THE SPANISH INQUISITORS 5

Feature Writer: Jason Lancing

Feature Title: THE SPANISH INQUISITORS 5

Published: 25.08.2021 / Mr Double Sex Stories

Story Codes: Nuns, Rape, Rituals

The Spanish Inquisitors 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Dolores could hardly wait to tell her friend and roommate Sister Maria the good news when she was put back in her cell. Finnally after these many months she would say confession. Her roommate listened to her with sympathetic pleasure but not enthusiasm.

Expectantly the fifteen-year-old waited on hands and knees for approval. Even alone in her room, Dolores did not forget her place as Andres’ dog, remaining on her paws and sleeping on the filthy rags. Now she wished she had a real tail to wag to show Maria just how joyous she felt. But to her chagrin the nun did little but smile and murmur a weak approval.

“Why don’t you come with me, Maria,” she urged suddenly, trying to share her good fortune. “I know you don’t go often but you can visit whenever you want, can’t you?”

“Oh yes. I have a pass to visit the fifth floor whenever I like,” Maria assured the young teenager. But strangely she did not accept Dolores’ offer to accompany her.

“But then doesn’t Father Manuel want you to come?” queried the girl, confused by the pretty nun’s lack of interest.

“They could not very well refuse if they did,” said the woman with a surprising trace of bitterness. “I saved their lives. It was I who saved every one of them.”

“They?” asked Dolores curiously. “I have only heard of Father Manuel Fuentes. How many are there? And how did you save them?”

“As to how I rescued their skinny necks, perhaps they’ll tell you tomorrow. There were eleven others of us in the town where we worked-eleven besides myself in the service of the Church. Father Manuel, two young men studying for the priesthood, and eight nuns. If it had not been for me the would have died like the rest when the churches were burned.”

“Then they must by very fond of you. Why won’t you come with me?”

Mysteriously the nun remained silent, her head bowed. A bitter smile had crossed her lips.

“Please do come,” urged Dolores again. “I’m frightened now. What is it you’re not telling me? Please come with me.”

Maria sighed deeply after another moments reflection. “All right, my friend Lola,” she said with resignation, reaching down to pat the girl on her burr head. “I’ll go with you.”

It was Carlos Suanzes who escorted the two girls down on the elevator. Dolores had cleaned herself as best she could for the occasion, putting on a new bright collar Andres had recently bought her. Maria as always was quiet in her full dark habit.

“You may stand for today, Lola,” said Carlos to the squatting teenager, “if you want. Andres said it would be all right.”

Dolores was surprised at his words. It had been so long since she had thought of herself as fully human that it did not occur to her it would be unseemly to appear in front of the priest on all fours. How very thoughtful of her master. She felt very affectionate toward Andres. With a groan she stood and assumed the now unnatural position.

Carlos did not come with them. Instead Maria led the way. The room was huge and dark, the windows draped. All the partitions had been knocked out so that the entire floor was bare. As far as Dolores could tell there were neither chairs not tables nor furnishings of any sort.

But near one corner there was a huge hole in the wall. Fifteen feet across its edges were still ragged with broken concrete and twisted pipe. A beautiful view of Barcelona could be seen through the opening but from its edge the distant street below seemed perilously close. From it came the only light. There was no electricity. And behind the heavy drapes the windows had been painted black.

“The hole you see,” came a thin voice from behind Dolores, causing her to jump with fright, “came at a time when the Fascists barricaded themselves on this floor and futilely tried to defend themselves from the Republicans. Not only did high explosives blow out that wall but the entire floor was gutted by fire. It was too expensive to put back in order so the victors just swept the remnants of furniture and partitions out the hole and left it this way.”

Her senses recovered Dolores peered into the gloom to make out the speaker. Though he was only a yard away she had to strain to see his face. She judged that he was very young and thin. One of the students that had been with Father Manuel, she guessed.

“I suppose,” continued the young man, “that is the reason they have left us alone here, not murdered us to make room for more important prisoners. It would take too much time, be too expensive to make it a safe jail.”

“I have to come to see Father Manuel,” said Dolores anxiously, in her eagerness forgetting to thank the boy for his explanation. “I have come to make confession.”

“You have come to the right place,” smiled the youth. “In fact the only place. Manuel Fuentes is perhaps the only priest left alive in the whole city. Follow me.”

As the young cleric led the way toward a distant corner Dolores tried to peer into the blackness to make out what was ahead. It was useless and the vast darkness frightened her. She was comforted to hear Maria’s footsteps close behind.

“You must be, Lola,” came a deep voice out of the gloom. “Andres Eroles told us you were coming. I am Manuel Fuentes.”

Dolores still could see nothing. The shadowed voice seemed to roll at her from all sides, deep, melodious and hypnotic.

“Where are you, Father?” she gasped, straining her head forward in an attempt to find him.

“Your eyes will adjust soon, child,” boomed forth the steady bass. “Do not worry. It is never light here but soon you will be able to make out one from the other. And we here enjoy the gloom. We have come to shun the light.”

“Can I make confession?” asked the perplexed girl, still afraid she’d lose the opportunity. It had been so long.

“If you like,” came the distant response without passion or concern. “You may confess to me. And also we have prepared a special service for you-having learned of your desire to join us.”

“Thank you, Father,” whispered the teenager.

“And you too, Sister Maria, we welcome you too.” These last words seemed somehow ominous and the word ‘too’ echoed slowly through the hall. Suddenly there was a glare of light, blinding in the intense darkness. Some one had lit a candle. They set it on the floor and Dolores found it gave little illumination after all.

But now at least she could see and was surprised to find she was surrounded by shadowy hosts. In their hoods and cassocks they looked like ghosts in a graveyard. She was frightened and reached back to find Maria’s comforting warm hand.

One of them emerged from the mass and stood before her. It was Father Manuel and she was surprised to see that he was quite young, not old and gray as she had hoped and pictured. But in spite of his youth he looked unhealthy, fat and flushed, with deep set dark eyes. He did not look like a man of God.

“What is it you wish to confess, child?” he asked softly.

In confusion Dolores glanced around her. Surely he did not mean to hear her confession like this, where he and all of them could see her and hear. She looked back over her shoulder at Maria who only nodded.

“It is not a desirable place or circumstance,” began Fuentes, seeing her consternation. “But we have no place for privacy here and a word uttered in one part of this vast cavern can be heard in any other. We have only the darkness to conceal ourselves from one another, to hide the secrets of our conscience. You may as well speak your confession here Lola, for all of these are religious and would listen to what you said no matter where we sat.”

Dolores sighed deeply. She longed for the privacy of a little booth as she had known as a child. She wished to share her thoughts only with God and for Him only to forgive her. But these were difficult times and so bravely she began.

“I have sinned father. It began when I was raped . … ” In a sweet soft virginal voice Dolores told him all her troubles, transgressions and misery. About her the priest, clerics and nuns heeded her unburdening, some of them smiling under cover of the shadows at her childish guilts. Though she had a lot to tell it seemed to the girl she was finished as soon as she had begun. Devotedly she said a prayer and asked for forgiveness.

The ritual over Father Manuel smiled at her complacently. “I’m sure God had heard you, child,” he said simply in his bass voice. “But have you also listened to Andres Eroles’ advice?”

“Why? What?” uttered the surprised child. She could not imagine why the hole man was referring to the atheist.

“The lesson of humility, I mean,” instructed the priest. “Outside these walls people are killing and dying, suffering mutilation, living in sin and without hope of salvation. And you are concerned only with a thin piece of skin between the lips of your cunt.”

Dolores gasped and stepped back, staring at the priest in wide-eyed astonishment. Had the righteous father really used the word ‘cunt’? Could a religious say such a thing? For a moment she doubted he was really ordained.

“Don’t be so shocked and naive in these hard times, Lola,” he continued sternly.

“My name is not Lola. It is Dolores.”

“It has been Lola ever since you entered the Hotel Infierno,” snickered the obese holy man. “And you will have to learn a lesson of humility. Pride is a sin too, Lola. While men struggle and die outside you are selfishly worried about a tiny part of your body-your cunt. You are concerned about insignificant things that have happened to your insignificant body-and you yourself are an insignificant person. God will punish you for your pride Lola. He will banish you to Hell.”

“Nooo,” shrieked the girl, clamping her hands over her ears so that she could not hear. What was he doing? Accusing her because she had been pure, had felt guilty by her loss of virginity and the degradation of her soul? This was not a man of God. Everything was upside down.

“You’re not a priest,” cried the unfortunate, “you can’t be.”

“But I am,” he smiled. “Ask your friend, Sister Maria.”

“He was,” confirmed the attractive young nun, “but not much of one before his capture. And even less of one now.”

“Quiet,” snarled the fat priest, stepping forward and striking the woman sharply with his hand, knocking her to the floor.

“How can you,” squealed Dolores in amazement, “after she saved your lives? All of you.”

“Did she tell you how she saved us, Lola?” smirked the priest. “Did she tell you how she spread her legs for the local Captain of the Civil Guard to save her skin, and then later screwed the leaders of the Republican soldiers-Communists, Socialists, Anarchists, atheists, all of them. And they did not harm our little religious community as long as she continued to please them with her pussy.

“It can’t be true,” squealed Dolores in alarm. “I know her. She is good and beautiful and kind. Shi is a nun. Tell them it is a lie Sister Maria.”

“So it is a lie,” said the woman still sprawled on the floor. Her voice was soft yet distinct and firm. She was not cowed by the violence of the priest of his position. “It is a lie but it is also true that I have done all these things.”

“Maria?” gasped the fifteen-year-old in amazed doubt.

“Yes I did all those things and more,” she continued, rising to her feet. “In order to save them. In our town I did those things as they slaughtered the other priests and nuns, flailed them and burned them alive in their own churches.

“And I do it still today, whenever they want me to go downstairs in the officers’ quarters. I screw whomever they want me to. I have done it in every hole of my body-repeatedly. I’ve fucked with soldiers and cripples, dogs and ponies, and even fat pigs.”

“In order to save them?” squeaked the girl in a little confused girlish voice.

“From the first I made a bargain with them. I’d do anything they asked as long as my friends were left alone and unharmed.” The young lady turned to look directly in Dolores’ eyes. In her smiling face was eternally deep resignation and sorrow. The single candle flickered as in the dim red light she looked like an image of the Blessed Virgin herself.

“You have no idea, beloved Lola,” she continued, “just how much delight these men against God take in humiliating a nun. Secretly even our own flock dreams about debasing and raping a Sister. How much more so the avowed athiests. God gave me a beautiful body. Always I wear my full habit when they call on me and I desecrate it by my lewd gestures, obscene words and the lascivious display of my breasts and crotch. For this they pay me by letting my companions live.”

“You are not pure?” nodded Dolores in painful dismay. Maria was her last link with the ideal beauty of her childhood and the Church. Unquestioningly she had assumed the nun’s blessedness. This was the greatest disappointment of all. Nothing could have shook her more.

“You are not virgin?” mumbled the child again. “You have deliberately degraded our religion? Are you not ashamed? Do you not fear eternal punishment?”

“Knowingly I gave my body to the atheists and abandoned my soul to evil. Loving God and denying Him. When Father Manuel and my sister nuns cowered in our church, more afraid of man than God yet unwilling to help themselves, I saved them. And I did it willingly with my virgin cunt.”

“You’re despicable,” spat Dolores at her, overwhelmed by her disappointment in her friend and idol. “It would have been better had you all died. You should have all been martyred. Even if you’ve saved their souls you’ve lost yours and flaunted yourself before God.”

The wide-eyed child stepped back from her former friend. Unconsciously she pressed against the reassuring warmth of Father Manuel who willingly placed his fat hands about her firm naked body.

“You are an abomination,” hissed Dolores at Maria. “No wonder you did not wish to come here with me. You betrayed God and now blame it on your friends.”

“It is no surprise that she does not visit us often, is it, Lola?” confirmed the priest, his hands wandering appreciatively over the downy hair on the girl’s thighs and tummy.

“You have a right, Lola, to despise me as I do myself,” continued the nun undismayed. “But do not trust them either. Downstairs, the officers still think that these pious people lead lives of quiet devotion. That they spend their time in prayer and worship.

“But I have seen them. It is no accident they shun the light, hide even from one another in the gloom. The horrors and orgies they perform together are worse even than the soldiers’. I sold my soul to the devil to save these hypocrites who now willingly desecrate their offices solely for their sensual gratification.”

“I don’t believe you,” retorted the fifteen-year-old spitefully. “You try to excuse yourself by blaming them.”

“It is well you don’t believe her, Lola,” snickered the obese priest smugly, “she would drag you down with her. These are desperate times and we will be your friends. We will help you-if you trust and have faith.”

“Oh I do, I do trust you,” groaned the girl suddenly bursting into tears. She turned and pressed herself against the flabby chest of the young Father, felt him arms tighten about her with comforting warmth. She forgot her nakedness in his loving embrace as gently his broad hands caressed over her body.

“Then join us. We have had to modify our rituals but you may worship with us all the same.”

Together the twelve of them knelt about the sole small candle. Maria stood quietly aside, watching them. In the flickering light the hooded figures looked ancient, even timeless. Dolores’ heart pounded. Never before had she experienced such a deep sense of mystery.

The father’s face no longer seemed fat but rather abundant and full of life. Nor did the faces of the nuns continue haggard, drawn, worn and old. They did not become pretty but rather translucent as if their flesh only hid a being deep inside. Even the two young clerics looked primordially wise.

All was quietly solemn and fearfully reverent. Dolores glanced down at her nakedness and suddenly felt ashamed.

“Father,” she whispered, the empty walls magnifying the soft utterance, “perhaps I should have something to wear. Just a blanket . … ”

“Shhhhh,” cautioned the leader, “it does not matter. It is we who should feel shamed for clothing our bodies, from hiding our flesh instead of rejoicing in it.”

Taking a long large bowled pipe he turned the chimney toward the candle flame. In a moment a small glow appeared and he took the mouthpiece to his lips. Reverently he puffed in long deep breaths. The room was filled with an acrid odor.

Ritualistically he handed the pipe to the nun on the left. In a stately manner she accepted, puffed upon it and passed it to her neighbor. The air was thick with the pungent fumes and Dolores choked as she tried to keep from coughing. Her stomach was nauseated.

As the pipe traversed the circle the priest lit a second. Reverently the two tools were passed around. Dolores took the first hesitantly when it was handed to her.

“What is it Father?” she asked uncertainly.

“Smoke!” It was a command but very soft. And when he spoke his voice had a hollow resonance that seemed to come not from his lips but somewhere deep inside his bulky frame.

The fifteen year old did as she was told, quickly learning not to cough as it filled and burned her lungs. Again and again she smoked as the pipes circled the group, constantly refilled and relit by the attentive priest. The acrid haze that filled her lungs and the room seemed to unite her to the circle. All of them were pervaded and immersed by the lingering coils of smoke.

Dolores was no longer afraid. It was good. She had been right to follow the father. The girl was conscious now of her own heartbeat and was curious to find how relaxed, cool and steady it was. There was no music in the room but somehow something filled her ears. It must have been drifting in from the distant city. It was a lewd and seductive melody that became religious in its harmony as it entered the holy premises.

“It is time for our ceremony,” spoke the priest at last. Together they rose. “You, Lola, shall be the very altar for our worship.”

“An altar?” she asked, her voice sluggish and slow but without fear. “How?”

“Come,” he answered in his stately bass and led her to where many ropes hung from the ceiling and walls. Acting in unison the eleven raised her from the ground and tied each ankle and wrist to a distant cord, stretching her so that she lay almost flat, suspended in air three feet above the ground.

“No don’t,” cried Maria unexpectedly, throwing herself in the midst of the twelve. “Don’t do this to her!” Anxiously she began to pull at one of the ropes around Dolores’ ankle, trying to untie her.

The teenager saw all this but remained passive and calm. “How silly you are,” she murmured to her friend. “This is good. Try it. They will not harm me.”

“Stop her,” broke in Father Manuel and two clerics restrained the struggling nun. Dolores was surprised to hear anger in his voice. “She is interrupting our ceremony. Hang her from the ceiling.”

Men and nuns working together they wrestled Maria to the floor, bound her ankles together by one of the ceiling ropes and then hauled on the other end until it pulled her upward. At last she hung suspended by her feet, swaying from the ceiling. They pulled her up until she was swinging two yards above the floor.

Comically her black gown fell down to her arm pits and cascaded over her head and shoulders. One of the nuns took a knife and cut away Maria’s underclothes until she was naked.

Dolores giggled at the incongruous sight of her friend’s naked white body dangling like a plucked chicken and ending in her drooping head and arms hidden by the falls of the black dress. The child judged and admired the young woman’s lovely shapely legs.

And she was impressed by the abundance of cunt hair. The thick brown curls seemed to be everywhere-all over her twat, between her legs and through her ass crack. How different from Dolores’ own thin black bush.

Though the nun’s mouth was muffled by the thick black robe Dolores could hear her screaming. Oddly she did not beg for herself, but for Dolores. The drugged girl thought that amusing and giggled again.

“And now, Lola,” began the priest smiling but reverent, “Let us commence. We have no altar so we shall use your naked body-if you agree.”

“Oh yes, holy Father,” the fifteen-year-old assented without hesitation. She felt honoured.

“Then we must have more light.” The nuns and clerics busied themselves getting new candles. As they did so they continued to smoke the noxious pipes, offering them frequently to Dolores who gratefully accepted. There was strange beauty and new knowledge contained in that rare tobacco.

One of the nuns let a fresh candle drip onto one of the child’s high jutting breasts, covering it with molten wax until she could fix it firmly on the liquid base. Then another was placed on the other breast and then in a line down her chest and stomach until they stopped just at the top of her cunt slit.

Dolores was soon alive with the many burning votives, their red light shining on the reverend faces about her. The child had felt the molten liquid as it touched and covered the many parts of her flesh, felt it now as the wax continued to drip onto her. Dispassionately she had gauged its searing heat and knew she would be burned but somehow she did not mind. The pain seemed so distant and she felt to honoured. Under their tutelage she was learning a new lesson.

Her nose filled with the sweet odor of her roasting skin. Yet she was not afraid and that took the sting out of the fire. She could not keep her body from jerking away from the torches as it tried to avoid damage, but the girl’s soul was at peace. Under the influence of the drugged pipe Dolores felt she was having a mystical experience.

Fire and pain were no different than anything else that affected the body. It was only because of being taught to avoid it that she had been hurt by pain. Certainly it could transform and even destroy her body but it was her soul that was important.

It was the purpose behind the pain that determined whether it was to be shunned or welcomed. And these were ritual fires. At the hands of the priest she was undergoing a new baptism in flames. She did not feel hurt or fear but instead the intense searing heat of God’s love. God had chosen to forgive her sins after all.

Dolores looked at the eleven faces around her. In the flickering light of her body they seemed to go through different appearances of immortality. They stood huge and stiff first like ancient church statues to be worshipped. Underneath their hoods and hats their chalky faces lived and moved only by the flickering glow of the candles. The hoods and robes of all centuries have emphasized the soul and not the body they covered.

They became like immobile beautiful noble chess pieces, moved through life by the hand of a wisdom greater than their own. Their eyes and mouths were huge gaping caverns. Only the thin transient flesh that clothed their skeletons could be seen. Bodies were nothing but passing dust, a fragile shell for God’s eternal spirit.

One of the nuns began a singsong chant, not one that Dolores recognized. They began to shuffle about her in some pious dance. Gently Dolores swayed from the four ropes in the breezeless room. She was proud to participate in this holy ritual.

A cleric opened wine and on Dolores’ body a nun laid out twelve goblets. Stretching up her head the girl allowed herself to be served some of the newly poured intoxicant. Combined with the pipe smoke it made her dizzy. Dreamily the people about her seemed ethereal and insubstantial.

Vigorously the ten disciples of the priest began to dance, drinking liberally and smoking the narcotic with abandon. They chanted and stamped their feet without restraint as hand in hand they circled the suspended child. Father Manuel stood beside her, calmly stroking her smooth body.

One of the nuns turned to a cleric and lifted her black dress. She was naked underneath. In her sixties, with blue veined legs and skinny except for her fat belly, she continued to dance in front of him. Her smile was toothless in the dim light, her wrinkled face ugly. With deliberate lasciviousness she ground and jerked her bared pussy obscenely at the holy student.

Dolores gasped at this and stared wide-eyed. Till now all had seemed deeply religious and shrouded in mystery. Even her own nudity seemed holy and revered. But this wanton display of the woman’s genitals surprised her.

Yet the young man for whom the nun danced did not shrink away. Instead his feet matched her rhythm of the dance. Audaciously he jerked up his own cassock, displayed his own naked cock. In breathless fascination the fifteen year old watched as the huge long fat stiff pole swung and rolled back and forth, the hairy balls bouncing and dangling far below his crotch. The man was skinny and his huge pecker and nuts seemed to be all there was to him.

“Father,” gasped Dolores at last, averting her eyes and looking up into the wise face of the holy man, “do you see them? Can you…? ”

“Be quiet my child,” he beamed down at her knowingly. “Tonight you shall learn many things, many secrets. Sex is the base of all religious feelings, of all holy rites.”

“But not Christianity! Not….”

“Shhh. Watch and listen, Lola. Watch and learn. A lesson will come that even many priests never understand. Tonight you are an initiate. Through these rites many secrets will be unveiled.”

Dolores stared at him in hypnotic fascination. His deep beautiful voice lulled her mind and quieted her fears. She felt as she were in a transcendent waking dream.

“Learn tonight our initiate,” he continued melodically. “You shall enter the sacred temple tonight. Our Lord’s sacred temple. The symbol of that temple on earth is a woman’s cunt, its portals her vaginal lips. Sex is the basis of all religion. Look and you shall learn.

Dolores glanced about her at the ten excited dancing figures. She saw that they had all bared their sex to each other and she was no longer afraid. It all seemed so basic and natural.

One of the clerics jumped upon a nun, an ugly one, and still dancing he fucked wildly. Two women locked themselves together as they followed the music around the room. Their hands entered, pinched and pulled the other’s quim, jerking at their clits and distorting their petals. They danced in ecstatic pain as violently each ravaged the other’s red twat.

Chanting together they circled the altar which was Dolores’ living body. From partner to partner they danced without distinction of sex. Men clutched men and women women. The clerics’ cocks would spurt streams of jism and then they would cram the still hard prods into any eager waiting nun. Fucking, singing, drinking, dancing they spun with increasing frenzy about the altar.

Then it stopped. Everything. As if on cue the music ceased, the dancing figures halted. Disengaging hands, pricks and cunts they walked together to Dolores’ body.

“Are you ready, initiate Lola,” intoned the priest in a hollow base that promised eternity. “Are you ready to learn the sacred secrets.”

“Yes,” she whispered, mesmerized by the drunken narcotic rhythm of the evening. “I am ready.”

Trustingly she looked up into his dark eyes, barely visible in the flickering candles on her breasts. His eyes were paternal and kind, then became passionate and loving, then cold, deep and eternal. Then suddenly they were cruel and insane. They burned with an unearthly outrageous passion, deep from below the universe. They glimmered now not from the light of the tapers but from inside, ghostly and inhuman.

“You are the devil,” she gasped, her heartbeat suspended in alarm.

“Noooo,” he whispered deeply as a howling wind. “You shall learn. Your Christian God and your Christian Devil are creatures of mankind’s desires. I am both man epitomized and man primordial. You shall learn.”

The room was quiet as the disciples watched in awe. With the ceremonial grace of an ancient priest Father Manuel raised his habit to display his naked genitals. Quietly he turned so that the girl could view him better.

Dolores sighed deeply as she looked at his cock and balls. They were huge beyond belief. Her soft eyes traveled over them with reverent admiration and without fear. His pecker was fully erect, jutting out straight from his crotch. The knob was the size of an orange, the shaft over a foot long and as thick as a giant cucumber. The wrinkled hairy sacks hung a good eight inches with rock-hard nuts already discernible. It was bigger than any man or beast the child had ever dreamed of.

Astonishingly Dolores was not surprised. Instead she only studied the massive penis admiringly. Father Manuel had claimed to be more basic than mankind itself. If the nobility such as Dolores and Don Francisco had small cunts and pricks, and the peasants were equipped with much larger ones, then it followed the priest’s peter would be gigantic. And it was.

“Are you afraid of it, Lola, my child?” he asked.

“No,” she responded innocently.

“It is your initiation that I shall fuck you with it.”

“I know. I welcome it,” answered the girl calmly, still swaying gently from the four ropes. She realized she was just the right height from the floor for him to easily penetrate her.

The candles on her body started to burn low and flicker. One of the nuns began to sing in a high voice, a slow chant without melody. Carefully, majestically she sang until another joined in harmony. Gradually a third and fourth voice entered until at last the ten of them were singing perfectly together as the priest moved round to stand between the girl’s thighs.

Dolores spread her legs wide to accommodate him. It would be hard for him to fit it in. She listened to the music. It was a lethargic ancient hymn that seemed to be ever moving toward an unobtainable conclusion. Voice followed voice in developing its intricate counterpoint and yet it was still a simple chant.

It seemed like the primitive hymns of American Indians, the old basic songs of the Church and the rude dances of the African Negro. Its barbaric elements were common to all those savages close to nature, complex in its simplicity and beautiful in its expressive ugliness. She felt the fat priest’s hands laid firmly on her thighs and expectantly she waited as the music crescendoed in her ears.

Dolores breathed heavily. The crowd in pleasure watched the steady rise and fall of her lovely flat stomach and gorgeous perfect cones. She trembled with excitement as she felt the fat knob nudge tentatively against her sweet cunt.

“You have as small a pussy as I’ve ever seen,” he whispered hoarsely, looking down at her extremely narrow slit and his huge prod resting on top of it.

“Stretch it for me, Father,” she urged, “stretch it for me and make me hurt with your cock so I’ll know you’re fucking me.”

“I shall, child,” he answered dreamily, his hands firmly on her hips and his prick squarely on her cunt. With a steady force he pushed until he saw the gash begin to part and the coral moist pinkness show through.

“Oh, ohh, ohhhh . … ” moaned Dolores from the very first. It was going to hurt like fury. Gently she swayed back and forth from the ropes, unsupported in the darkness, sensing the slow penetration. Then a lightning bolt jetted through her body, white fire danced on her tight skin. His huge fat knob was in, splitting her open. His shaft began mercilessly to drill in deeper.

“Oh Father, oh, oh Christ!” she shrieked with the sudden pain. Her cunt seemed ripped open. There was blood. But bravely the child fought to keep her legs wide spread, to not resist his entry.

“I am your altar,” she murmured repeatedly, crazed with pain. “I am your altar. Fuck my temple, Father. Fuck me.”

Diligently the obese religious burrowed the mammoth spear into her opened cave. Excited by her squeals of pain and the tortured jerking of her limbs he crowded the prod deeper into her wet but tiny grotto. His hand gripped her hips securely as he tried to pull the rubbery flesh over his quivering hard penis.

Dolores shrieked and squealed in pain, her head tossing violently from side to side in mid-air. The child’s gaping mouth pulled the muscles tight on her agonized face and joined with the taut cords in her twisted neck.

But she did not protest. This was her initiation. The father would save her soul. She already knew pain led to orgasm. The peasants first had taught her that. And her confessor through her orgasm would teach her the secrets, the mysteries. His was a blessed and holy prick.

“Aeeee God . … ” the fifteen-year-old screamed, “aeeee my God it hurts.” The fire in her twat seemed unbearable. Yet still she did not protest. As best she could she arched her cunt to welcome the onslaught. Her cheeks were red. From her face her bloodshot eyes bulged grotesquely.

And with her swimming vision she watched the ten around her. Now they danced as they sang. Hand in hand they chanted as they moved about her, gesturing obscenely, deliberately lewd and lascivious.

She felt Father Manuel’s massive dick screw even deeper, knew its terrific pressure against her womb. Again the girl bellowed in pain and yet she loved it. The hurt made her alive. Every molecule in her body was vibrant. She was special, superior, a goddess in her own right.

Dolores twisted and screwed her ass in mid-air, wanting to feel every inch of the gigantic intrusion. Deeper the fat shaft sank into her slim furrow and she blessed the priest in her agony. Diligently, insanely, she balled her twat about the wondrous prick.

She knew it was a black mass, but she cherished it. It was her initiation. She would learn. They had chosen her and already she felt like a goddess, a sacred priestess. Frantically she fucked the devine cock with her holy cunt.

At last it was in to the very hilt. She felt the heavy hairy balls slapping now noisily against her ass cheeks. Dolores squealed in delighted torment. Floating in air her body stiffened, shuddered as a low rumble began to grow from her quim, them exploded into wild, shrieking, violent flailing orgasm.

This was the first truth. The first mystery. It was pain that brought orgasm. It was the searing hot unbearable exploding agony that jerked her into climax. It was the basis of all sex, all pleasure and joy. She worshipped her own pussy and the huge rod inside it. Vigorously she pumped her cunt up and down the slimy shaft.

“Ae, ae God, fuck me, fuck meee,” she shouted in ecstasy. “Fuck my cunt.” Furiously her legs and arms kicked out of control. No longer did she need the ropes to support her. She dangled from his huge cock alone.

Around her she saw the singing, dancing brothers and sisters. Her bulging eyes focused on their jiggling, dangling naked lewd cocks and quims. Old, young, beautiful, ugly, healthy or diseased they were all gorgeous, a physical hymn of joy to their Creator.

Never ceasing to screw back at the precious dick inside her she stared at the many cunts and pricks. Slimy and oily from fucking they dripped with come. And she felt beautiful, good, a queen on Mount Olympus. She was superhuman.

That was the second truth: pain mixed joy made you god-like, transcendent, nonhuman. She was immortal now, superior to mere men. It was their sex that did it. And especially his, Father Manuel’s holy, blessed consecrated prick.

One of the clerics picked a wine glass and dipped his peter into the goblet. It came out glistening and dripping red. Quickly he offered the juicy snake to Dolores and immediately she darted out her head and grasped it with her mouth. Jealously she sucked and licked at the hard spear, tasting the wine and the stench of semen.

A nun stood poised before her. It was a divine wafer she held in her hand. The body of Christ. Deliberately she shoved the morsel deep inside her junk filled cunt.

Dolores did not hesitate. In seconds her tiny pink tongue was sunk between the sister’s fat pussy lips. Eagerly she sucked and probed for the tiny wafer until at last she found it. In a passing thought she remembered once it would have sickened her, this sucking and eating at another girl’s quim. But this was beyond sex. It was the holy sacrament.

“T have it,” she cried at last to the waiting audience, “I have eaten of the body from her cunt and drunk the blood of Christ. I have taken communion. I have sucked His cock and eaten the cunt of the very Blessed Virgin.”

The room exploded into hectic noise. The hymn was sung loudly by the revelers dancing around her cock to cunt, pussy to pussy. Inside her Dolores felt the quickened rhythm as Father Manuel balled her. It was fast, too fast to keep up with. His speed was superhuman. Desperately she jerked, tossed and screwed her twat at him.

Then suddenly he stopped. The hot dry burning in her snatch grew greater, unendurable. She thought she’d faint. Then suddenly it turned liquid. The hot fire spread through her like a boiling wave. She could smell the stink as it belched from her cunt and rolled over her slimy body.

“Aeeee, ah haaa,” screamed the child in delirium. “I am saved. I am saved.” The huge prod and balls kept pumping pints of jism into her as Dolores squealed out her ecstasy.

“I’m coming. I am consecrated. I am con … oh, oh, … secrated. I’m saaaaved.” The teenager yelled out her happiness, unrestrained and pure. “Fuck me. Fuck my holy cunt.”

Around her the crowd whirled and cried merrily. Then suddenly they crowded about her, panting, drooling, snorting, pushing their flesh against her naked body. A cleric shoved his cock between her open lips. She loved it with her tongue. Hands were pulling, squeezing, pinching nipples and breasts, tummy and cunt hair and engorged pussy lips.

They were all one together. Manuel was still coming inside her. Everyone was coming. Reckless orgasm was everywhere. Reaching out with her hands she tried to unite herself to them. She grasped at two open dripping cunts. She dug her fingers into the heaving caves, marveling at how big, hot and sweaty they were.

like a huge centipede they struggled about Dolores’ body as she swung from the ceiling. Jism was everywhere, spewing from cocks and cunts alike. It filled her mouth, drained over her chin. Junk flooded out her cunt and ran over her thighs, down her ass crack, into her shit hole. Come was all over her. It glistened on her ivory belly, matted her black hair, soaked her heaving breasts.

This was her baptism. Those who quit coming started pissing on her. She welcomed it, loved it. Urine ran in rivers over her white virgin skin. They were together, all of them united as again and again they climaxed.

This was the third truth. The most important and basic to all men. They were all united, all brothers. No longer was there a “thee” and “me.” I fucking all distinctions blurred and all men were made as one. All men were the same, born of a single brutal lustful animal. And it was their pricks and cunts that fused them back together.

And it would end in death. Fucking would eventuate in the demise of the earthly body, the return of the soul to dark warm moist nothingness. This was the highest of the ancient mysteries. In orgasm men were physically united just as their souls were eternally united before and after life.

Dolores rocked back and forth in the darkness, the molten wax from the flickering candles covering her white skin. Gobs of jism and piss flooded over her body, into her mouth and cunt. Everyone was in ecstasy and she was their goddess.

Slowly the floods of orgasm subsided, the tides of climax ceased. Dolores rocked back and forth gently in mid-air, her love filled eyes and contented smile focused on Father Manuel. He had done it: she was a priestess in the oldest religion of man. Never before had she felt such fulfillment and wisdom.

“A blood sacrifice,” cried one of the clerics. “Let us end it with a sacrifice.”

“But not her,” cried one of the sisters, placing her hands protectingly on Dolores’ body, “not our initiate.”

“No, not her,” seconded another. The small girl had already become a favorite of the religionists.

Father Manuel glanced around him for inspiration, then remembered the helpless nun Maria. “Then her,” he commanded, his fat finger pointing to the girl where she hung upside down from the ceiling. “Sacrifice her.”

There were excited cries of agreement as the clerics and nuns rushed to her, untied her and drug her to the floor. In moments she stood between Dolores’ wide spread legs, her black habit still shoved up to her shoulders.

Dolores gazed at her pretty friend. How queerly beautiful she seemed in her huge white nun’s cap and heavy black robe, and with her lovely body exposed naked to their lustful eyes. They shoved the panting, struggling nun onto Dolores’ body.

“Don’t let them do this to me, Lola,” gasped Maria as their eyes met. “Don’t let them. They love you now. They’ll listen to you. Please stop them.”

“Don’t worry, Maria,” Dolores comforted her friend quickly. “It’s really wonderful. It’s beautiful. Everything will be all right.”

“No,” urged Maria in panic, “they’ll kill me, Dolores. Don’t let them.” In terror she lay, naked belly to naked belly, pleading with her friend.

About her the others had gathered, bunches of supple olive branches in their hands. Unexpectedly they set them afire, the shadowy room lighted eerily by the flames. Then together they beat Maria, the burning whips stretching over legs, back and bottom.

Maria screamed and squealed in pain and agony as her flesh was scarred by the strange lashes. Desperately she hugged her arms about Dolores’ nude body to keep from rolling off.

“Please,” begged the sister to her friend, “please, please. I can’t stand the pain. You can stop them. They’re going to kill me.”

“It’s all right. It’s all right. Death is the final truth, Maria,” argued Dolores urgently, trying to make her understand. “It’s ecstasy. It’s holy union with others. It’s salvation. Death is the natural end. It’s only right.”

“No Dolores, no,” shouted Maria desperately. “Ah, ah, aeeee owww,” she shrieked in fresh pain.

Father Manuel stood between Maria’s legs, his cock again gigantic and hard. In one swift stroke he had brutally shoved the organ into her unprepared quim. He felt her body jerk under him in agony, saw her white flesh convulse hysterically-

The sister screamed and bellowed her misery, her body squirming and twisting as the burning whips ruined her body, as the priest pounded his unrelenting prick into her torn cunt. The woman’s body was alive with fire and agony.

“No don’t. Please Dolores,” she cried, “you don’t understand. It’s not Christian. Stop them. These are devils. Understand!”

“I do Maria, I do. It’s wonderful. You can’t know until you’ve been there. It’s better than anything else. You’ll learn. It’s all right.”

“No please. You don’t understand. You don’t know. Don’t do this to me, Dolores. Don’t let them.”

About them some of the men and women were coming again. Dolores smiled happily at their continuing orgasms. She only wished her friend would understand, would not resist.

Dolores felt Maria’s body begin to be shoved and pushed heavily. Father Manuel was grunting, his face red with exertion. All but Maria seemed to be coming at once in communal ecstasy.

“Sacrifice, sacrifice,” cried one of the nuns, still quivering from climax.

“Yes, sacrifice,” exclaimed another.

In mass they grabbed the frightened trembling sister and hauled her off Dolores’ body. Spontaneously they carried Maria toward the gaping hole in the wall. Someone released Dolores and she hurried after them excitedly.

“No, please,” cried Maria in panic, “don’t kill me Father,” she begged, turning to the priest, “please at least let me make confession. Please hear me, Father. I have sinned, Father, I have sinned.”

Ignoring her the mob lifted her above their heads. Five stories below them people in the street looked up in surprise to see the holy group with their sacrifice lifted high into the air.

“I have sinned,” shrieked the hapless nun, “please. Let me confess. Let me confess.”

In unison the clerics and nuns shoved the girl out into the blinding sunlight. Dolores shielded her eyes to watch her friend fall.

Arms and legs outstretched like a human cross she spiraled through the air. Her habit billowed about her shoulders, the black dress still giving queer beauty to the snowy whiteness of her naked flesh.

“Father, forgive me. Forgive me, Father. I have sinned. I have sinned,” continued to shriek Sister Maria until she struck the hard concrete below.

Dolores awoke the next morning feeling better than she had in months. Though the haze of wine, narcotics and orgasm was gone she was aware that something important had happened. It was no longer clear to her what being a priestess among that small clam meant but she was proud of if.

The increasng guilt that had plagued her since her rape by the peasants had gone. No longer did she have the urgent need of the Church and a priest. Not that she had lost her humility. Dolores did not question her role as Andres’ pet bitch. But she had discovered a new self-confidence and self-esteem.

Thoughtfully she gazed out her small barred window at the cloud flecked sky. Without realizing what she was doing her delicate hands stroked over her body, squeezed the firm flesh of her breasts, caressed her flat tummy, and teased the thin puckered cunt lips.

The door opened and it was Andres Eroles. Immediately she went down on all fours and crawled to him, her pretty round bottom twitching playfully.

“I’m afraid your priest and his friends went too far yesterday,” he said with a cynical smile.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you,” he answered, taking her by the shoulder and pulling her to her feet. They went to the window and he unlocked the set of bars with his key.

“Whatever they did to you I don’t know. I hope you were happy to finally see a priest. But they killed their own reason for living.”

“You mean Maria?” asked the girl timidly. Even now she felt no horror in her friend’s murder.

“Yes. In her role as dishonored nun she was very entertaining to our soldiers and visiting dignitaries. It was all the more exciting because she obviously hated what she was doing, deliberately sinning in the face of her God. But we had a bargain with her that we would not harm Father Manuel and his friends as long as she performed at our orgies. And the fools killed her. Look outside.”

Dolores poked her head through the small open window. Below her she could see the gaping hole on the fifth floor. From it down the side of the building hung Manuel Fuentes, the clerics and nuns. They were upside down, suspended by ropes tied to their feet and totally naked. They squirmed and twisted in discomfort. Obviously they had been there for hours.

“Will you let them die that way?” asked the teenager curiously, but strangely without regret.

“Yes.”

“Water,” Dolores thought she heard Father Manuel groan. “Won’t someone give me water.”

THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE