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A Fresh Maiden for the Sex Cult

The abandoned storefront's grimy front door stuck but Becky, her shoulder hard against it, pushed it open. And Valerie followed her into the dimness.

"Oh, what are we getting ourselves into," Becky asked. Her jeans and sweatshirt were loose and plain. Work clothes bag in hand, she turned in a slow circle and took it all in. Dust, cobwebs, half-fallen wall shelves and debris covering the floor.

"It's the best we can afford." Valerie's Daisy Dukes and halter were tight. "So, let's not complain too much. 'Let's open a bookstore,' you said..."

"Okay, okay. Where's the Realtor?"

"The handsome realtor? He said he'd be right behind us."

Becky eyed her friend, head shaking. "He's got a wedding ring."

"I saw it," Valerie said dismissively. "So?"

Rolling her eyes, Becky returned to appraising the store. "I'm going to find the bathroom and put on some work clothes. You?"

"I'll wait for the realtor," Valerie murmured, twisting one dangling orange lock.

The bathroom was at the end of a cramped, dark hallway. Becky fumbled for the light cord and shrieked at the exposed mouse.

"God, this is even worse," she muttered to herself, setting her clothes bag on the toilet and kicking off her heels.

Stripping, she contemplated her reflection in the dusty mirror over the sink. She was cute enough, in a large-glasses-and-textbooks sort of way. Long, sensibly-cut brown hair. Freckles. A conservative touch of lip gloss. No beauty, certainly. Not like Valerie.

The two had met at the Community College, had shared a dorm room. They'd always gotten along well but down deep, Becky had always envied Valerie's popularity. The guys never stopped.

Unhooking the maiden bra's clasp between her perky breasts, she shrugged it off. That was another thing. Valerie had plenty upstairs to make the guys all drool. Becky -- she made a face in the mirror -- was a petite. Bs, at best.

And loose! Valerie was the most promiscuous girl Becky had ever known. Once, after studying at the campus library, Becky had swung into their dorm room only to find Valerie on her knees, happily blowing a complete stranger. "He's thinking about enrolling here next year," Valerie had later explained.

Before pulling up the painter's pants, Becky looked back and down over one shoulder blade at the red rose tattoo on her left cheek. The one wild thing she'd done in college.

Zipping up the pants, Becky exited the bathroom and came face to face with a dingy stranger.

"Oh! Who are you?" she demanded, startled.

He grinned, "They call me Zachariah. We've got the basement, and we've been using this upstairs entrance instead of the alley one." He pointed.

"Well, we're moving in, now," Becky stammered.

Zachariah nodded. Then took Becky's arm. "Come here." Smiling, winking. "Come here."

"Hey!" Becky protested, becoming scared. "I'm not alone!"

Zachariah released her arm. "I'm offering you a glimpse at something most people will never see, never experience." He smiled. " You won't regret it, believe me. And it will only take a minute."

"I'm not alone," Becky repeated. But she moved with him toward the basement door. Fearful, but curious.

The old wooden stairs creaked. "Who Murdered Sex?" demanded blue grafitti on the crumbling, reddish basement brick wall.

Becky's eyes became accustomed to the darkness. She became aware of about a dozen people -- men, women, white, black -- huddled in the shadows. The men wore plain black robes. The woman, though, were bedecked in the flashiest, most stylish goth and bondage gear. Leather bras, fishnets, black fingernails, wildly-done makeup, big, frizzed-out hairstyles.

A man in a crimson robe stepped forward, clapping twice. "Bring her to me," he instructed. Zachariah's grip on Becky's arm steeled as he pushed her forward.

"What are you called," the Crimson One demanded, eyeing her from top to bottom.

"Becky," she whispered, her mind reeling.

"Becky...Becky..." he mused. Then he stepped to her. "Becky, you have an opportunity."

The assembled clapped and whispered to one another.

"We are a sex cult," the apparent master continued. "We are concerned with nothing but physical pleasure. Do you understand?"

Becky nodded, eyes wide.

"Tell me, Becky, do you enjoy sex?"

She said nothing, paralyzed.

"I mean, having a man" he waved a hand "or a woman -- doesn't matter -- having them inside you, on top of you, making you cum until you can't stand the thrill and then --"

Her knees felt weak. Against her wishes, she was aware of wetness.

"--then having them do it all over again? Becky, do you want me to fuck you like an animal right now?"

Someone howled. Another clapped.

He slowly circled her, appraising her. "Perhaps you want to suck my dick, to feel its hardness sliding into your throat, violating your chastity, leaving hot, sticky cum to fill your pretty little mouth."

"WOOOOOOOO!" from the listeners.

"Do you want me to fuck you in the ass?" He paused behind her, grabbing a handful. "So firm, so high." Slapping her ass appreciatively, he returned to face her.

She shivered. "Are you going to make me?"

He shook his head. "Of course not, for that is not pleasure. And we are concerned only with mutual pleasure. Becky look at this." He spread the robe, and Becky found herself looking at an enormous, hardened dick, standing proudly straight toward her. The purplish mushroom head seemed to beckon.

"Doesn't it look good, Becky? Wouldn't you like to have it all to yourself? In your mouth? In your pussy? You can."

The assembled hooted encouragement. Unconsciously, Becky licked her lips.

He closed the robe. "I told you we are concerned with pleasure, and that is true. But ours is also a very secretive society. If you knew the identities of those assembled here...lawyers, doctors, professors, a Congressman...Becky, whatever you do here will remain secret."

Now cult women had swarmed around Becky and were encouraging her, patting her back and rubbing her arms. "Come on, Becky, come on. Say 'Yes!' Say 'Yes!'"

Becky thought of Kevin, her only college boyfriend. He'd dumped her, called her boring. They'd only done it twice, and that was six months ago.

"Becky," the master said. "I want to see your rose tattoo again."

"My WHAT? How do you know..."

He smiled and gestured toward an emerald silk curtain. A cult member drew it back to reveal a video screen. Becky gasped. There was Valerie, on her knees in the bathroom, blowing the married realtor! She stared as Valerie turned her head this way and that, her bobbing quicker and quicker. The realtor stared down at her. Becky saw several cult members rubbing themselves.

The master called two of the women to him, giving instructions for Becky's makeover. She saw one look at her and nod. Numb, she allowed them to usher her into an adjoining room.

The transformation room was clean and bright. Seated, Becky found herself surrounded by cult women. In spite of herself, she was aroused by their barely-covered, curvy flesh. "Will I look like you," she asked, eyeing their dark mistresses attire.

"Oh, no," one laughed, pulling Becky's hair back into a ponytail. "The master craves your freshness, your naivete. It wouldn't do for you to look as we do."

Another applied just a whisper of rouge. "Don't worry. His instructions to us were very explicit. Very explicit."

"Wait a minute," Becky threw off their hands. "Don't I get a say in any of this?" But she knew she'd already gone over a line.

The women stared at her. One finally said, "Well, of course you do. Of course you do. He told you so. But don't you know how lucky you are?" The other nodded excitedly. "And didn't you see how big it is? Who wouldn't want to?"

Becky fell silent, and the women returned to the makeover. "There, done. Now stand up," one commanded.

Becky did as she was told, and the woman began unbuttoning the painter's pants. "He wants you innocent and nude for the ritual." 'Ritual?' Becky was apprehensive. But tingling, too.

The next room was clean, also. But in place of the electric lighting only candles illuminated it. The cult members had assembled, but what caught Becky's eye was an odd contraption in the center of the room. A sort of padded wooden bench with extended side planks and straps.

Two of the men led her to it and stretched her out on her stomach. Her arms were stretched straight out on each side and bound to the planks. She felt a broad leather strap being cinched around her waist. Hands spread her thighs wide and folded her lower legs up, the soles of her feet facing ceilingward. There were ropes and there were pulleys. Soon, she was completely exposed.

"Now Becky, listen to me," the master appeared before her. "Before we begin, are you comfortable doing this? For once it begins, it cannot stop." The assembled were hushed, waiting for her answer.

Becky thought of Valerie blowing everybody, of Kevin dumping her. Of her loneliness. Boring? "Yes, I'm sure," she nodded.

"Good, good," said the master. He raised a ceremonial chalice toward her lips. "Drink this."

"That's not going to knock me out, is it?"

He shook his head. "This will make greater your carnal appetite, your capacity for pleasure. See, we're all drinking it."

She followed his waving hand and saw that the assembled were passing another chalice.

I have to do them all, she thought. But she did not protest. She just nodded slowly. Someone removed her very proper glasses. And just as a blindfold was being lowered over her eyes she saw Valerie being ushered into the Ritual room. Zachariah was behind her, an arm encircling her, one hand moving inside the blouse.

Becky, blindfolded and strapped down -- her legs held apart -- was available, vulnerable. And it began.

Without warning, a huge hardened dick slid into her mouth ('the master,' she thought), a firm hand on the back of her head manipulating it forward and back. Another man, on his back, must have slipped beneath the bench. For suddenly her juicy, prim pussy was invaded from below by a jackhammering erection. And then she felt hands spreading her ass cheeks, a third burning dick splitting her anus wide.

Three men savagely fucking her simultaneously! Becky's fevered imaginings spun wildly. Her senses heightened, she could hear grunting, smell mustiness, feel countless hands exploring her all over and taste the sticky semen in her mouth, her throat.

A strong hand from below suddenly grabbed at her pointy, smallish breast, massaging the fresh flesh roughly and twisting the stiffening little nipple repeatedly.

Nor was it soon over. For as soon as one had finished with her, a replacement quickly took over. Her jaws came to ache. Her pussy swelled, discharging again and again. Her ass was on fire.

She soon lost count. Surely, all were taking turns. Time had no meaning. She was being used like an object and she was loving every second.

At one point, the dick at her lips was replaced by a slick, fragrant pussy. Valerie? Becky was quite beyond caring and lapped and sucked joyfully. She heard delighted squeals and girl cream was the hot reward she soon wore on her face.

And then, the aggressive gang bang stopped. All was quiet. Becky felt the master's huge cock ream her dripping pussy once more, thrusting with beastial abandon until her legs were shaking and kicking against the leather restraints.

But he pulled out before climaxing, only to assault her pretty mouth anew. Becky could taste her own tangy pussy juice on his throbbing, veined shaft, blending with manly musk. She began gagging as the swelled head tormented the back of her throat, filling her mouth with an impossibly-large charge of steamy cum.

Then, it was over. A hand removed the blinfold.

Becky saw the cult members leaving the room. Naked, thoroughly exploited and spent, slutty Valerie lay moaning happily on the floor in the corner. Her hands were tied to a water pipe. Her orange hair was tangled and cum-soaked. Her long, shapely legs were spread wide, jerking spasmodically.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Becky whispered at the cult members' backs. Her words obscured by the master's left-behind load, dripping from her pulpy lips.

She felt herself succumbing to sleep.

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