Chapter 3
Detective Ramon obviously didn't know his ass from his elbow. He hadn't the faintest idea where his darling daughter was at ... rubbing hot come slobber over her big, soft, chicana titties ... and he was completely ignorant of the bizarre religious practices ... exhibitionism and cocksucking, for openers ... of his "great humanitarian." And, there was no way he, personally, could get my P.I. license yanked. He just didn't have that kind of pull in the Department. The worst he could do would be to shoot me during a "routine shakedown."
Big deal.
I wanted to get to the bottom of this Lunia scam ... not for Mrs. Knutsen, but for me. There's nothing more putrid in my book than a religious huckster and Sigmund den Err stank to high heaven. If the Dutch turkey was going to get himself martyred, yours truly was going to supply the spikes and the day labor.
Marjorie Ramon insisted on accompanying me to the Lunie mansion. She said she wouldn't get "credit" for my conversion unless she brought me in. Conversion was really a hot number with the Children of Luna ... browning points with Mother Moon or something. And the way she carried on in the car, they measured the success of their recruitment by the inch.
"Brother Grue," she chirped merrily, "you are one of the largest males to find the moonlit path."
I couldn't resist. "You mean my Moonship, huh?"
The Sister said nothing but her eyes gleamed.
It was answer enough for me. They worshipped the Almighty Weenie, too. It all fit together in a sort of demented way. Without a doubt she was a stone cuckoo, but Jeez ... what a sexy psychopath! I kept looking at her and remembering the way she gorged herself on my spunk, the way her fat, sassy, latina cunt puckered at me, begging for a fuck.
"If it is the will of Luna," she rambled on, "perhaps I will be exalted to the Third Bardo."
"Hey, I really hope so," I said, turning the Cougar onto Hyde Street.
The House of Luna occupied an entire corner of a block in a hilly part of the city. It was a great, hideous, five story, pink stucco cube that looked like it'd been extruded, thrust up out of the depths of the earth to cover most of the steep hillside. Surrounding it were tall, narrow, Victorian houses in varying states of disrepair.
"Leave the keys in the ignition, Brother Grue," she said as she got out of the car. "You won't be needing them anymore."
Swell. I did as she asked and then followed her up the steep cement steps to the broad slab of cement that was the veranda. Overhead was an arbor of whitewashed beams; along the edge of the porch were large Grecian urns, also cement, filled with geraniums.
Marjorie knocked on the double front door and it was answered by a man in his early twenties. He looked like your typical State College grad: flashy Robert Hall double-knit suit with flared cuff's, Kinney high fashion wingtip platform shoes, a fifteen dollar hairstyle of the enraged hedgehog variety, and a grotesquely large gold and ruby Class Ring.
"Hello there, Brother," he said, pumping my hand like an insurance salesman. "I'm Brother Bruckner. Sister Marjorie has told me so much about you ... uh ... Brother ... uh...
"Grue," I said. I wondered how he could smile that like without cracking all his teeth?
"Yes, Brother Grue," he said, pumping with renewed vigor. "Please come in and we'll get the formalities out of the way as quickly as possible."
We were led into the cool confines of the mansion. The ceilings were quite high, the floors were polished hardwood, and the activity was manic. All the rooms of the ground floor had been transformed into offices. Typewriters clattered, telephones rang, and girls in short skirts scurried about bearing sheaves of legal size documents.
Bruckner, seeing my amazement at the comings and goings, said, "We are a busy bunch here. No doubt about it. When you have an organization the size of ours, you need an incredible amount of administrative personnel. We handle all the finances, the publicity, the philanthropic disbursements right here."
"Ummm," I said. The place looked more like a thriving mail order business than a religious retreat. "Are all these people Children of Luna?"
Bruckner led us into an airy office that once had been a huge bathroom. "Of course," he said, taking a seat behind his desk which was beside a sunken, oval bathtub. "Everyone in our order does his or her share, right, Sister Marjorie?"
Marjorie nodded briskly; her eyes once more assumed the proportions of Ding Dongs.
"Did you bring the various documents and papers that were requested of you?" Bruckner asked.
I reached in my coat pocket and took out the wad of paper that represented my entire net worth: my bank book, my check book, a few stocks and bonds, the pink slip on the Cougar, and my life insurance policy. I handed the stuff to Bruckner.
"Very good. Very good," he said, shooting a quick look at my bank balance. "Now you must sign these papers...."
Even in fun, it was hard giving everything I had to these turkeys. I say "fun," because none of the aforementioned documents were worth shit ... all were forgeries.
"I don't see why it's necessary for me to give everything away before I even find out what your faith is all about," I protested.
Bruckner shot Marjorie a glance that dripped acid. "But it was explained to you," he said patronizingly, "that such an act of good faith was a prerequisite to admission to the roll of candidates, was it not?"
"Yes, of course."
Bruckner pushed up from his desk, shoving the papers back into my hand, steering me to the door with the finesse of a professional car salesman about to set the hook. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Grue, but we haven't the time to spend on people who don't know what they want, people who aren't truly committed to joining our order."
"Hey! Wait a minute!" I said, as he knew I would. "Hold on! I'm as committed as the next guy. What's wrong, aren't I good enough to join? That's it, isn't it?"
"Now I never said that," Bruckner said, allowing me to re-enter the room, reaching behind his back for the transfer of title forms.
"Gimme those papers!" I said. "Where do I sign?"
Bruckner crammed the pen in my hand and relieved me of bank book, stock certificates, etc., etc.
"Very good," he said, depositing the signed transfers in a floor safe. "Now we will begin preparing you for your induction to the Children of Luna."
"Hey, I'm ready right now...."
"No, Brother Grue," he said, smiling broadly. "No, you aren't. We must abide by the ritual of the order. Your spirit must be cleansed. Sister Marjorie, will you lead the way?"
She led the three of us down the corridor to what looked like a pair of elevator doors. I say "Looked" because there was no "Up" or "Down" button, only a narrow slot in the center of a small metal rectangle on the wall. Marjorie took from her purse a credit card with a lot of holes punched in it. When she slipped the card in the slot, the elevator doors opened.
"You are very security conscious here," I said, stepping in.
"No," Bruckner said, "we just like to keep the sacred separated from the profane...." He punched a button and we rode up one floor. The elevator stopped but the doors remained closed.
"On the other side," he explained, "is the purification chamber. Beyond it are the Halls of Luna. To pass on to the Clear Light of the Inner Cloister, you must first be cleansed." He pushed another button and the doors parted.
I started to take a step forward, but caught myself in mid-stride when I saw the furnishings of the "purification chamber." The room was painted flat black and from rings in the ceiling dangled a pair of heavy iron manacles. A similar pair of ankle restraints, lay on the floor to which they were fastened. All along the walls were racks containing various styles of whips, quirts, martinets, crops.
"Hey, now just a goddam...." I began, turning to face Bruckner. Then the ceiling fell in on me.
When I came to, it was later and I had a bad headache, but that was the least of my worries. Somewhere along the line I had lost every scrap of clothing I'd had on and I was unable to touch the ground with my toes. My wrists were locked into the manacles that hung from the ceiling and my entire weight was suspended on them. My ankles were also chained. To say I was uncomfortable would be the understatement of the century.
"Feeling better, Brother Grue?" Bruckner asked.
He had traded his Robert Hall suit for a men's version of the monk's robe Marjorie had modeled for me in the Urban Relief Center. In the lower cut out triangle, his immense, but soft cock, and a pair of bubble gum pink balls dangled freely. Over his eyes and nose he wore a black mask like the ones in the blackmail picture.
"Yeah, just wonderful," I said, trying to twist around. I could hear the clatter of high heels on the floor, and the swishing of many robes. With a monumental effort I managed to swing myself so I faced the incoming hordes. In so doing I crossed both my arms and legs. "What is this?" I demanded.
"These," he said, gesturing at the line of foxy young women filing into the room, all clad in the revealing monk's robes, tits and pussies everywhere, "are the candidates who will assist in your purification." His eyes blinked behind the mask. "Sister Marjorie was right," he said. "That's quite a Moonship you have there. She'll make Third Bardo for sure."
"Congratulate her for me," I said, feeling all those sexy female eyes crawling over my groin.
"Candidates!" he said to the milling women. "Your scourges!"
The robed broads began taking the whips down from the wall racks and getting the feel of them, cracking them in the air.
"Bruckner! You said this was a 'spiritual' cleansing," I yelled over the din.
The masked hedgehog grinned at me. "The spirit is the reflection of the body...."
The candidates lined up single file, whips in hands. For some of them it was obviously the first time they'd participated in a flogging ... their faces were pale, their hands trembled, they would not meet my gaze. Others, however, seemed anxious to get on with it ... they kept whapping their palms with the whip handles and their eyes kept dropping to take in my great limp cock.
"By the light...." Bruckner said solemnly.
"BY THE LIGHT...." came the echo of the chorus.
"...of the Waning Moon...."
"...OF THE WANING MOON...."
"...whose most perfect Radiance anoints us
"...WHOSE MOST PERFECT RADIANCE...."
"...we consign this Terran's flesh to Sol, that he may be consumed ... and reborn...."
"...CONSUMED AND REBORN...."
"...a Child of Luna...."
"...CHILD OF LUNA...."
Bruckner then stepped to my side and said softly, "Brother Grue, if you don't turn back around, I'm afraid your Moonship will be permanently grounded."
"Huh?"
"...They will castrate you, whip off your weenie...." I turned around.
"Heeeee-yahhh!" howled a female behind me. There was a clicking of high heels running on hardwood, and the swoosh of a heavy bull whip being flung back.
TTTHHHWWWAAK!
Tanned leather exploded into my right buttock. I was aghast at the pain! It was like nothing I'd ever experienced and it was a thousand times worse than what I figured these broads could dish out. It was like a red hot spike had been driven into the flesh of my ass. A galvanic shock of agony lanced through me and I jerked uncontrollably from my chains. The horrible ache began to spread down the backs of my legs.
"Aieeee!" cried the next bitch in line. Heels clattered, there was a grunting noise. SSSSWWWOOSH-PPPOCKT! "Uhhh!! ! " I groaned involuntarily as my other butt-cheek leaped from the power of the blow. The searing pain shot into muscle and bone. "Yeee!" came the whoop of sadistic gleee. SSSSWWWOOOSH-KRAK! The whip tip impacted between my clenched ass-cheeks, right above my bunghole, and all I could think of was "Go!! ! Get away!" I shrieked and tried to climb my chains, to evade the hurt that was inescapable. When it hit me, my arms went to jelly and I just let go of the chains and dropped, falling to the end of their length, coming to an abrupt halt that nearly popped my arms from their sockets.
"Waaaa-hooo!"
SSSSWWWOOSH-FFFACKT! "Yeee-hawww!" SSSSWWWOOSH-PPHUTT! "Yip! Yip! "
SSSSWWWOOSH-SSSNIKK!
The hair-raising cries of enthusiasm blended into one, long, gut wrenching howl. The staccato clicking of running feet in high heels was a constant underpinning to the hiss, to the smacking impact of leather on my swelling flesh. Even as I jerked about, a puppet animated by their blows, I was certain that I was being horribly maimed, that my buttocks hung down the backs of my thighs in long, bloody tatters. I started yelling at the top of my lungs; I rattled my chains; I pleaded for mercy ... but they would not stop. Something hot and wet splashed on my foot. Piss? Blood?
I opened my eyes and saw them huddled in front of me, the ones who had taken their turn. They were smiling. Smiling!
SSSSWWWOOSH-SMMMAKK!
I jerked spastically and a red haze lowered over my eyes but I could still see them grinning at me, see them openly fondling each other. Their hands squeezing titty, slipping down over bare tummy, down between slim thighs, fingers diving between puffy sex lips, drawing forth heady brew.
SSSSWWWOOSH-WH HUPP!
I shuddered but that one didn't hurt so bad. Had I managed to compartmentalize my agony? Had I shut it off in another part of my mind? Or had they simply destroyed all the nerves in my ass?
SSSSWWWOOSH-SSSPATT!
Oooh, such a warm and wonderful feeling spreading over my abused backside, spreading to engulf my balls, to creep up my flaccid cock. And a tension, there, between my legs, growing suddenly. My cock surged to life, flailing in the air like the trunk of a ancient elephant. SSSSWWWOOSH...
I flinched horribly in anticipation of the impact that would never come ... much to the amusement of the masturbating, tongue sucking girls. But my cock, if anything, got harder and longer, arching up from my sweat-drenched pube nest like a great pink banana.
"Purged of darkness...." Bruckner bellowed to the moaning women.
"PURGED OF DARKNESS...."
"...Bathed in Light...."
"BATHED IN LIGHT...."
The crazy lesbian caresses stopped and the candidates formed another queue ... this time in front of me. The first girl in line, a foxy looking black chick with a big natural, great soft lips, and a shaggy bush between her thighs, stepped forward. Her bare brown boobs moved independently, one black nipple moving up and down, the other left to right.-
Much to my amazement and delight, she grabbed hold of my rigid pecker just behind the head, bent the bloated snout way down, opened her mouth and gave me a ball wrenching slurp of the tongue across my nerve bundle. She lingered over my cap, cupping her dark red tongue and swirling it over the blind face. The heat of her mouth, the pebbly, moist surface of her tongue, sent shivers of pleasure speeding up my spine. She smacked her lips, savoring the flavor of my cock head ... and then she was gone.
The girl who rushed to take her place couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was blonde, blue-eyed and freckled, and her high little titties were capped by soft pink buds. She looked like a half naked pixy, but the skillful way she handled my prick would've blown Tinker Bell's mind. She grabbed it by the thick, hairy base and dragged the head down from where it thumped against my sternum and stuffed the whole thing down her throat. Right off, her cheeks went concave as she applied suction to my buried cock. What a kick! She had so damn much of my cock inside her that I swear I could feel her heart beat through the head of my pud. Her jaws looked like they were about to dislocate, her lips were stretched drum-tight about the greasy shaft, but she didn't gag and she did give me a couple of marvelous, tip to root throat thrusts before she let my raging bulb pop from her lips.
I blinked my eyes and zowee! There was another hot young bitch fastened on to my meat. This one was real skinny, with little beesting tits and long brown hair on her head and her twat. She somehow managed to cram both of my nuts in her mouth and while she sucked on them, moaning like a kicked Whippet, she slogged my slobbery cock through her clenched fist.
Lordy! I was just getting into the hum job, tossing my hips so her fist would move faster over my meat, when she was replaced by a pair of Chinese teenagers with heavy breasts and dark brown nipples and practically hairless pussies, who shared my cock between them. They trapped the juicy, oozing bulb between their open mouths and proceeded to french each other around it. Little pointed pink tongues lashed over my cap, ivory cheeks hollowed as lips gave suck, fingers tugged gently, hopefully at my tightening balls.
And then they were gone. They backed away from my flexing tool and a redhead with huge, droopy tits came at it with an open mouth. My rod shot straight down her throat, and she began twisting her head and bobbing her neck frantically, trying to bring me off. She was not alone. Hungry mouths were at my nuts ... hot lips kissing the fragrant skin, mouths sucking the tender orbs, laving the hairy peach seeds with slobbery tongues.
I watched her diving, drool-drenched lips, watched the hunger in her eyes for my salty seepage and I wanted to shoot cream over her face, to bathe her in the bubbling Radiance of my egg-flesh.
But she was no longer there, no constricting ring of lips about my pudcap, and her companions had left my slobbery balls as well. But there were more, always more febrile young bitches closing in, stroking, licking sucking, swallowing. And soon all sense of order in the proceedings dissolved. The wild-eyed females surrounded my throbbing bone, faces pressed together, cheek-to-cheek, fighting for the privilege of applying tongue tip to my dicksnout, to my nerve bundle, to my hairy bag. Hot lips, failing to find a place to lick dick, veered off, to smooch the inside of my thighs, my knees, to thrust juicy probes between my bare toes.
"OOOOOH!" I groaned, shuddering in my chains, as the girl mouths found my pore, fingers spreading my lacerated cheeks, hot tongues swirling, lashing over my flexing anus.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back. My hips jerked ... not from agony, but from joy ... and my cock lurched up, out of the tongue reach of the moaning girls. Scads of flying creatures exited my pore, flapping wings amid the brisk bursts of fetid air I let escape to signal my ecstasy.
A comet of white goo erupted from the head of my cock, hurtling high in the air. Come joy lambasted my brain pan and another spurt followed the first ... and another ... and another. Hot spunk reaching apogee five inches from the ceiling. Orbit decaying. Gobs falling back, trailing great milky tails of less viscous stuff. Falling, falling, to splatter upon the upturned and open-mouthed faces of the candidates.
God, how they groaned and whimpered as the sticky white rain fell to their taste buds, festooning their eyes, ears, cheeks, chins! And I wanted my spurt to keep on coming, my orgasm to go on forever. I wanted to drown them all in sperm.
When the tremors finally subsided, the girls threw themselves on my groin, licking up the sticky aftermath. Bruckner practically had to beat them off me.
He looked at the slobber-sodden mass of my pubes and my stiff but dripping pud and grinned. Then he looked up at me and said, "How do you like it so far, Brother Grue?"