The Goonchamber comes to life!

‘nnnnnghgghgNnnGHhGHGNNNghgghNNNNNGHGGHHHHHHGHGHGHHHHHH!!!’

The sound began as a light murmur of the almost feeble and needy moaning that echoed as an omnipresent backdrop in the goon chamber as the claque of goon-addicted strokepigs in the basement dumbly and relentlessly stoked and edged their rock hard tools, but steadily it climbed until it rose into a crescendo of unintelligible porn-perverted bleating as Syncletia posed above the hulking pair of fuck logs, poised to impale her sweet pussy and asshole on the rigid schlongs of Julius and Spyro.

The increase in the intensity and the needful, urgent character of the sound gave her pause. It was not a co-ordinated cry. It was vapid, inarticulate, a mewling, back-of-the-throat emanation from all the assemblage of porn-drunk cock jockeys, drooling tongues hanging out of their mouths. Looking out over the dimly-lit masturbatorium, Syncletia saw a sea of lank mouths, loosely hanging open, slick, pink, tongues lolling stupidly, illuminated by quad-screened batestations that relentlessly poured decadent porn into the eyes and brains of their addled occupiers. There was a slick, unceasing schluk-schluk-schluk sound that underpinned the spastic and inarticulate goonbabble and ambient moaning, the sound of dozens of massive, post-Christfall acolyte cocks being slavishly stroked and edged.

However, through the miasma of musk emanating from the precum washed floor and the almost fetid, inky gloom of the masturbatorium, the brain-warped chorus of bate-addicted goon pigs rose even above the orgasmic and filthy cries of the whores on the screens they were surveying as the were laid open, spunked on, spit-roasted and anally defiled.

The zombies were coming to life. She was giving them a live show.

Syncletia was not immune to temptation. It was far from her only vice. She was one of the youngest of the Nuns at the convent, a mere eighteen years old, but she had blazed through training, absolution, and all sacramental observances with a zealous affirmation to her calling that outstripped her fellow sisters, and bettered her instructors. Her path was the righteous one.

Surely she would be forgiven a slight detour in the masturbatorium? Her need for dick was Very great. And she would be unlikely to get this chance again.

She could always confess again, if she had been really bad.

The masturbatorium turned her on too much.

Instinctively, she dismounted from the podium upon which Spyro and Julius were locked together. She stood in front of the rapt audience of cock-stroking bate-worshippers, and displayed her body to them in the lewdest, most whoreish way possible. First, turning away from them, she stood fully and, teetering on the stacked platform heels of her black vinyl thigh length boots, swayed her hips slowly and seductively, allowing the round bronzed bowling ball curves of her tanned booty to jiggle deliciously, the jiggle of her supple bubble butt tempting and teasing. That luscious, whoreish ripple of her gorgeous rear sent another crescendo of dumb, turned-on goner ‘NNNNNGHGGHGH!!’ from the assembled strokeslaves, most of whom had now turned their attention from their spunk-encrusted porn-arrays to the voluptuous blonde bimbo nun that was beginning to cavort in front of them.

Syncletia turned, and gave the cock-drunk porn-bator acolytes a lust-filled, dead eyed, wanton, come-fuck-me open mouthed stare over her shoulder, goading the cock-cranking assemblage, and put her hands on the console table in front of her, arching her back and sticking her huge, round, smooth bimbo ass behind her, this time giving it a longer shake so that the gleaming glutes jiggled back and forth. Then, ever so slowly, she turned side-on to them and slid gradually down on her haunches to a stripper squat, bouncing up and down so that her round derriere ass-bomb bounced near to the ground, before easing herself back upright, pushing her ass out as she did so on the way back up so that the peachy round curves bounced.

Then she gave them the full-frontal view, turning head on, and clasped the tiny strands of her black PVC slingshot, toying with them, before fully pulling both of them away and hooking them to the sides of her gargantuan, basketball-sized, perfectly spherical, tanned, pre-cum glazed whore tits, the skin of her bulging orbs stretched tight around the perfectly solid globes. She drooled on them, rubbing it slowly into the sweat-beaded flesh, fingers delicately tracing in circles until they found her tiny, eraser-tip nipples.

‘FFF—ffuf—fuuckkk—giinng w—w-whore…’ Spyro gibbered.

Syncletia grinned and glanced over her shoulder at the master of onanists. The veteran prelapsarian goon pig, relieved of his harness and orgasm-cancelling penis truss, had his tongue hanging out of his mouth in a spastic gooner’s strokepig leer, and he was easing his right hand around the unbelievably monstrous, glossy helmet of his insanely jacked and vascular fuck log. His eyes were boggling. Now that she saw his massive hog without its restrictive apparatus, Syncletia could see for once and all its spectacular majesty. It was a phallus like no other she had encountered in the convent, a monolith of smooth, muscular monstrosity, sporting veins that were the same dimensions of her little finger crisscrossing the sides, with a hulking dorsal vein that led from the bulgingly sprouting root all the way to the fist-sized head, a thing that bloated prodigiously. It was as if the decades of aggravated tumescence, permanent manipulation and massive, sustained bloodflow into the organ had acted an enhancement regime that had given it a potency and gigantism beyond anything she had seen before. It was thicker than her forearm.

‘NNNgGHGhGHGHGhgHGHGH…’ Spyro warbled, a thick sluice of heavy, spunk-infused precum arching out of the bloated tip and splattering him in his own face.

Next to Spyro, Julius wasn’t faring much better. Without his visor projecting porn permanently into his retinas and insulating his senses from the reality of the goon chamber around him, his apprehension of his surroundings brought him from one realm of hyersexed overstimulation into another one. The first thing he saw when his vision came free from the bate-worship apparatus was the spectacle of the ballon-titted fetish-attired blonde teenage pornslut bimbo nun twerking her ass for her audience of addled strokepigs, her busty balloon boobs bouncing feet from his face.

In an instant, he was jerking his cock furiously, top lip curled up, a manic look in his eyes, tongue protruding, taking long footlong strokes up and down the rigid, massive, foot and a half organ that projected out of his going up towards the ceiling. Precum beaded on the tip and then fizzingly shot up, splattering into his own face. The vision of Syncletia would have made him wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven, had his useless brains not have been scrambled into idiocy by porn overstimulation and years of mindless gooning. His face contorted ludicrously as he ogled Syncletia’s eye-popping form, transported into delirium by seeing a true pornified nun like a latex archangel, right before him, in the flesh.

‘NNNghghGHGHGHGHhhhh!!!’

A crowd was beginning to form slowly around Syncletia’s bate-worship rostrum, as slowly, as quickly as their jellied brains and dulled senses would allow, the host of gargling bate-addicts unhooked themselves from the porn-projecting paraphernalia and stumbled in their dazed, jerk-drunk trances to where she was placing her hands above her head and naughtily twerking her giant, gleaming bazookas at them. Slowly they abandoned their batestations and shuffled towards the showstopping nympho bimbo tit-freak in gloomy cavern, one after another, drawn like moths to the flame, shambling barefooted in the precum slop that coated the floor.

‘A real shame you guys aren’t allowed the touch of a woman,’ Syncletia said as the bate-addict thronged in a crescent around the podium, ‘I know it’s handpussy only for you fucking perverted strokepigs. Fucking dumb braindead addicts and compulsive masturbator porn junkies can’t even bust either, right? It would be sooooo sinful of me to make you bust… just the edge for you freaks isn’t it? Edge edge edge edge edge, pump pump pump pump pump?’

The voluptuous sex nun mirrored the face that she was seeing in the crowd back at them. The face that all of them were making, **** and braindead, wall-eyed, mouths limply agape. All of them had their hands around their massive, overstimulated, rock hard organs, giving themselves luxuriating strokes up and down the thick, gleaming lengths or twisting and edging the sensitive, glistening heads.

‘NNNGHGHGHGHghghgHGHGHGHHGghgHGHGNNNGHGHG!!!’

Syncletia felt a surge of religious fervour at being the object of so much dedicated devotion. As a Nun, she was trained to outfuck, outlast, and out-sin anyone on earth – believer, unbeliever, **** of dark or light. No-one could stand up to her. She knew pleasure. But these denizen-domiciled fist-fuckers, the lumpen, porn-broken, mind-fucked junkies were as much devotees of the Risen Christ as she was. They would never know the touch of a woman, never seen daylight, they would never – if they could possibly help it – even orgasmically bust. They spent their whole lives under the convent, wallowing in a sewer of porn filth so that their permanent priapic devotions would ascend into heavenly supplications. They were effectively monks.

Syncletia loved it.

Crossing her eyes, opening her lips slackly, and then letting her eyes roll into her head while sticking her lolling tongue out of her mouth, she inverted her hands, curled them into fists, and mimicked a jack-off motion either side of her face. Leering and rolling her head, she mimed a slack-jawed, brain-broken stroke zombie back at them. Then she put one of her hands at her crotch and mimed a quick, ecstatic pantomimic handfucking at them, giving a spastic ‘O’ face as she humped her supple hips into her fist.

‘NNNNNNNNGHHHHHHHH!!! Fucking pigs. Oink for me.’