15 - The Blasphemous Kiss

"Witchcraft," Anya said, as she picked up a candle, "has been grossly misrepresented by pop culture. A generation thought the secrets of the Black Mass were available in English in paperback, that a pentagram tattoo made you a sister those accused at Salem in 1692, that the greatest expression of feminine power was to get naked in the woods with some friends and play with broomsticks."

There was a sadness in her voice as she said this.

"But it isn't always the way. Sometimes—oh so rarely—someone falls into an occult world of which they know nothing. Yet once their steps are on the path of initiation, there is no way out save through—or ****. I call this tale

THE BLASPHEMOUS KISS

Her first kiss was the summer between high school and university. James had dropped his pants and bent over, spreading his cheeks.

"Right in the middle," he said. "Please."

It was the capstone of their relationship. High school sweethearts who knew long-distance wasn't going to work for them. Agnes, Aggie to her friends, bent forward and pressed her lips against his pucker. She had suspected for some time that she was just his beard. Probably the first of many. Yet she couldn't deny a nasty thrill as her tongue pushed through he lips to feel the little wrinkles of his browneye. Her heart beat faster when she heard him gasp like a virgin. She let the kiss linger, to explore the moment.

Aggie's first roommate at Dagon's Hollow College was Wendy. Nerdy, bookish, and had a tendency to sleep in underwear that always slipped low on her butt and kick the sheets off. She was also terribly obvious, stealing peeks whenever Aggie changed. One night, when Aggie came back to the dorm buzzed, she saw Wendy laid out in the moonlight, which made that ball ass just glow.

Wendy wasn't asleep. Aggie wasn't drunk enough to think she was. But the bookworm didn't protest when Aggie pulled her panties down a little further. Or spread those soft white cheeks. Maybe she was surprised when the trail of kisses stopped at her asshole instead of traveling down to her pussy, but by then they were both committed. It was a long, sweaty night, and some switch inside Aggie flipped as Wendy gave up the pretense of sleeping to moan and squirm, unable to escape the hot tongue that pushed and swirled and finally squeezed into that hot little hole, Aggie's nose buried in the other woman's ass, slightly thrilled at her own power.

After that, it became Aggie's private pleasure. Something to be indulged in where possible, although most polite company shied away from "Hi, can I eat your ass?"

So Aggie started frequenting places where that was a great icebreaker.

The field hockey team was surprisingly amenable to the concept. She had her pick of the Anime Club. Wendy couldn't say no, poor thing. There was Saturday nights when Aggie would come home from the clubs and bars, having struck out, and without a word would pull Wendy's pants down and bury her face in between those sweet cheeks.

Yet Aggie wanted more. Some of the more daring folk she encountered told her about certain parties that were more...liberated.

Which is how one night at the end of April, Aggie found herself across the tracks. There were no proper woods in that area, since it was all plains, but there was a copse of trees and bushes, like an island in a sea of grass, and she made her way. Inside, she could make out the fire. The men and women naked. Someone drumming.

She told herself later she must have been crazy to strip naked, folding her clothes and putting them and her cellphone atop her shoes at the edge of that copse. Slinking in. There were almost a dozen people there, and they were clearly drunk. Never still for long, always moving counterclockwise around the bonfire, the shadows flickering. And what made Aggie's heart hammer in her chest is that there was one large figure, bent over on what looked like an old picnic table, and they each took turns kissing his ass.

They didn't even notice when she slipped into the middle of their revels. Hands groped Aggie's breasts, her ass. Slid down her pussy to shove hard fingers up her gash. Aggie didn't bat them away. She was moving toward her goal. The nearer she got, the darker it seemed to get, so that she couldn't see the figure exactly. He was blacker than the night, encased in some kind of latex suit that accentuated his massive posterior. His buttocks were massively overdeveloped, and the anus was a ring of muscle, better suited for a horse than a human being.

Aggie licked her lips.

No one stopped her as she stepped forward and pressed her face into that warm mass. The ring of muscle throbbed, so hot it felt like it would burn her. She extended her tongue and slathered the hard, dark ring, tasting the spit of the other revelers. Knowing she might be discovered at any moment, she opened her mouth wide and jammed her tongue into that asshole, right in the center where the muscle should have been clenched tight.

Only it parted. A hot exhalation wafted over her, reeking of sulfur and some animal musk. Yet that isn't what shocked Aggie the most.

It was the warm, soft, flopping thing that slid out of the gaping asshole and into her mouth. She stood there, shocked. Her heart thundered in time with the drums. She could have run, could have torn herself away. Instead, in a moment of madness she leaned into it. Her tongue twined with that strange tongue that emerged from the black anus. She felt it curl and play with her own, like French kissing. Only nothing in her young life had ever prepared her for something this bizarre, this...unholy.

Her nose was jammed into the crack of that ass. Her fingers sank into the new gooey thighs, which held encased her hands like thick tar. She gasped as the black tongue or tendril filled her mouth, pressed down her throat. Tears ran down her eyes as discomfort pushed through her body, the inhuman tendril moving further and further pushing the contents of her stomach in front of it, winding its way through her guts.

Then she realized the drums had ceased. Her eyes looked around, frantic, but she couldn't see much. She felt the hands that pulled her own asscheeks apart. Felt the blasphemous kiss of some stranger's mouth on her own anus. Then the tongue inside of her pushed out of her. Stretched her virgin hole open from the inside. Even though there was nothing left in Aggie's stomach, the sensation was intense...and dimly, in the firelight, she could see the rest of the coven taking their place, mouth to ass. Until all twelve of them were connected by that single long black tendril.

At last, the inhuman thing began to move, dragging the others behind him through the Sabbat, no longer humanoid in form, but a wobbling gelatinous black mass that extended pseudopods to drag itself forward with impossible strength. Aggie staggered along behind it, no longer struggling to free herself but just to keep up, her feet beating out a rhythm with the others. An endless procession around the fire that she could not escape.

Morning found her naked and with a burning rasp in her voice, upon the well-trodden circle of earth surrounding the black coals of the fire. Aggie staggered from the copse. Her clothes were where she had left them. For a few moments, she allowed herself to think that perhaps she had been ****. LSD, ecstasy, something to make her hallucinate. Then she saw it.

The other members of the coven had dispersed. One of them had left a little gift: a jar of ointment. Aggie knew nothing of the lore of witchcraft, of the tails of how they would mix the rendered from the fat of an unbaptized baby with certain plants that are normally considered toxic. A witch's ointment. What few witchhunters realized was how useful rendered fat was as lube.

Aggie told Wendy this before she disappeared. Something had changed inside of the young woman. She had not intended to join a coven, knew nothing of the osculum infame, the blasphemous kiss which was mentioned but so little understood in medieval times. Something that pushed her kink to its utmost limit and beyond. Wendy told me that the last she saw of Agatha, the young woman was headed to a different sort of school, for a different sort of learning. Her feet had been set on a strange path into the world of the occult...and there was no going back.

From a pocket, Anya pulled a small glass jar of white ointment, on whose label someone had hand-written instructions in a black pen.