Finish Eucharist and Head to the Sister of Novices

The Eucharist was the sacrament that the Nuns most enjoyed partaking in. Regular servings of Christ cum. What’s not to like?

Vulga gargled the silky, gooey spunk ostentatiously as she stepped away from Father Ash, winking at him and crossing herself as she withdrew from the alter, still facing it, taking reverent backward steps. At the foundation of the New Church, there had been volcanically serious theological disputes about communion which had rehashed much of the divisive imbroglios that had bedevilled its late-medieval schism. Essentially the issue was one of new wine in old bottles. The question had once been as to whether the Eucharistic wine actually physically changed into the blood of Christ at the moment of transubstantiation. Worlds had turned on the interpretation, and much blood spilt. The renewed question, for the Church of Cock and the Sluts of Christ ran on parallel lines: did the priest’s communion cum change form in that most holy sacramental moment? Did it become the cum of Christ?

There were cum-of-Christ devotees and there were puritanical sluts for mortal semen. The whole thing was a little tiresome for Vulga, who kept out of it. Theology was interesting, but not spiritual. Not like fucking.

Vulga made one further show of letting a cum rope that was incredibly thick bodied, pendulously drooping, and now lustrously speckled with bubbly froth loll from her lips, and playfully, eyes shooting up seductively to Father Ash, let it dribble further until the gluey, elastic lace dipped all the way down her torso and ended between her legs. Sucking up quickly, the stacked Nun slurped the errant, sticky strand back into her mouth, before playfully repeating the motion with her plump lips to let the gooey white cream cascade up and down in front of her monster tits a few times. The display was not solely for the benefit of Father Ash, and Vulga clocked a couple of her fellow Sisters giggling silently at her feat of cum juggling.

Vulga fancied she saw Father Ash’s eyes glitter inside the hood, and then noticed both of the blindfolded novices being **** to take a sturdier grip on the rosaries as the behemoth, vascular penis juddered, the prodigiously thick tissues of the monster length throbbing visibly as the gleaming tip tilted upwards towards the ceiling of the chapel. Clearly her slutty spunk-sucking, cum squelching spectacle had got through to the patriarch. The novices wrestled with the roasaries, their forearms jostling to rein in the convulsions of the contorting, muscular length as it bucked in front of them.

A length of white, glossy, liquid silk jetted out of the tip which arced directly over Etha’s head and onto the massive, protruding rack of Sister Tifa, who was four places behind Etha in the procession. The splatter caked Tifa’s tits, the welter of glossy jizz smacking audibly all over her rack. Vulga suppressed an unseemly giggle, and turned as a more accurate burst of spunk splattered Etha in the designated sacramental way. Vulga made her exit.

Vulga’s massive stacked platform heeled thigh-length boots took her out into the hallway. Two other Sisters, Constanze and Aletta, were engaged in a passionate session where they were sharing the fruits of communion, the chins of both massively buxom Sluts of Christ connected by a gleaming bridge of glistening cum, their huge spherical cans pressed together as they embraced. Neither paid Vulga much mind.

Behind them, a fresco on the plaster wall depicted one of the tribulations of the Risen Christ. A stylised pastel montage showed Him, robe thrown back over his hip as his lean and muscled groin thrust an inhumanly gigantic and glistening meat prong upwards through the monster cans of one of the Virginal Whores of the Crimson Garter. Like a lot of the New Gospels, it was an alluring piece of apocrypha that speculated on a compromised Christ after the second coming. The disappearance of the saviour was supposed to have taken place over forty torrid days and nights, during which the Son of God had been showered with the litany of sinful pleasures that he had up until then forbeared from partaking of. There were endless configurations built up in detailed apocrypha that conjectured about the many bizarre and spectacularly debauched ways that Christ’s ecstasy had been indulged. Nothing was known for sure, unless the hallucinatory visions of the sisterhood of Styrics were to be believed, though many thought them dreamers rather than visionaries.

Vulga left Constanze and Aletta to their post-communion congress. She went towards the chambers of the Mistress of Novices, preparing to wait outside the room, but noticed that the door was ajar when she got there, with the light on. A shadow, cast by the light of the desk lamp, indicated someone was inside the room.

The stacked Nun went inside, disturbing a familiar figure who was engrossed in a book on top of the desk. Her entrance caused him to turn.

‘Dr Alb,’ said Vulga. There was a pause. A thick blob of cum registered the moment by sliding off her chin, onto her knockers, then sliding slowly around the near-spherical curve of the circumference of her jutting tits, before dropping onto the floor.

‘Vulga,’ Dr Alb said, ‘God be with you, whore.’

Like the rest of the community, Dr Alb was a Christ’s Fall generation human. As such, he might not have fitted in with stereotypical conceptions of what a Doctor of Theology might look like. Thirty-five, with a thick but well-kept beard and close-cropped hair, his body bulged against the shirt and trousers he was wearing. The monocle he wore was an affection that was apt to be fogged.

‘And also with you, stud,’ said Vulga, cum still oozing from her open mouth as the gorgeous slut strutted deliberately across the room, each foot planted perfectly in front of the other before sliding down in front of him on her haunches.

‘Vulga, we’re awaiting the Mistress of Novices…’ was Dr Alb’s not-entirely convincing protestation, as the fingerless glove of Vulga’s black-latex clad hand slid down his torso to his groin, where by rights it should have encountered a turgid cock.

‘Wouldn’t you rather worship than wait?’ Vulga asked, as her hand slid further down Dr Alb’s thigh, where it encountered the immense log of thick, hard flesh that was pinioned under the fabric of his trousers.

Opening her mouth in a silent ‘WOW’ as she looked him in the eye, Vulga pressed the trousers flush against Dr Alb’s groin and thigh to fully display the giant dimensions of the turgid junk that way pulsating underneath it, one hand resting where his massive balls were, the other one pressing against where the bulky, tennis-ball sized head of his monster-sized schlong extended to his knee.

Vulga stuck her tongue out and let it slide all the way down the fabric. It left a slivery snail's trail of cum in a streak all the way down the material.

‘You know how messy I am with Eucharist. I’m always fucking hungry,’ Vulga continued.

‘Well you see Vulga I’ve actually been brought her to tell you about this artifa-‘

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Vulga disposed of Dr Albs trousers with a swift and practised dual fly unzipping and belt unbuckling motion.

‘I’m not stopping you, stud…’ said Vulga, ‘it’s my mouth that’s going to be full…’