Chapter 4
"I'd like it a hell of a lot better if you'd get me out of these chains, Brother Bruckner," I said.
He ordered the girls to get me down, a task which they performed not without a lot of heavy dick groping and ass goosing. When I had my land legs again, he handed me a monk's robe of my very own and a black mask like his.
I put on the habit. Shoo-wee, it was strange as hell wearing that thing. All your goodies hanging out there in the open. Drafty as hell. But with a hot and horny crew like the candidates around, I could see how maximal access was the name of the game.
"If you will follow me," he said, "I will lead you to the men's quarters."
Now that was more than a little weird. "You mean the boys don't get to sleep with the girls?" I asked incredulously.
Bruckner opened a double door and led the way down a stark white corridor. "No, they don't!" he said emphatically. "His Radiance, in his perfect wisdom, has given us certain rules of conduct that you would be wise to commit to memory. First of all, up here in the Halls of Luna there is to be absolutely no contact between the sexes."
I swallowed hard.
"They are to maintain separate sleeping, dining and work areas. The only time heterosexual contact is allowed is during the Service of the Waning Moon, when male and female worship
Mother Moon together, and during the meditation hour which immediately follows it."
"Uh, what time does all this start?" I said, not really giving a damn, but wanting to keep him talking while I did some quick recon.
"The Service will begin very shortly. I'm sure you'll find it a moving experience," he said.
The inside of the building was all screwy. Or he'd been walking me around in circles. I was sure we'd already gone much further than was possible without re-crossing out path. Damn, everything looked the same! White walls, windows with opaque glass, closed doors, right angle turns. There wasn't a single picture, a calendar, a fucking nail hole anywhere.
"During this meditation hour, we're all on our own, right?" I asked.
"With a Moonship like that," Bruckner chortled, "don't count on having much time to contemplate the eternal verities, Brother Grue." He stopped in front of a door that looked like all the rest. "This is your room." He pushed open the door and showed me a small dormitory type room, white walls, opaque windows, and three tiers of bunk beds. The room otherwise was empty.
"Looks fine to me," I said. "But how am I ever going to find it again?"
"He who walks in moonlight is never lost," he said.
"Huh?"
"No time to explain now," he said, closing the door. "We must hurry to the Meeting Hall or we'll miss the benediction."
With that, he grabbed hold of the sleeve of my robe and hauled me back down the bleak corridors. The place had a definite hospital-cwm-greenhouse feeling to it. Every time we rounded a corner I fully expected to see a nurse in starched whites come barreling at us pushing a stainless steel gurney piled high with steaming compost.
After a bit we began to run into other cult members on their way to the Service. They were all male. It wasn't until we entered the actual Meeting Hall that we saw any women. Evidently the floor plan of the place was divided up so that each sex had an entire wing to itself and His Radiance's non-fraternization rules were followed to the letter.
The Meeting Hall was a large, high-ceilinged room, probably at one time a small bathroom. Set high above the floor in the far wall was a stage shrouded by a royal blue curtain. In front of the curtain was a low, marble altar; there were metal rings mounted on all four corners. On the floor of the room there were no chairs or seating facilities of any kind. The faithful were packed in shoulder to shoulder ... at least three hundred strong. Men and women mixed and groped freely.
I tried my best to keep a look out for Hildy Knutsen, but it wasn't easy to concentrate. The candidate who stood in front of me, a cute little girl of about fifteen with the tightest baby fat buns you'd ever want to sink your tongue between, took a giant step backwards and gave my crank a yank, rubbing the soft head in under her ass, between her thighs, over the very entrance to her fuzzy little twat.
"Oooh!" she said. "Do you have a partner for meditation yet, Brother?" She spread her long legs and tried to whip some bone into my prick while attempting to stuff it up her dainty pussy.
She had me hard and panting before you could say "Moon Pie," but even when she bent way down and touched her toes, giving me primo access to her hot little slit, I couldn't get the cap in. It was like trying to shove a two by four up a rat's ass: a physical impossibility.
"Excuse me, Sister," said a young stud standing next to me, "but you know you're supposed to wait until after the Service for that."
The girl blushed furiously, released me and quickly disappeared into the milling crowd.
"You have to take it easy at first, Brother," he told me. He was about twenty-five, tall, dark and somewhat longish hair, and he had a wiry build like a track athlete. He was built like me in the crotch department: monstrous.
"You could tell I was green, huh?" I said.
"Yep, just by how hot you were to get your sausage wet. You've got to lay back if you want to survive around here. Those young cunts especially ... they'll fuck you silly, until your balls shrivel up, if you let them. My name's Brother Slaney, by the way."
"Grue. Brother Grue," I said. There was something about the way this Slaney carried himself that I liked ... he was on top of things, together. He seemed oddly aloof, alert, even wary in the face of all the manic dick pulling and pussy twiddling that was going on. I wondered what the hell he was doing there. He certainly didn't seem like the type who'd go ga-ga over all that Moon rubbish.
"Glad to meet you, Brother Grue," he said, shaking my hand. "And what did you do for a living before you stumbled in here?"
"I was an accountant," I said.
"Hell of a grip for an accountant," he said, wincing.
"It comes from holding other people's money," I said. "What line were you in?"
"I used to sell new cars."
He didn't look like any car salesman to me. Too damn lean, too cold around the eyes. My first guess would've been: freelance hit man. I was about to delve into his background further when a hush fell over the crowd. The Service was beginning.
Mondo Bizarro! The curtains parted and three figures came out onto the stage. Two males in heat, and one, nude female in abject terror. The girl was maybe sixteen years old; she had skin the color of chocolate and a medium length afro. She writhed in the grip of the masked, robed men, but they held her wrists very tight and all she succeeded in doing was to make her nubile body wriggle delectably. She had perfect, high, Hershey Kisses for tits; they were so firm and conical that they looked as if they'd been inflated. Her waist was very tiny and her hips were slim and girlish. Between her thighs there was a bit of perfunctory fuzz and a plump mound divided by a single, dark brown slit.
Using brute force, the men shoved her down on her back on the marble altar. While one held her shoulders pinned, his hard on thumping into her forehead, the other set about fastening her to the metal rings with chains that could've restrained a rhino. When they were through, the girl was held spread-legged and vulnerable. She rattled her chains a bit, then seeing the futility in that, she just lay there breathing raggedly and sobbing.
The stagehands, their puds drooling white scuz, then turned the altar on a pivot like a huge Lazy Susan, aiming the black girl's bare and spread pussy towards the crowd.
The "Oooooh's" and "Ahhhh's" were deafening.
All three hundred of us could see everything she had. The sleek inner thighs, the rounded double curves of her buns, the wrinkled winking eye of ebony that was her pore, and, right between her legs, under the canopy of kinky fur, a single gully that split her fat pudenda from clit to pussy mouth.
The audience's hubbub frightened her even more because she began to twist and shake, making her pussy lips, soft brown flaps, contort marvelously.
Then there came the sound of a half dozen trumpets, obviously on tape, playing a strident fanfare and the curtains parted. The crowd went wild; the entire room seemed to shudder as hundreds of feet stamped their approval.
It was Sigmund den Err who stepped onto the stage. No doubt about it. I'd know that bald pate, those throwback brows, that greasy black goatee anywhere. He was much bigger than I thought, though. Close to six foot four and well over three hundred pounds. He had rolls of oleaginous flab where his skull joined his thick neck. He also had an incredibly large hard on. I mean, it was unreal. It looked like an enraged fire hose with a Macintosh apple for a head. He wore the same style robe as everyone else except that his was emblazoned with large five-pointed stars. He might've been bald, but he had no dearth of curly black pubic hair. It hung in swatches from his bloated scrotum and there was a large tuft just above the base of his great whang.
His thick lips split into a lewd grin as he surveyed his wildly applauding flock. He raised his hands for silence and got it, instantly.
"Gathered be We," he said, his voice a rich baritone, "to celebrate the Radiance, to pay homage to the Reflection of that Most Perfect Truth which brings fulfillment."
He stepped up to the altar. The girl tried to shrink away from him but her chains held her in place. Den Err touched a hidden switch in the floor of the stage and the altar raised silently to a height just below his barrel chest. Then he put both his hands upon her naked body, leaning on the altar with all the sanctimoniousness of a Des Moines parson. He freely fondled her firm tits, letting his fingers glide down over her heaving tummy, down into the fork of her crotch.
The girl shuddered uncontrollably and tried to sit up, her eyes as big as doorknobs.
"Luna be praised!" he said.
"LUNA BE PRAISED!! " came the ritual reply.
His thick pale fingers were at the apex of her slit, twiddling, fiddling, spreading the heavy lips, peeling them back like the petals of a flower.
"Noooo!" the girl whimpered, shaking her chains, shifting her hips, trying to rid herself of the delving digits.
"What is the Truth?" he asked the throng, all the while busy with the girl's pussy, folding her labia back, exposing the dark red inner lips and a clit that was fully an inch long and shiny with her musky cuntstuff.
"THE LIGHT!" shouted the faithful.
"And the Light?"
"A REFLECTION!"
"And the Reflection?"
"A REFLECTION!"
"Mirrors facing mirrors, replication without end," he intoned, hooking his index finger over the band of smooth skin between pussy and anus, tickling her ass-hole and rubbing her clit simultaneously, "until the End of Time."
The hot, juicy flesh under his fingertips was having a decided effect on den Err's state of mind. He spoke thickly and with difficulty; his nostrils were widely dilated from the keen foxy odor of bitch in heat that wafted up to him.
Then, much to the delight of the crowd, he hoisted his bulk up on the altar, straddling the bound girl, kneeling so that he faced the audience and her open cunt, so that his large, hairy behind hung just above her panicked face.
"We bathe...." he said, licking his lips, looking down at the sweet, yearning brown fork. "WE BATHE...."
"...in the Light of the Waning Moon...."
"...WANING MOON...."
The stagehands, responding to the cue, quickly stepped up and turned the altar. We were all suddenly looking at den Err's bare-ass, hairy overweight cheeks, white and pale, his deep and hairy crack, his wizened, winking, ochre pore, and, hanging a full six inches below, the bumpy yellow brown sack that held his swollen, kidney shaped orbs.
"We bathe in the...." he began, his ass wagging lewdly.
"...LIGHT OF THE WANING MOON...." hollered the throng.
Den Err then dropped his rear on the girl's upturned face, pinning her head to the altar, grinding her nose, her mouth into his nasty cleavage. Her hands and feet began kicking frantically.
"Most Perfect...." he groaned, rubbing his ass-hole over her fat lips.
"...LIGHT OF THE WANING MOON
The girl's struggles got weaker, as if she were suffocating. And the stagehands rotated the altar one hundred and eighty degrees. Den Err bent down, slipping his arms behind her thighs, locking the backs of her knees in his hairy armpits, bending her legs way back, showing the crowd her swollen cunt and blinking bunghole.
"We walk in...." he hissed, burying his face, his tongue in her snatch.
"...THE LIGHT OF THE WANING MOON...."
He gobbled her twat, slobbering over the hot petals, sliding his long pale tongue into the juicy brown gully, swirling it over her tight little ass-hole. And his rear end was moving up and down in a gross humping action. The girl stopped fighting him and her sleek hips began to shift ever so slightly, to rise to the hungry tongue thrusts that slipped over clit and pisser, pussy entrance and poopchute.
Once again the stagehands turned the altar.
A roar went up from the assembly. Den Err's ass rose and fell, pore winking, only to be met by the puckered, smooching lips, the waggling red tongue of the captive Brown Sugar. She was actually licking his anus ... and loving it!
There were loud shouts of "Gloriana!" and "Praised be Luna!"
Den Err took his mouth from her slippery pussy and sat back, pressing his sphincter to her mouth. She lay there limp, her cheeks puffing in and out as she thrust her tongue up high into his rectum. He waved his hands in the air, his dick thumped against his chest.
"No, Children of Luna," he said, "this is no miracle. It is merely Truth. Truth that all may share. Truth that sets us free."
The lackeys then helped their high priest unplug himself from her thrusting tongue and dismount the altar. The crowd went berserk as the helpers poured two jugs of hot, clear oil over the head Lunie's bulging sex parts. Den Err wrapped his fist about the slippery shaft and pumped himself. His meat glimmered dazzlingly under the stage lights.
Pandemonium broke loose as the gross man stepped between the black girl's thighs, immense cock in hand.
"All systems go?" he shouted, masturbating at a wild pace.
"A-OK!! ! " cried his followers.
"Prepare to launch!! " He rubbed the slick head of his dick into her gaping gash. He was way too big for her. His huge bulb dwarfed even her thighs.
"PREPARE TO LAUNCH!"
"Countdown!"
"TEN...."
"I commit this Moonship to the glory of Perfect Truth!"
"...NINE...."
The angry red bulb slipped down into the dainty love pocket. "Uhhh!" he groaned, flipping his hips, driving the broad head into her body, and taking with it most of her external sexmeat, her clitoris and both pairs of labia.
"YEEEEE!" she wailed.
"...EIGHT...." moaned the crowd, urging their leader to make another violent thrust.
"Uhhhhh!" he grunted, white ass bobbing, pot belly jiggling, thick cock ramming in a tad further, turning the kinky fuzz and the brown petals outside in.
"OWWWWW!! " she screeched, arms and legs flailing.
"...SEVEN...." urged the crowd, leaning towards the stage en masse, a sea of up-thrust fists.
Den Err pulled back a bit, letting the slick seepage of her pussy rush over the head of his cock. Then he attacked with renewed vigor, snapping his hips furiously.
"...SIX ... FIVE ... FOUR...."
"Uhhhh! Uhhhh! Uhhhh!" he cried, his balls slapping into her ass-hole as he lunged.
"UH-HEEEEE! UH-HEEEEE!" she screamed as the thick tool drilled into her, as the great red bulb bored into her hole.
"...THREE...."
"Uhhhhhh!"
Bloated cap swallowed by hungry brown lips; thick shaft slowly pushing deeper. "YEEEEEEEE."
"...TWO...."
"Uhhhhh!"
Red rod stopping, held back by the thin membrane. Hips raring back. "NOOOOOOO."
"...ONE...."
"Arrrrgh!" he growled, snapping his ass in a blur. The greasy pole stabbed, a meat piston slamming against the drumhead.
"AAAHHHHH!" she bawled as the rigid prick took her cherry and kept right on sliding up her tight, virginal vagina.
"...LIFTOFF!! ! ! " Everyone was shouting and jumping up and down and the girl's little cat face was screwed up from the pain of the brisk reaming den Err was giving her. He fucked the daylights out of her, like she was some cheap tart with a mile wide cunt. And how the bastard drooled! Christ, he slobbered all over her, face, tits, belly. All the while, slamming that pile driver up her tight twat.
Just when den Err had got her going, when she'd begun to toss her hips up to meet his brutal thrusts, when her pussy had begun to sputter and fart exuberantly about his plunging shaft, he started to come. Instead of shooting his load up inside her hot pussy, he jerked his glistening choad from her depths ... much to her dismay ... and let the slimy thing flop about on her sweaty tummy.
"OH, GOD!" she cried in disgust as the bearded man's dripping cock began to spurt sizzling white goo all over her brown belly, her bobbing tits, her smooth throat.
Den Err sniggered and dumped his entire payload, amid the cheers of his fans. The sticky stuff pooled in her navel and trickled down over the sides of her rib cage. It billowed over her nipples and gushed up her cleavage. When his spasming stopped, he climbed down from the altar and wiped his cock off on the poor girl's hair.
The two stagehands began to walk among the true believers. They carried huge goblets of red wine that must've held ten gallons. Each person got a hearty swig. The stuff was heavily spiced and there was a bitter, metallic aftertaste.
"Celebrate! The meditation hour has begun!" Den Err shouted over the din. Then he disappeared behind the curtain and left the Children of Luna to amuse and divert themselves.