Horny Cultists

They came from the offices, before and after. Six women, naked beneath their robes, bodies painted in whirls and stripes that looked black under the dim red lights, faces hidden by devilish masks made from the skulls of goats and cows, painted lips visible beneath the bony snouts. One stood in front of Lois, raising her robes to either side to display her body.

She was tall and curvy, the body of a mature woman, wide hips garlanded with a little belt from which dangled tiny bones, her belly a soft pooch above a dark and tangled forest of pubic hair, her fat breasts sagging gently beneath their own weight. There was no way to pass except through her, and Lois was not sure what to do.

The sign she seeks is the fivefold kiss. Let me guide you, and they will let us pass.

Reluctantly, the reporter silently agreed. She did not resist as her body bent at the knees, bowing down in genuflection before the naked cultist. Her face crawled forward to press her lips against the bare feet, first the left and then the right, and behind her, she heard the women chant...

"Blessed be thy feet, that have brought thee in these ways."

Her neck rose jerkily, Lois instinctively resisting. She struggled to relax, to let her body move to another's will, the lips pressing against hard knees with rough skin, again first the left and then the right.

"Blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar."

It was harder now, as Lois felt her hands grasp those knees, levering her body up, bringing her eyes level with that dark forest, the hidden furrow within gleaming wetly. The reporter could smell the woman strongly, a potent musk that spoke of long bouts between washing, all the sweat accumulating in those dark curly hairs...

...and Blaze buried the reporter's face in that dark forest, the smell filling her nostrils, hairs tickling her nose, getting in her mouth as she extended the tongue and tasted something new, unfamiliar, wet and warm and soft beneath the probing muscle, salty and tangy, and the women behind her chanted in unison.

"Blessed be thy womb, without which we would not be."

Lois Lane felt her left knee rise, body straightening, bringing her face up from that muff, face pressing gently against that soft belly before her eyes latched onto the left breast. The nipple was fat and dark, the nipple of a mother who had nursed, and the reporter felt her lips latch onto it, sucking gently...but briefly, ever so briefly, letting it go to turn her attention to the right breast, kissing it gently, reverently, tasting...yes, something sweet and warm and familiar. Lois was not surprised to see a white drop on the nipple as she levered herself up to standing.

"Blessed be thy breasts, formed in beauty."

The head tilted back, the goat-horn mask lifted away from the wide, generous mouth that opened to show strong white teeth capped with gold. Lois Lane felt swept along, all resistance gone as she was drawn to that mouth, tilting her head so their lips could meet, the tip of her tongue playing against the hard metal...she tasted like rum and strawberries, cinnamon and musk.

"Blessed be thy lips, that shall utter the Sacred Names."

The horn'd cultist broke the kiss, mask lowering, hiding a smile. Lois felt left...wanting. But the cultists were retreating back where they came, leaving the pathway clear to a thick velvet curtain, black and impenetrable under the lights. The reporter walked forward under her own power, still tasting those lips on her own.

First part is over. Next is more dangerous...I can help you there too.