Brother Faustus

Brother Faustus’ chambers were almost as spare and unassuming as the majority of rooms within the convent, although the heavy, dark wooden furniture and oak-panelled walls made it seem a relic of the old church, the forgotten church before the Second Coming. Low lighting and brass fittings complemented the anachronistic feel of the place, with incense burning and real candles alongside artificial light. The chambers were separated into two rooms: the first, with glazed bookcases stuffed with leather bound tomes and old woodcuts and documents strewn around, almost seemed medieval. The second beyond, where Faustus was located, was altogether different, a sleek office through a glass partition and a glass door, where the librarian was ensconced in the glow of at least a dozen screens.

Faustus glimpsed the pair of slutty bimbo nuns as the approached through the first room, swivelling in his chair to greet them. As he did so, his towering dong loomed up out of his groin towards them. The librarian had his first wrapped around the vascular pillar of meat, and upon seeing Syncletia enter, the whorish nun strutting in her typically sexually voracious way towards him on her shiny black thigh-length boots on towering platform soles, split at the sides to show her sleek, rippling quad muscles, Faustus took a long, luxurious stroke of his distended and monstrously engorged penis. Instantly a long rope of thick precum ejected from the tip of his smooth, gleaming helmet, which arced towards the pair of sluts and plastered, with a thick, sloppy pattering sound, against the glass door which was currently closed between them.

The potent, largely clear, viscous and gooey pre-ejaculate started to ooze down the glass, clouding the glass as it dribbled downwards. Faustus didn’t get up, but instead used his free hand to touch a button that opened the door which swung open towards him. Syncletia and Gemma stood into the entrance.

To announce the visitor, Gemma curled her fingers and held it next to her mouth, making a pumping motion and sticking her tongue lewdly into her cheek.

‘Thank you sister Gemma,’ Faustus said.

Gemma winked at Faustus and withdrew.

‘She can talk in here, she just chooses not to,’ Faustus said. ‘Probably gets of on subservience to me.’

Syncletia put her hands on her hips, mouth still gaping as the hollowed ball gag held her lips open.

‘Not something we could ever accuse you of, Syncletia.’

Faustus was still slowly stroking his enormous fuckrod, the monumental flesh piston throbbing visibly, the bloated tissues of the giant shaft almost in spasm. So far Faustus hadn’t succumbed to the blistering sexual potency of Syncletia without giving as good as he got, and the librarian had the admiration of all of the acolytes for whom the attentions of the pneumatic fuckdoll bimbo were all too much. This might have surprised a casual observer, for Faustus had the stereotypical appearance of one of his vocation - reed thin, bookish, with sinewy muscle tone and glasses. It was his endowment that made him a match for the slutty, hardbodied sister. A seventeen inch wrist-thick monster prong, riddled with fat, bulging veins, it had sent Syncletia metaphorically to heaven more than a few times.

‘To what do I owe this visit? Is it business or pleasure?’

In response, Syncletia moved towards Faustus, her monster tits and bulging assmounds swaying hypnotically before she slid, smooth as silk, onto her knees in front of the librarian, planting the mouth hole of the bimbo lips gag onto the glossy tip of Faustus’ turgid schlong. Applying form pressure, there was a load popping sound, and then the squelching squeak of a vacuum being plugged, before Syncletia began to hoover the rock-hard monster member straight into her throat, impaling her face on the rigid meatstick, her jaw distending as the lengthy prong impaled her oesophagus. Drool roped out of her mouth that lolled in gooey strands from her chin while Faustus seized the glossy spray of blonde hair that issued from the top of her wimple, his own cheeks sucking in as he registered the glorious constriction of the busty nun whore’s gullet that eased all the way down to the root of his dong.

Faustus held her there for a good thirty seconds – it was ridiculous to think that Syncletia had a gag reflex – and then pulled her all the way back up his straining rod, before the huge-titted bimbo disgorged the fist-sized tip of his dick and she stared down the barrel. The stacked blonde had already managed to get all of her lower face connected to the monster cum-cannon as it weaved toweringly in the air before her eyes, a shot-glass sized belch of potent precum spraying in her face and smacking against the masked part of her wimple for good measure.

Syncletia rocked back on her haunches, Faustus released her hair, and the nun finally took off the BJ gag, casting it to the floor. Faustus stood, and let his mammoth, inflated dong project out of his groin into her face, jacking his pc muscle a little to let it dance around in front of her eyes as her slobber dripped from several areas along it.

‘It’s all the same to me, Faustus,’ Syncletia said, ‘business is pleasure. But I was told you had something… interesting for me.’

‘I do, Syncletia. I do.’

Helping Syncletia to her feet, Faustus turned and indicated a console screen.

‘See this?’

Syncletia nodded.

‘The pig pen.’

‘In the vulgar,’ Faustus conceded, ‘I prefer the mastubatorium. There are our most diligent servants of Onan, their most revered saint. Our most brothers there have taken a vow of strict self-love.’

Syncletia looked at the screen. It showed a dark chamber where many scores of devoted brothers were each ensconced in front of a multiplicity of screens. All of them were mindlessly stroking monstrously engorged and dripping members, slack faces with eyes rolling, tongues lolling, lost to pleasure as they each jacked themselves endlessly. It was a continual suspension of permanent masturbation as each acolyte of Onan edged themselves to near climax before starting again. A blizzard of lurid imagery poured into them from the screens. Some of the more dedicated devotees had been committed to such pleasure for many years, often sustaining a period of almost-climax for months on end. Those lost to Onan had forsaken any real human connection long ago. They could not speak coherently. They babbled, lost in a haze. Away from the screens they sickened. They knew nothing but self-pleasure.

‘There was an incident. Those feeds are transmissions pulled from the airwaves all over the world. It’s a valuable source of information. A digest of what’s happening all over really. However, yesterday it seems that one feed was… rather too much for one of our… what is the vernacular… gooners.’

Faustus pointed out a specific place on the screen. One of the positions was empty.

‘One feed came in and it scrambled this one’s brain. He was exposed to something of such religious importance that… well, it was all rather too much for him’

‘What was it?’ Syncletia asked.

‘We don’t know. It was coded in an usual way. The connection broke. But we know what region it came from.’

‘What does it mean?’ Syncletia asked.

‘Simply put, Syncletia, there is an individual out there with staggering religious potential. I want you to go and find them.’