Through the Black Door

Lois steeled herself as she stood before the door. A shiver of excitement or apprehension went through her, but she reached out for the handle, grasped it firmly. Felt the warm brass in her hand, as if someone else had just held it.

Then it dissolved.

Handle and door faded into shadow, and Lois could see through where the door should be—a door-shaped frame into a hazy world. Heat radiated from beyond, as if Lois stared into an oven, but she could make out figures that moved in that grey beyond—nude figures moved in a kind of dance that circled around a woman that knelt, hands on her knees, back straight. An older woman dabbed a crude brush in a bowl at her hand, brushed something black and sticky on each nipple, on the slight curve of her belly above her mons, long thin blue-black lines down each arm and over each hip to the legs...

The dance shifted, a silent tempo Lois felt rather than heard, and her own heart beat faster. Dancers lined themselves up in a gauntlet. They were all women, Lois saw, but between each of their their legs sprouted a penis—hard and proud, swollen heads pointed upwards. Their pricks bobbed in time, as if their pulses were synchronized. The woman who knelt stood up...and began to walk.

As she passed the first pair of dancers, they exploded. Streams of white jizz arced in the air and splattered against the painted woman. Rope after rope hit her, ran down the dark lines...and Lois could smell it, at that moment, the locker room odor of sweaty bodies, the slightly antiseptic stench of cum...

The woman didn't stop. Every step, the dancers shuddered and moaned, nipples hard and breasts heaved as they painted her. After the fifth pair, the painted woman got down on her knees—and now it splattered in her hair, on her face, ran over her back and buttocks, smudged the dark lines as it dripped down arms and legs.

In the final stretch, the painted woman, still on her knees, raised her head and opened her mouth, pink tongue arched out to catch the streams of semen as they fell on her. The final dancers lowered their cocks to aim at her face as she passed, the grey-white goo pooled in her mouth. The woman's throat bobbed as she swallowed, then opened her lips again for more. Lois swallowed the drool in her own mouth, the smell so strong now she could almost taste the cum herself.

The gauntlet ended. The painted woman, now daubed in white and black, continued forward on her knees. Before her, Lois saw what the woman had headed for—a mammoth black goat, fur thick and matted, yellow eyes with those strange horizontal slits. There were horns on its head, and a black beard that reached to the floor, but Lois also saw the swollen belly and bloated teats, and hanging beneath that a vast black prick—something better suited for a horse.

The old woman was there, and turned the black goat around. With casual ease, she lifted the goat's tail, and Lois could see this was a true hermaphrodite—heavy balls the size of grapefruits dangled above the leathery black labia, and above that, the swollen donut of the anus. The painted woman crept forward on her knees. With her hands, she gripped the furry flanks and pulled them apart, then lowered her head, pink tongue first, to bury her mouth into the goat's ass.

But it wasn't a goat, Lois saw. It was a woman...scarlet skinned, black hair that flowed over her back, long cock that scraped the floor. It was her asshole that the painted woman vigorously locked her lips on, her ass that the woman's hands had spread apart. Her yellow eyes that seemed to meet Lois' gaze, as she turned her head to look down the row of shemales towards the doorway Lois looked through.

A moan shuddered through the crowd, as their cocks collectively spurted a little again, white drops dribbled down their erect shafts...and Lois, finally, recognized where she had seen the face of the painted woman before.

It was her own.

Lois steeled herself as she stood before the door. A shiver of excitement or apprehension went through her, a sense of déjà vu, as she grasped the doorknob firmly. Felt the warm brass in her hand, as if someone else had just held it.

Then she turned the knob, and pushed. The Black Door opened, and she stepped through.