Seeking Leave to Depart

Syncletia awoke in her cell. It was still dark.

She had had the dream again.

Fire and thorns, tangled together. The shape of a cross silhouetted on the wall of a pine-built lodge, above a bed. As she looked at the cross, a shadow from behind her loomed over her shoulders, the shape of horns cast either side of the wooden crucifix. A hulking shape behind her, solid, hard, and heavy. She could hear heavy breath, and feel the compression of the weight of the being on the floorboards behind her. The clumping sound of a hoof…

It was the same every night. Except now, since her encounter with the Onanites, the dream was extended.

She saw her own, supple, glorious body above herself, her enormous, round, spheroid tits projecting outwards in perfect boulder mounds, and her upside-down body was staked on a cross – not christ’s cross – not even saint Peter’s crucifixion, though, like him, she was inverted, but a splayed X that split her legs above her either side, her ankles tied to it with shiny black straps. She had no agency in the dream and could not turn her head or swivel her eyes. She was utterly transfixed. Then she heard the hooves, grinding into the floor, pawing at the floorboards, scraping like a bull about to run at a matador, and then there was the oblivion of a phallic length that dangled in front of her vision, enormous beyond compare, three, four, five times as big as anything she had dealt with before, wreathed with bulging veins, and hanging in front of her face. Her eyes widened…

And she had awoken.

The dreams had become intertwined. The one she always dreamt, and the new one, the vision she had shared. It was like a key fitting into a lock. She knew what the dream was now – although she had always known, deep down – and, more importantly, she knew where she needed to go.

There was a place in the forest beyond the plains.

And she’d never left the convent, but she knew where it was. Somehow, there was a map in her mind. Somehow, she could portent some kind of gravitational pull towards it. The vision that had broken the poor gooner in the masturbatorium was identical to her own oneiric experiences. They were one and the same.

Cock comes.

To get it, she had been **** – ahem, she thought in her head - **** to treat the babbling, imbecilic goon pig strokers in the masturbatorium to a torrid collective frot-party and insane jackoff session that brought them out of their permanent, chronic hand fucking addiction delirium of relentlessly cranking their dongs like zombified morons and gave them a live bimbo twerk-circus sex show the brought them out of their narcissistic and retarded broken-brain stupors and pushed them even deeper into a frenzy of manic masturbation that had unfortunately meant most of them lost their load over her and each other and turned their brains into scrambled eggs. None of them had seen a woman in years. It was going to be tough to explain.

One thing at a time.

She showered, and the dawn had come up by the time that she was out. She had left the spunk and precum all over herself after she had left the masturbatorium and over the evening it had been rapaciously licked from her bodies by various sisters that she had encountered in the convent. Vespers had been an all-round fuck fest and while she had rooted a hand each in Sister Avanelle and Sister Madeliene’s assholes, she had rather fixed herself to the spot in doing so while she gropingly fisted two tight buttholes at the same time, and a dozen other sisters had accumulated around her, laving their tongues all over her glorious body and ruining both her holes from behind with an ornate phallic candlestick and a crucifix in her butt. To give Jesus his due, it made all the difference to the sensation when Christ’s body was part of the ornamental design of the piece. So many ridges.

She pointedly did not bother with clothes as she exited her cell and made her way across the convent to the rooms that were Prior Priapus’s quarters. She didn’t have the rank to petition the abbot or the abbess (the monastery had both, ruling jointly) but she had the ear of the Prior. Not just the ear, actually.

The prior oversaw the day to day operations of the convent, and she would need to go to him to have permission to leave granted. Prior Priapus was extraordinarily devout. And remarkably austere. While the Abbot and Abbess oversaw doctrinal matters and maintained relationships with other sects and conclaves in the post-Christfall wilderness, Prior Priapus saw to the efficiency and smoothness of the brothers and sisters in the convent, with Sister Superior Yvette his chief enforcer and adjutant.

Evidence of Prior Priapus’s zeal could be seen as Syncletia approached his quarters. There were more than two dozen of her sisters piled in two similar-sized heaps in the antechamber, piled up on both sides of the door that led to the Prior’s private room.

The mounds of perfect female nuns were each over six feet high and stacked against the wall. Some were moaning softly, others completely still. Both of the heaps of female flesh were an asymmetric assemblage of long legs, lolling heads, drooping arms along with a jumble of massive, bulging, tanned round tits and ballooning bubble butts. Various types of correct convent attire were still clinging on to the tangle of limbs, latex stocking here, PVC corsets with buckles there, thigh-high fuck me boots, gloves, black and red shiny wimples, panties with crosses picked out on them, studded collars and fishnet tights.

There was spunk, thick, heavy white spunk sprayed all over each mound like a dusting of snow. It was oozing down the slopes of round tits, dripping off the end of fingertips and lolling chins, and spreading out from the base of each mound in a smooth, extending circle, like a pool.

Not one of the sexually rinsed nuns stirred when Syncletia approached the door. A busty nun she knew as sister MadisonXXX with fire-engine red hair attempted to pry and eye open but was unable to do so due to the thick white gunk of cum that was in a sticky molten web all over her face. Syncletia saw the well-fucked bimbo nun’s clotted eyelashes flutter, and then clump back together. Dual spunk bubbles oozed out of the nun’s nostril and popped.

Naked, Syncletia knocked on the door.