout the entire Home, were all bleeding from their eyes.

Father Riley had re-ran the test. He tested each and every one of them.

“O-Negative. She is O-Negative.”

“So it’s pregnant girl’s blood? On all the statues?” asked Father Thornton.

“Yes … But that’s not the only crazy thing,” answered Father Riley.

He shook his head, not wanting to believe his own words.

“What then?” asked Father Thornton, impatient to hear the bottom line.

“After the Sisters helped me subdue her, I examined the girl thoroughly — initially I was looking for signs of abuse. But I discovered something else. Her hymen was completely intact. She is still a virgin. A virgin that will give birth any day now.”

“Could her hymen have been penetrated and grown back? There have been cases, right?”

“Even that being true — how do we explain the blood loss? She is already weak and anemic, but the loss of such a high quantity of blood would not be possible. She’d be dead by now!” explained Father Riley.

“A miracle?” interrupted Sister Angelique.

“Don’t go there. There must be a logical answer to this!” insisted Father Riley.


There was no logical explanation.

As Father Thornton slipped out of consciousness, his evil nightmare world began to the sounds of crying children; sounds of slavish whippings; and the sound of goat sex.

His body twisted and turned in the damp bedding as copious amounts of sticky pre-cum leaked from his engrossed cock head. The priest tried desperately to deny his desires to self-pleasure. Oh, the wickedness of sinful bliss. His nightmare no longer allowed him to be a spectator.

He was now a perpetrator of sexual abuse of the minors at the Home, joining the wayward sisters in their orgy of blasphemous and pedophilic pleasure. The young bodies of the orphans had been so tempting … So fuckable! They kissed his open mouth. Young tongues moved back and forth — exploring his mouth. The taste of sweetness. He sucked their flat-chested nipples as he groped their malnourished bodies. So thin, puny, bony.

He licked their pouty little cunts. Sucked their clits. Licked their anuses. They sucked his trembling cock and balls. They licked feverishly at his anus as they masturbated him and teased his perineum. At last, he penetrates their sweet hairless quins. Fucking as many of them as hard as he could. Fucking one, while another offered her cunt to suck. Yet others frotted against his arms and legs.

He sodomized their impossibly tight assholes. The Sisters encouraged it … They demanded it. They whipped the youngsters as he fucked them. Sadistic satanic sex. Buggery. The Devil’s intercourse.

They groaned beneath him, squirming as his cock thrust deeper into the incredible tightness of their little bowels. The smell of urine and feces filled his perverted senses. A young one emptied her bladder into his mouth, filling it with acrid pee. Another smeared her shit across his face … It was a bizarre orgy of demonic worship.

Finally, he found himself lying beneath the unholy demon goat. The fowl creature smelt of piss, shit, and cum. Its long cold cock, sank slowly and deliberately in his virgin bowels … The sharpness of the pain was acute. The overload of pleasure is just too much … Oh yes, sex with the Devil himself.

The damnable sisters chanted their praises of the ‘horned one’.

“Ave Satanas! Cum semine frigidissimo!”

He woke abruptly.

His breath was short and labored. Sweat poured forth as he panted in a futile effort to control his anticipation of perverted pleasures. The whip snapped. There was a muffled cry. The goat bleated. His rock-hard cock pressed devilishly harder against the sheets as he recalled vividly the sensation of the Devil fucking him deep in his filthy shit-filled bowels.

Oh, oh, oh … he was desperate for sexual release.

Knock. Knock.

There was a sharp rap on the door that gave him a jolt back to the moment.

“Who’s there?” he tentatively asked.

“Sorry for the lateness of my intrusion Father. It’s Sister Angelique. There’s something I need you to see,” came the answer.

“W-wait a moment,” he panted.

Father Thornton tried the best to compose himself.

He pushed back the wicked thoughts of his evil nightmare from his mind and did his best to straighten himself up. He quickly changed out of his drenched nightshirt and donned his gown to conceal his lingering excitement.



Father Riley looked across with contempt at the Mother Superior.

“She needs urgent medical attention. I’m no medical doctor, but she’s too weak to make it through childbirth and both mother and child are in grave danger.”

“Listen to you! You think you know better than us! The gall of you! We the Sisters of St. Magdeline’s have been dealing with your shit for centuries.”

“I was sent here to find a miracle … a virgin birth!”

“Blood and birth? They’re no miracles here Father Riley – only suffering, pain and anguish! This is hell on earth!”

“Are you refusing to help this girl?”

The Mother Superior scoffed.

“You think she some kind of Virgin Mary, carrying the second coming of Christ, in her vulgar little cunt?” she laughed out loud, “There’d be no damn Messiahs born in this wretched hellhole!”

“She will die without hospitalization!”

“So is the Will of the Lord!”


When the reluctant Father Thornton finally opened the door, standing on the other side of the threshold was Sister Angelique, together with a young orphan. The young girl, he immediately recognized from the workroom. She’d been the same girl who had been punished by Sister Aine for her so-called act of enticement before the priest’s 16mm camera. Her lewd little act had caught her attention.

“You remember Autumn?” asked Sister Angelique as she stepped through the open doorway, “May we come in?”

Yes, he had a problem remembering the nubile young slut who’d eagerly showed off and then been punished so brutally. His cock twitched at the thought of a repeat of her little lewd act, but this time … maybe completely naked?

“Yes. Of course. My apologizes. I was …”

“Having a nightmare?” whispered Sister Angelique.

She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Her light translucent clothing seemed to trace the curvy outline of her very appealing figure. A hint of nipple, collarbone, and pronounced hips.

“Y-yes,” answered Father Thornton.

He was neither sure of the nature of her inquiry nor how to answer the Sister’s pertinent question.

“The nightmares are getting worse … Aren’t they?”

“Y-you … You have nightmares too?” he ventured awkwardly.

“Oh yes! Sexual abuse. Bestiality. Pedophilia. Devil worship … And much worse father!”

She looked coyly at the priest — gauging his reaction to her forwardness.

Father Thornton felt his cock twitch again and then harden as if in anticipation of some perverted enjoyment in sharing such blasphemous thoughts.

“It’s okay, Father,” she said in a low voice as if drawing him into a secret conspiracy, “It will be our secret … But tell me … In your nightmares, do you ever see the satanic sisters sacrificing freshly born babies to the Phallic Baphomet?”

“N-no, not exactly. Maybe. But we shouldn’t talk of such things?”

He looked in the direction of the young orphan standing just out of earshot.

“If you think that is best, Father.”

“I just don’t know what to make of it all?”

Sister Angelique beckoned the young girl to her side.

“I need you to see something. I’m not sure how these terrible things are all connected … The nightmares … The bleeding statue …The virgin pregnancy … And this too …” she pulled the young girl between them, ” I’ve noticed that a few of the young girls have developed an unnatural swelling … In their vaginas.”

Sister Angelique indicted Autumn to raise her cotton tunic up over her waistline before the hungry eyes of the perverted young priest.

“I’m not a medical expert …” he admitted.

Subconsciously he licked his lips and noticed the young nun do something similar. He could not help himself. He needed to look upon the child’s sex … To see her nakedness below the hem of her flimsy stained tunic … Below which, the tyke was knicker-less.

He leaned closer to see.

“Look, Father. Look at her closely … Is it the Mark of the Devil?”

He knelt and looked upon the nudity of her dirty little pre-teen body. Such a young ripe thing, he thought. His cock throbbed at the sight. Fuck this was hot! Was this a dream? He hoped not. Now his eager gaze dropped further, over her jutting hip bones and mons pubis and between her hairless little pouting cunt lips.

There was a very slight sound of something sticky and wet being separated.

As he looked closer, her inflamed labia lips began to part, ever so slightly at first … Then wider and wider as the little bump of her clitoris began to elongate right before his eyes. Mark of the Devil? What was it? The protrusion seemed to grow forward until it stood abnormally disdained and upright, some two inches in length.

The girl pushed her hips forward lewdly and used her tiny fingers to prize apart her tiny labia to better display what the priest could only describe as a penile clitoris that stood upright from within … It glistened wetly, all puffy and pink … Like a baphometic erection of now three, maybe even four inches in length.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” exclaimed the priest.

Sister Angelique’s hand had been resting lightly upon the priest’s shoulder. Now her palm pressed against the back of his head, pushing him even closer to her engorged demonic appendage.

“Lick it, Father! You, know you want to!”

And he did, without further hesitation, he leaned forward and eagerly lapped at the stiff little cock-like object like a cat drinking milk. Licking it up and down, he coated her cocklet in his saliva, then traveling further down over her parted cunt lips, he briefly entered her vagina, plunging his tongue in as deeply as he could. Then he moved his head back up so that his tongue traced the shape of the short shaft before he engulfed the entire small clit-cock between his hungry perverted lips.

“Christ be fucked! That’s it, Father … Give yourself! Worship it!” encouraged Sister Angelique.

His head was spinning out of control. This was insane … But it felt so incredibly exciting.

“Aaarghhhh,” Autumn groaned lewdly in response to the wet suction of the priest’s lips as she pressed harder against his face.

“Yes. Yes … More … More … You fucking depraved pervert!” accused the nun, seemingly pleased by the priest’s exuberance with her suggestions.

Sister Angelique pressed his shoulders back momentarily, and in doing so, broke the contact between his lips and the girl’s pulsating hermaphroditic protrusion.

“Good Father. Finally, you see. You must set yourself free and become one of us …” she cooed.

Now Sister Angelique lifted the hem of her own gown, exposing her nakedness beneath to the kneeling priest. Though he wanted nothing more than to continue his oral pleasuring of the youngster, he looked up adoringly at the sexy young nun with eyes that burned with a new kind of deviant lust.

Her cunt was clean-shaven and equally youthful. Smooth and silky as any pre-teen — just a larger replica of Autumn.

“Look Father … I seem to be equally affected,” confessed the nun as her cunt lips also opened like an obscene fleshy flower.

Cunt fluids dribbled down the inside of her thighs as her clitoris elongated. Excited, hardened and now fully erect, it expanding and banana-ed forwards and upwards like a fully formed male penis.

“Do it. Yes. Oh yes. Suck it, Father … Suck it and offer your soul to the one true god … become one with Satan.”

Father Thornton’s eyes were wide.

A tear ran down his cheek. He couldn’t believe what he saw or what he felt. A burning lust so strong that nothing else mattered. He parted his lips and his tongue snaked forth, licking at her cock-like clit. He lapped at it with inspired eagerness – worshiping it with his saliva. His tongue wrapped around the crown and down its throbbing veined length. Unholy passions filled his entire body. He groaned as he felt the corruptness flow through his loins. His mouth opened wider as he took the head between his lips and drew it further and further into his orifice.

“Yessssss …” groaned Sister Angelique, “Worship me with your mouth.”

Father Thornton murmured helplessly in orgasmic delight as his quivering cock began to spasm, even without even touching himself. His testicles tightened sharply as he spontaneously ejaculated — shooting his heavy load inside his gown.


It was All Hallow’s Eve.

Father Riley had insisted that the nuns move the pregnant girl from her imprisonment in the catacombs to a more appropriate accommodation. The Mother Superior had not been happy about this arrangement.

“Be it on your head,” she had said with awful spite.

To protect both the mother-to-be and the unborn child, Father Riley administered a sedative. He had taken every precaution possible — but was doubtful about the young girl making it through the birth process without proper hospitalization. She was so weak. Too weak to move. She was too far away for the medical assistance she needed to reach her in time. Despite his crisis of faith, he prayed like never before.

It seemed for a moment that all was quiet. Sister Aine and Sister Teresa both had been tasked with keeping a watchful eye. They both made no secret of their scorn and disapproval of the situation — somewhat motivated, no doubt, by the attitude of their Mother Superior.

But things were far from settled. The lights flicked and faulted. A problem with the generator? Nobody could provide ample answers. All that could be done was to soldier on, regardless. Candles were lit. Many, many candles.

Father Thornton had been called by Father Riley to record and document all these strange happenings.

“She possessed, Father!” announced Sister Aine, “The Devil is inside her! It’s the spawn of the Devil she carries — we should abort it now!”

“W-what are you talking about?” asked Father Riley.

Again the lights flicked on and then off again.

“Bring hot water and towels. Comfort her. There’s no possession. She’s just been so badly abused — at the hands of your kind!”

Sister Aine seemed unmoved by the priest’s proclamations.

He stepped forward to examine her, when, without warning the bed began to shake violently. The young girl’s eyes shot open … Despite her heavy sedation, she seemed instantly aware and lucid.

“Help me!”

The bed continued to move of its own accord as Father Riley, Father Thornton, and Sister Aine looked on in abject horror. The girl’s body began to levitate from the stained bed covers. The bed base continued to clatter and bang about from unseen forces.

“See … It’s the Devil inside!” cried Sister Aine hysterically as she retreated backward.

“Shut up, woman!” said Father Riley.

Father Thornton kept his camera honed on the pregnant girl who now lay suspended some three feet above the bed. Her pregnant body twisted and contorted as her clothing fell away, leaving her naked before them. Her vagina opened and closed like a gaping fish mouth. Unnatural. Obscene.

“Demons!” shouted the Sister, “Demons … We must all leave now … We must leave …”

Father Riley reached for the girl trying his best to bring her back down. But as suddenly as the episode began, it ended. The pregnant girl fell back down on the bed. The bed became immediately inanimate. Many of the candles extinguished plunging the room into darkness. Everything was still. Sister Aine was weeping bitterly. A small pool of liquid beneath her legs evidenced her fright, filling the air with the acrid stench of sour urine.

“God Almighty. Holy Mother!” cursed Father Riley.

Not a man easily disturbed, he was shaking from fear. The lights flicked on and off. On and off. On and off again. An ambient scream from somewhere distant in the Home pricked his attention momentarily from the young girl who seemed to be reanimated by her levitation.

“Tis the work of demons!” whispered Sister Teresa.

“Sisters, stay here. Stay … Do not let the girl out of your sight,” said Father Riley.

With that, he then beckoned Father Thornton to join him in finding out what the new commotion was all about. Sister Aine and Sister Teresa seemed anchored to where they both stood as the naked pregnant girl groaned and rolled back and forth on her bedding.


Father Riley followed the sounds of intermittent screaming.

The damnable lights kept flickering. He pulled out a small torch to maintain at least some kind of illumination so that they could both navigate their way through the maze of dingy, dark corridors. He hoped it was a false alarm as they got closer to the commotion.

What the hell was going on? This was just too crazy!

“What could it be?” asked Father Thornton as he followed closely behind Father Riley with his camera held up to record their progress.

“Evil. Whatever it is … It’s pure evil!”

Father Thornton felt his cock harden in his pants at these words. He certainly did not want Father Riley to know how his true feelings towards this whole situation had been infected by his perverted nightmares and further advanced by Sister Angelique’s baphometic seduction. His eyes seemed to find an unexpected sexual excitement in watching the sick pregnant girl suffer — her bloated belly, her gaping wet cunt hole, and withered limbs being manipulated by a host of sexual demons. These were not Christian thoughts. He felt sacrilegious! Blasphemous! He’d never be more excited in his entire life.

Another scream. They changed direction. Down a flight of stairs. They were now deep inside a catacombs.

“This way,” announced Father Riley, like a bloodhound.

Father Riley stepped through the doorway into a darkened chamber He showed the light in the direction of where he last heard the screaming.

“Oh, dear God!” he cried.

Before him was a room, a temple, decorated with all the trappings of a high satanic ritual, he’d seen something like it before, but nothing quite as extreme. Father Riley’s throat was dry and parched. He looked about, shining the narrow beam of the torch over the walls and ceiling. Every surface was decorated in the bones and skulls of human sacrifice — like the catacombs of Paris, Prague, and Rome.

The floor was carpeted black. There were scattered black clothing that seemed to have been dropped as their owners had left hastily. There was the stickiness of blood everywhere. Animal? Human? The torch crossed over a large baphometic statue that dominated the end space ahead. Its horns and ugly snout portrayed its animalistic nature. Its large pert breasts defined a kind of feminine power. There were the bloody remains of something that appeared to be a fresh fetus or a baby that had been impaled blasphemously upon the statue’s grotesquely erect phallus … The blood offered a human sacrifice. It was a grim and vile discovery.

Father Riley gagged. He felt like throwing up.

“Satanic rites. There’s been a ritual performed here. A human sacrifice offered to the Devil. Here, right under our noses,” he cried.

“Who has done this?”

“This is the work of Witches … Satanic nuns … Vile blasphemous creatures!”

Another scream. This time from where they had left the pregnant girl in the care of the sisters.



Father Riley returned to the room in which he’d left the three nuns to watch over the pregnant girl. But the girl was gone. Bloody sheets covered only a cold empty bed. Two of the three sisters, Sister Aine and Sister Theresa, were busy cleaning up the gory mess.

‘Where is she?” demanded Father Riley.

“Dead,” announced Sister Aine.

She didn’t sound upset about it. It was as if they all knew and expected the outcome.

“Both mother and child died at birth,” explained Sister Theresa, “The girl was too weak. The baby was malformed and died shortly after birth. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

“It is the Will of God,” interrupted the impertinent Sister Aine.

“I don’t believe you! Where are the bodies? I want to do an autopsy,” accused Father Riley.

“You’ll have to see the Mother Superior,” insisted Sister Aine.

Father Riley’s heart sank.


“What happened to the girl?” demanded Father Riley, “The sisters said both mother and child died during or shortly after the birth. I want to examine their bodies. I want to get to the bottom of this!”

“Don’t you think you’re are stepping over your mandate Father?” answered the Mother Superior, “Miracles … remember? You were sent here to find a miracle. You have failed. I suggest you go home and forget this place!”

“There were signs everywhere!” barked Father Riley, ”I should have realized earlier!”

Sister Aine, Sister Angelique, and Sister Teresa looked on. The grim Mother Superior just glared at him as she smoldered.

“… And with all the trappings of a satanic ritual. It was some kind of bloody sacrifice. Human sacrifice! This is hard evidence that must be reported back to the Vatican immediately,” ordered Father Riley.

His demeanor was steely calm, but inside he was a tempest of unchecked emotions. Never in his priestly days had he seen such absolute evil. The sacrificial offering of a newborn baby, impaled upon the pointed phallus of that ungodly idol — all bloodied as it hung lifelessly upon the Devil’s cock.

He’d witnessed many wayward things in his long career as a priest – some of which had contributed to his crisis of faith. But this was something else. Aberrant. Debauched. Twisted. This was a complete abomination! Right under the Mother Superior’s supposedly discerning eyes! Was this a case of incompetence or was she somehow involved? Either way, it was ending tonight.

“We have it all on camera!” he looked towards Father Thornton, “Right?”

Up until this point Father Thornton had been very quiet. He lurked back in the shadows. He looked uneasy during the confrontation of their Mother Superior.

“Actually …” he muttered, “I couldn’t see much in the darkness. It was all very confusing.”

Father Riley looked around at him in total disbelief.

“You saw it. You must have seen it. The blood. The dead body of the newborn! The bloody gore!”

“Maybe Father Thornton is right,” interrupted the Mother Superior.

She now seemed to be smiling like an evil Cheshire Cat. It was an unsettling expression — like a cackling of a hungry hyena.

“Maybe it was all a bit confusing. Maybe you were hallucinating? There’s nothing untoward here Father Riley. We do god’s work. Maybe … it never happened.”

“Are you all insane?” cried, Father Riley.

“Maybe, it is you who needs to be restrained. Interfering. Meddling in things you shouldn’t. Accusing the Sisterhood of satanic sedition. All this talk of rituals, witches, sacrifices … Allegations of satanic abuse and infanticide… Maybe it’s all in your head Father. The product of overactive imagination … Too much country air.”

Father Riley was flabbergasted.

He looked around at the circle of nuns that had gathered in support of their Mother Superior, whose face was now a grimace of contemptuous evil.

Father Thornton put his hand on Father Riley’s shoulder.

“Maybe we need to step back? We were sent to a miracle. There’s nothing here but a wild girl who died at childbirth and a malformed fetus that never lived?”

Father Riley pushed him away violently with complete disgust.

“You? You’re one of them! They … they … they turned you!?!?!”

Sister Angelique who had been standing immediately behind Father Thornton pressed her groan against his rear. She frotted her engorged cock-clit rubbed hard against his backside through the material of his priestly gown.

“I think you’re not feeling well? Maybe you should lay down?” answered Father Thornton.

Father Riley, as strong as he was, seemed overcome.

Everything went dark.


Father Riley woke abruptly. He’d been in a deep dreamless sleep. He still felt the nausea. Everything around him seemed dark and dank. Where was he? His disorientated and awkwardness didn’t help. The veins on the side of his head seemed to throb, and the blood rushed to his skull, as they felt as if they were about to burst open. He felt his eyes bulging. His entire world was wildly spinning. But in it all, he felt suspended … upside-down.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”

His limbs ached and he felt pain as he pulled against the restraints that held him in a spreadeagled position. The hard splintering wood, tore coldly against his bare skin — as he came to realize that he had been suspended across a Saint Andrew’s cross. This was not all, he was de-robed, hanging upside down, and completely exposed.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”

The chanting was disturbingly close.

He desperately sorts focus. Father Riley’s eyes tried to find purchase in the iridescent light of the burning torches that seemed to be the main source of light. He recognized the skeletal remains that served as primitive decoration. He was in that damnable temple… The satanic temple in the catacombs. The droning chant and pagan beat reminded him of his last conscious thought — he had fallen among a nest of evil Satanists, all hell-bent on outrageous blasphemies.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”

He’d been betrayed. Damn. He felt a pinch of sadness for the young Father Thornton — he’d had shown some promise. Too much youthful exuberance? Why hadn’t he seen it coming? The young man turned by these evil satanic witches — what perversities had befallen him? What was to happen to both of them? God help us! He thought.


The satanic witches lead Father Thornton into the seductive blackness of the crypt deep below their Home. It was wickedly decorated from floor to ceiling in the bony remains of thousands of child sacrifices – all made to glorify the looming baphometic idol. Centuries upon centuries of blood, death, and sex perversity.

Father Thornton now looked upon its strangeness; the obscene arrangement of both male and female genitalia; of pointed-coned nipples that crested upon hard black bosoms; beneath its ghastly goat-like face and horns. Devil incarnate. The witch’s god or goddess or both. The Baphomet’s eyes seemed to glimmer. They were alive, staring, unblinkingly back at the priest’s own erect state.

He pondered on his own corruption. Unholy. Unclean. His divine corruption towards the inevitable left-handed path, away from the Nazarene, to embrace a darkly sexual entity that made his whole being pulsate with delicious sinfulness!

Hail the cock of Satan! Hail perversity!

He glanced around. The glowing satanic temple was filled with the evil energy of twenty or more witches. They were all dressed in dark translucent tunics, open to the front, but still in their nunic black and white wimples. Blasphemous. They all stood proud of their diabolic nakedness as they stood together in a loose semi-circle. He stared openly at their perverted beauty — each of the damnable witches was ‘Devil marked’. They all seemed to be afflicted in a similar way to that of Sister Angelique and the young Autumn. Father Thornton watched excitedly as the unholy congregation all ritualistically rubbed their exposed tits and clit-cocks …. Demons. Sex demons.

A similar number of naked young girls, including young Autumn, knelt before their beloved their beloved black Baphomet. Autumn turned and acknowledged him. Precum dripped from the tip of his rock-hard cock from the recent memory of their night of lust, where he’d sodomized her so deliciously, his cock sawing in and out of her pungent shit hole, while the shemale Sister Angelique, took his anal virginity.

The sensations coursed through him, mind, body, and darkened soul.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!” the young girls chanted so eagerly.

Sister Angelique grinned back evilly at Father Thornton.

Her cock-clit stood upright against her stomach, pressing open her protruding labia, and exposing her vaginal vestibule like a dark hole waiting to be filled with immorality. Father Thornton longed to take her shemale cock in his eager mouth and suck upon its corruptive flesh. In her arms, she cradled a small unclothed dirty pinkish baby. The newborn cradled precariously in her arms. She groaned and took sexual pleasure as she breastfed the hungry mouth of the hungry child. Was this the child of the imprisoned girl or yet another unwanted child of any number of pre-teen mothers? Devil fornication or divine intervention?

Father Thornton stood naked, except for a thick leathery collar and steel chain, similar to the ones the witches used to leash their demonic goats. Yes, he could smell those foul animals close by. Evil, vile and horny.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”

Sister Aine lead him forward pulling the doglike chain until he stood before their Mother Superior who affronted her demonic congregation of horny witches. The witches pressed him to kneel before the Mother Superior. She was momentarily preoccupied with urinating into a large silver chalice marked with the baphometic insignia.

Once she’d emptied her stinking bladder, she returned her attention to the kneeling priest. She smiled down at him triumphantly as one of the young witches began to masturbate him. Evil had overcome good.

The concoction bubbled in the demonic chalice. She pressed its edge to his lips and he drank from the strange elixir that seemed to have been activated with the Mother Superior’s dark salty urine. It tasted foul and burned his throat, but that did not dissuade him from finishing its entire content.

The Mother Superior’s gaze returned to the other priest who now hung unceremoniously before the black Baphomet. Her expression was one of demonic joy. It said that she was no longer concerned with her secrets being spoken of … No longer fearful of any Vatican interventions.

The fucker was going to die and all would continue as it had for numerous centuries.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”


Father Riley hung naked and semi-conscious. His body had been bound upside down against the heavy hammer beams of a very ancient St. Andrew’s cross. The older priest groaned awkwardly as his head rolled from side to side in delirium.

Sister Aine spat on the priest while playing with his exposed genitals. Her expert fingers quickly brought him to an unwilling erection.

The Mother Superior looked down on Father Thornton who was now drunk in his deviant lust. She pressed her huge clit cock into his willing mouth. Her cunt dripped beneath, like a pungent waterfall of vaginal slime, as she took her pleasure sliding her unholy appendage, a gift from the Devil, further down his willing gullet.

“Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck God!”

“Fuck God! Praise Satan!” cried the Shemale Devil.

“Fuck God! Praise Satan! Fuck God! Praise Satan!” responded the jubilant satanic sisterhood, their voices joining that of the perverted youngsters.

“Father Thornton … You are now one of us. A servant of the one true god! The horned one will be pleased with your sacrifice. After you rape and kill Father Riley for our mutual pleasure … We shall feast on his body parts. You … You may eat his raw genitalia! Taste his blood and semen! Fuck God! Praise Satan!”

“Fuck God! Praise Satan! Fuck God! Praise Satan!”

“Just like the fucking Nazarene, he will die in vain for his helpless faith! Crucified to save nobody! It’s a worthless act. Pathetic! His life and his soul taken to hell, where it belongs.”

The perverted sisters gathered closer around their Shemale Devil, all nauseatingly sweat-dripping and naked. Each of the demonic witch-nuns rubbed their engrossed clit cocks as they fingered their sloppy wet cunts.

The Shemale Devil took the pink-skinned newborn from the arms of Sister Angelique. She pressed her own mouth to the milky flow from the nun’s small breast, tasting its sweetness. The baby cried. She held it up by one leg, hovering its body over the pointed cock of the black Baphomet. It wouldn’t be long before it felt the evil idol’s phallic spear. The witches and their corrupted youngsters, all masturbated furiously, edging towards their demonic orgasm and the impending impalement of the bawling child.

“We, the servants of the Horned One, continue in service, as we have done since time immemorial … Satan’s work is never done! Praise be to the Lord of Hell. No miracles here father. Well, except maybe the miracles of Satan, who has chosen to make us in his own image! Fuck God! Praise Satan! ”

“Fuck God! Praise Satan! Fuck God! Praise Satan!”



Dated: 1 November, 1960

In regards to the anomaly reported at the Saint Magdeline’s Home For Fallen Women.

Upon our close investigation, the anomaly was determined not to be a miracle, but simply a misunderstanding. The so-called blood tears from the statue of the Virgin were found to be of a wax-type residual from nearby candles that had been deposited by a drafty window.

No further investigation is necessary and it is recommended to close this file. In a separate, but related incident, Father Riley passed away shortly after this assignment. His death was caused by a fatal heartache. He had been in poor health leading up to and during the said assignment. He was cremated at the Saint Magdeline’s Home under the kind supervision of their Mother Superior and the Sisters of Mercy.

I wish to thank the Sisters for their complete cooperation in this matter.

Father John Thornton. Vatican Investigations Division, Ireland.




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