The Cult of Cum

Voices in the dark. Lois Lane held her breath, slipped out of her shoes and stuck them in her pocket. On stocking feet she descended the stairs, listening intently.

A woman's voice, above the hushed murmur of a crowd. Speaking in a language that Lois didn't understand, a strange accent...Greek, or maybe Egyptian? Lois hung back in the shadows as she stared through the open door, one hand in her purse.

There was the altar, with all of its votive offerings, the gravid idol squatting in the center of it all. All the candles were lit, and there were rolls of hundred dollar bills, bits of gold and jewels glinting among the bulging backs of freshly-filled condoms. A dark-skinned woman, movements quick as a cobra, dressed in only a kind of orange shift the covered her nipples and crotch but little else, was kneeling before the pagan image and doing homage, speaking in that strange tongue...and then she switched to English.

"Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods With A Thousand Young!"

"Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Ram of the Woods With A Thousand Ewes!"

"Feed us with your holy seed! Give us the dark Mass that is denied others!"

The woman took a plate filled with tiny circular wafers—and though Lois Lane had not been to church in some time, she recognized the eucharist when she saw it, the little crosses impressed on the tiny unleavened cracker. The priestess—for so Lois took her to be—kneeled until her forehead was touching the belly of that grotesque idol, unheeding of the flames all about that hovered near to burning her arms.

"Prepare us this unholy feast!" She ordered.

Men came into view, pressing themselves all around her. Men without pants on, hairy legs and buttocks showing, rubbing their hard pricks. One by one they ejaculated, gooey white ropes falling over the bread...and to the reporter's astonishment, the bread blackened as though burned, wherever it was glazed by the semen. At least a dozen men came forward, new ones arriving after each had shot their load, in the most disgusting quasi-bukakke that Lois Lane had ever seen. Errant drops of cum overshot the bowl or fell short, raining down on the prostrate priestess.

One particularly bad shot landed a strand of jizz right across her face. Unmoving, Lois saw a pink, forked tongue extend to lick at it as it dripped down.

When they were done, they retreated out of her sight. The priestess rose, holding the bowl before her reverently.

"Come forth, those who would have the blessing of our Dark Mother. Come forth, those who hide in the shadows, denying the lust within. Come forth...you!"

The priestess turned, staring straight at Lois, and her eyes were pure white with no pupil or iris.

Lois heard heavy feet on the stairs above her, felt her route of escape cut off. She was trapped!