A Traditional Black Mass

The room down below looked like it had once been a church. Lois Lane was carried down there, semi-conscious. Stripped naked and laid on the altar, she stared up at an inverted cross. The Christ-figure that had on once hung on it had been replaced by a large toad or frog, crucified upside-down, its great mouth gaping open.

Naked woman filled the pews. The reporter was vaguely aware of each woman's hand on the pussy of the one next to her, so that there was a great susurrus of slick fingers as they squelched in and out of wet pussy lips, soft moans, curses when someone rubbed too hard or not hard enough.

Then, a hush.

A new voice. Powerful. Feminine. With an odd accent that Lois Lane could not place.

"Our father, who wert in Heaven, unhallowed be thy name..."

A chorus of voices echoed the distorted prayer. Then Lois Lane's head rolled on her shoulder and she saw her.

Naked, the crimson figure towered over the altar. Lanky and tall, like a greyhound on human scale. Dark horns curled back from her broad forehead, a kind of golden tiara held back a mass of dark black hair that fell to the middle of her back. Small breasts, tipped with soft, puffy pink nipples stood out as she laid a chalice on the flat stomach of the reporter. Lois grunted as something was **** between the lips of her pussy...and she recognized that the scarlet fingers stuffed her pussy with stolen mass wafers, the blessed hosts now being defiled and softened by the reporter's pussy juices.

The service went on, oddly familiar to Lois Lane from childhood trips to the Episcopal church, yet oddly unfamiliar as well. A thousand small blasphemies. Farces. Desecrations. Blasphemies.

The culmination came when the naked women filed up to the altar. One by one, the crimson fingers of the demon dug a soft, pussy-soaked wafer from the reporter's cunny. Lay the host on the tongue, and let them wash it down with a sip of the black wine from the chalice. Lois wasn't sure what was in there, but she was aware of the effect it had. The naked women staggered away, visibly unsteady...only to be dragged down into the general orgy that developed in the middle of the room. Naked woman lay with naked women, tongues and fingers delved, pussies rubbed raw, cries of ecstasy and pain filled the room to the rafters.

All this Lois Lane saw and heard. She had not moved at all, utterly docile, as if she stood apart from the proceedings. Vaguely, Lois knew she must have been **** after they tazed her. Yet now, as the last celebrant staggered off to join the group sex, Lois felt a warm hand slide under her neck and lift the reporter's head up.

It was the demon. Her eyes were pure white, without pupil or iris, and glowed from within as if fires banked in her skull. The smile of the scarlet succubus was smug, as if she knew a secret that she refused to tell.

"Now," she whispered, so softly that only Lois could hear. "For the black miracle. For your transmutation, Lois Lane."