"Gang bang sisters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mason Calvin)

CHAPTER SIX

Since the club had very little in the way of expenses, the money in the treasury began to add up. They bought pillows for the congregation to kneel on while they viewed the services, and Tom purchased larger quantities of wine, which the girls seemed to like, and kept the refrigerator replenished with beer. Other than that, and material for a few more robes, there was nothing to do with the money but let it accumulate.

Tuesday night Tom decided to have an informal meeting of the club's officers and a few of the female members. He arranged with the corner bar to use the back room, where they'd have privacy, drinks and an atmosphere conducive to a discussion, but even more important, they wouldn't have to wait for buses to and from the store. The November nights were getting too cold to stand at corner bus stops.

Margaret Leche, Cynthia Schmidtline and Kay Krauss were the guests. The reason for the meeting, Tom explained, was to get their views on what the girls would like to see during the Black Mass services. Charles was the permanent secretary, sitting to the right of Tom at the round table to take notes.

Cynthia went into her idea about "sacrifices" again, elaborating on the one where someone's hands are fled and he had to kiss everyone's ass.

Tom decided she had an anal fixation, but dictated notes to Charles outlining the highlights.

It was more difficult to get ideas from Margaret and Kay; either they didn't have any, or they were too embarrassed to tell. Charles offered his suggestion, which was similar to the one Cynthia had about tying a girl down and the guys all bang her, except in her version, the guys entered the asshole.

Kay finally cleared her voice, indicating she was about to say something, hesitated, then spoke in a nervously high-pitched voice, "How about strapping someone down… then we all… sorta… you know… pee on them?"

Charles didn't show any signs of recognizing that as something he had taught her, but Kay blushed anyway and avoided his eyes.

"Wouldn't that be a little messy on the floor?"

Tom asked.

"We could do it in the bathtub," Kay whispered so low they could hardly hear her, too embarrassed to even look up now.

Tom told Charles to make a note.

"Why don't we strap one of the guys over a barrel and paddled his ass?" Margaret spoke up in that mannish voice of hers.

"Actually, we don't want to hurt anyone," Tom explained. Or do we? he asked himself.

"Then how about tying a girl's hands behind her back and letting the other girls make love to her?" Margaret offered.

"That's good," Tom said, signaling Charles to write.

"Or how about making somebody squat and take a shit in front of everyone?" Margaret continued.

Tom didn't want to discourage them from giving ideas, so he nudged Charles again to write it down.

"We could tie a guy down, rub butter on his balls and ass, and then have a dog lick him clean…" she said.

"Okay. Now I have a question…" Tom said.

"… there's always the one where you tie a guy down and the other guys rape him…"

"I think we've got enough suggestions for tonight."

"Let's make a guy jack-off, with someone paddling his ass if he can't come…"

"Okay, Margaret," Tom finally stopped her. "That's enough for tonight. What I'd like to know is how we all feel about being the subject?"

No one answered. They just looked at one another with blank expressions.

"I don't want to be the guy she tortures," Jay said, pointing to Margaret. Men and women alike nodded to that statement.

"Okay. But how about the other suggestions?" Tom pressed.

"It's okay with me," Charles spoke up.

"Me too," Ed Cramer added.

"Yeh, I'll go along with it," Jay said.

"Me too," Cynthia and Kay said at the same time.

"How about…" Margaret started again.

"Just answer the question," Tom cut her off.

"Sure, I'd cooperate," she finally answered.

That was what he wanted to hear, Tom was saying to himself, pleased with the approval from the girls. Then to the group he said, "It's settled then, we'll have sacrifices. And since the idea was Cynthia's, she'll be the priestess for the first sacrifice. To introduce this new feature, I'd suggest we pick the subject from those present here tonight… and the choice is yours, Cynthia."

"Mmmmm… how about you, Ed?"

"You mean I have to kiss everyone's ass?" Ed Cramer began to object, saw they were all starting to get angry and quickly agreed.

Tom outlined his plan for conducting the ritual: Ed would have to be reluctant when chosen, to impress the others with the idea that he didn't know what was going to happen. Jay and Charles would deliver him to the stage and tie his hands and feet. Then, to insure his carrying out a realistic performance, he was dismissed from the meeting, so the others could discuss some additional plans concerning his act that would really be a surprise. This upset Ed, but he was convinced by Tom that nothing would happen to him, and he finally left.

Saturday night, as the members waited in the kitchen to enter the dressing room, they were informed of a few surprises Tom had in store for them. Margaret Leche was the spokesman, since she was capable of making announcements sound like orders, and Tom never had to worry about anyone giving her any back-talk. When Margaret spoke, it was a case of like it -or get out.

"Tonight," she said, "the high priest will choose a priestess and we will have a ceremony while she takes her vows. Then to celebrate this event a sacrifice will be made to Satan. Whoever is chosen as priestess, or the subject for the sacrifice, must obey all orders. Is that understood?"

There was a shuffle of feet as pangs of nervousness went through the members, some whispering, and finally silence, which was their indication of acceptance.

"We also have a mystery guest tonight," Margaret continued. "So don't be surprised to see one member wearing a mask. You'll find out who it is later."

The men filed into the next room to get undressed and there was whispering in both rooms as they tried to find out who-knew-what about tonight's special features. Even Margaret Leche was curious about the "mystery guest"; Cynthia wanted to know about the "ceremony" she had to go through; and Ed Cramer wanted to know what Tom Dunn had said after he had been dismissed from the meeting. But they all had to wait for the answers.

As they filed into the store, everyone began to get the feeling that the club was not going to stand still and become dull. Some felt uneasy about the changes, wishing Tom had continued to keep it a simple "sex-party," with opening entertainment. The surprises tended to remind them of Satan, evil, and black magic, which wasn't exactly their style of entertainment.

Margaret had said there would be a mystery guest, but there were two. They sat next to a lectern holding lighted black candles. On the floor, arranged in a semicircle, were the pillows Tom had purchased for them to kneel on. Tom indicated by lowering his hands that they were all to kneel.

The opening ceremony was the same as in the past, the chalice was passed around and Tom went into his "sermon" about pleasing Satan, making sacrifices and choosing a priestess. At this point they expected him to make Stella materialize again, but instead the blue and red spotlights went on and Tom stepped in front of the lectern.

"Before going any further, we must have a priestess who will dedicate herself to Satan and serve with me in celebrating the mass. Therefore, I call forth Cynthia Schmidtline."

Cynthia stood, walked to the center and stood before Tom. Even though she was aware of her role in tonight's services, Cynthia was nervous and had to conceal her sudden fear of going on with it.

"Daughter," Tom addressed her solemnly. "Do you vow to dedicate yourself, body and soul, to the Angel of Evil?"

"Yes," Cynthia answered meekly.

Tom took her by the shoulders, turned her around to face the audience, while opening the clasp on her robe, letting it fall to her feet. She stood naked in the dim light from the criss-crossing blue and red spotlights, giving her body a sensuous appearance as the lights emphasized the round, firm lines of her figure. Her nipples fizzed straight out, quivering now as Tom's hands, coming from behind, began a slow, soft sweep over the front of her. When his hand slid down her back and between her legs he felt the moisture there, fresh girl-juice seething in anticipation.

Tom stepped away momentarily, returning with an object that Cynthia got a quick glimpse of over her shoulder. It looked like it might be a chair, from the way he carried it, but it was draped in black cloth. He placed it behind her and reached over to throw the switch, turning on the bright white spot. She could see, even feel, the eyes of everyone in the room devouring her naked body. It made her tingle inside.

"To confirm your dedication to Satan, Sister Cynthia, you must sit on the Devil's Throne," Tom announced, turning her again to face the cloth-covered object. Then he took a corner of the cloth, whipped it off, undraping a clear-plastic chair.

"A hhhh… mmmmmm… ohhhhh," went around the room.

Cynthia's jaw dropped when she saw what was attached to the seat a long, clear-plastic, perfectly shaped phallus. Her eyes widened at the size of it; convinced it was much too big to fit inside her. But Tom was already turning her around again, positioning her closer to the chair.

"Dedicate yourself to Satan, my daughter, lowering yourself on this replica of his penis."

Cynthia doubted she could get the length and width of that thing inside her, but was game to try. She gripped the arm rests, slowly lowered herself to a point where the clear-plastic, heart-shaped head just touched her soft, warm, vaginal lips. A chill shot through her when the ice-cold rod touched her flaming cunt. She paused briefly, noting that all eyes were focused between her legs, watching with awe as the shaft began its entrance into the depths of her body. A little lower… testing… feeling her lips spread over the smooth shiny knob. Little by little she lowered herself until the big, fat head was completely inside her. She could feel the cold contour of it plugging the gateway to her tunnel of pleasure, the flaming walls of her cunt slowly warming the cold plastic rod.

Now that the head was in, she proceeded to see how much of the length she could accommodate. Every inch had to be warmed before she could go on to the next. The viewers seemed to be holding their breaths, watching in disbelief as she laboriously impaled herself on the giant cock. It seemed like forever, she thought, before the seat of the chair came close to touching her smooth, white buttocks. Finally, with a few soft bounces, she managed to complete the feat, gingerly sitting on the cold seat, then resting completely as her body heat warmed the chair. But she didn't relax, or couldn't relax, with her cunt crammed full of cock, feeling every minute detail.

"Rise, Daughter of Satan, Priestess of the Devil," Tom chanted.

Cynthia slid off the giant phallus, creating an urgency in her cunt that almost drove her back down. But Tom already had her hand and was leading her to the sacrifice table, where he had her stretch out.

"Jay Schmidtline…" Tom said, signaling with his hand for Jay to come forward. "Fuck thy sister."

Jay dropped his robe, climbed on the table and drove his hot, swollen meat into the panting cunt of his sister. Cynthia screeched with delight, dug her nails into his back and convulsed with wild pleasure, in an uncontrollable orgasm, giving out animal moans throughout.

"… Mmmmmm…" she finally sighed as Jay splashed his juices onto the walls of her red-hot furnace. Instead of quenching the fire, it kindled another.

"Hans Schmidtline," Tom was saying as Jay climbed off the table. "Fuck thy sister."

Hans quickly took his brother's place, driving his throbbing, dripping cock into the craving cunt.

"Ohhhh… More, more, more… MORE!" Cynthia's voice came from deep in her throat, scratching Hans with her clawing fingers. "Come, baby, COME! Oh yeah… that's good… mmmmmm!"

There wasn't a person present that wasn't affected by the scenes of lust. Margaret Leche was having an orgasm with the pillow between her legs and Charles had already splashed his come all over the pillow he was kneeling on.

When Hans finished he went back to his place in the semicircle of frustrated viewers, leaving Cynthia in a limp mass of exhaustion on the table.

Tom recovered enough from his own sense of urgent need to announce, "Now one of our guests will dedicate herself to Satan."

The smaller of the two masked guests rose and walked over to the chair. She gathered her robe up around her waist and began to impale herself on the warm, lubricated phallus. Everyone watched her gently lower herself on the awesome spear; working it in and out sensually, enjoying every inch of penetration, using it to satisfy her craving, drooling cunt. When she reached the seat she was making gurgling noises in her throat. She didn't just sit there motionless, the way Cynthia had, but squirmed and rocked in sheer enjoyment.

"Rise, Daughter of Satan, Priestess of the Devil," Tom chanted again… paused for a moment… then went over to coax her off the spike.

As soon as she was clear of the swollen mushroom head, she pushed Tom, causing him to fall back on the table Cynthia occupied. Cynthia quickly vacated the spot, just as the masked girl dove on top of Tom, tearing open his cape and quickly impaling herself on his cock. She rode him like a galloping horse, finally reaching the peak of excitement, when she tore off her mask, dove down to cover his mouth with her own, sucking the very breath from his lungs.

There was a scream from one of the spectators, quickly muffled by a hand over the mouth. It was Margaret Leche. She sat there wide-eyed, hand holding back another outburst, mesmerized by the sight of Stella wildly fucking Tom on the table.

Stella and Tom reached an furious climax together, which Stella managed to work into a second orgasm before Tom's pecker went limp and slipped out of her. They got off the table in good spirits, smiling at each other, but suddenly struck at the same time by the thought of Margaret. They both shot a glance in Margaret's direction to see her sitting on the pillow, rocking back and forth, obviously reaching the point of another orgasm.

At this point everyone was in a frenzy to quench his own thirst for satisfaction, but Tom brought the group back to order.

"Now we must have a token sacrifice to celebrate this wonderful event. Edward Cramer, come forward."

Before Ed could move, Jay and Charles had him under the arms and delivered him to Tom. Cynthia handed them two leather straps and they secured Ed's hands behind his back, made him kneel and then tied his ankles together.

"You will show your love for your fellow members by soul-kissing their asses, Edward Cramer," Cynthia said in an official-sounding voice.

There were giggles and movement now as the members rose to take part. Ed never even noticed Margaret Leche step behind him with a ping-pong paddle. She stood ready to apply the paddle, with its pimple-covered rubber pad, to his vulnerable white mounds of ass-flesh.

Cynthia was given the honor of going first. She bent, spread her cheeks and backed up to his face. He kissed the button-hole quickly and withdrew.

"Oh, come now. That's not a soul-kiss," Cynthia said over her shoulder.

Ed hesitated, reluctant to carry out his sentence. He felt the sting of the paddle land on his right asscheek.

"Hey!" he protested. The paddle landed on his left cheek. "Knock it off!"

Giggles started to go through the crowd, giving Ed a feeling of hopelessness. Margaret applied the paddle to his right cheek again, leaving an impression on the soft white meat as she added a little more power to the blow. Now his right cheek had little white indentations, surrounded by a pink glow. She gave his left cheek a similar pattern and Ed quickly decided to do what he was told.

Cynthia was watching over her shoulder, poised for his tongue, felt a little wet invasion and ordered, "More."

Pause… tip of his tongue still in her rectum… paddle sting on his ass… he pushed his tongue in a little farther.

"More!" Cynthia called again, with giggles from the onlookers.

The slap of rubber on smooth flesh rang out and Ed drove his tongue farther into the tight opening.

Cynthia forgot everything now, feeling only the invasion of the slippery meat in her rectum. She continued to chant, "More."

With the sting of the paddle this time, Ed resigned himself to give it all he had. He curled his tongue and snaked it into her as far as he could.

"More… more… more…" she moaned, the paddle smacking each time, with Ed sweating, squirming and twisting his tongue with all his might. "Mmmmmm…" was the last sound Cynthia made, having her orgasm and finally satisfied.

The others were much easier to satisfy and the line moved quickly. Some wiggled away when his lips barely touched the sensitive area, because it tickled; others were satisfied with a quick plunge of his tongue in their tight tunnels. Only Margaret Leche wasn't happy with their easy-to-satisfy nature. She didn't get to paddle his ass any more. She was also the only one he didn't have to ream.

The last in the line was the masked guest, who stepped before him and slowly lifted her robe. She was facing him, obviously teasing him with the slowness in which she picked up the robe. It began to get to him too, as her long, shapely legs began to appear. The robe finally arrived at the junction of her legs and Ed's eyes were straining to see beyond. She made him suffer awhile before inching it higher, slowly revealing a soft triangle of golden-blonde hair. His mouth began to water.

Then she opened the clasp on her robe, revealing her pear-shaped breasts with the same slow tease, before dropping the robe to the floor. She ran her hands sensuously over her body, milking her tits invitingly and offering him all her goodies with the sexiest motions.

Ed Cramer was drooling by now. He wanted this beautiful, long-legged body more than anything else, forgetting the sting on his ass and the ordeal he had just experienced.

She turned, bent over, backing up with her hands spreading the beautifully matched globes of firm soft, white flesh. Ed didn't need prodding this time; he licked all around the white meat, her asshole, and as far as he could reach between her legs. Slowly but forcefully he snaked his tongue into her asshole and reamed the walls passionately. When she couldn't stand it any longer she forced his tongue out, using the strong muscles in the pulsing tunnel.

"I want you," he whispered hoarsely.

"First there is just one other thing we have to do," Tom Dunn said. "Let me have the paddle, Margaret, and you get down and kiss Ed's ass."

Margaret got down on her knees, licked the tender cheeks she had brought to a bright-red color with the paddle and snaked her tongue into his rectum. When Tom started paddling her fat ass she seemed to enjoy it more, twisting her tongue harder and harder into his asshole.

Finally Ed was untied and brought over to the sacrifice table, where the girl was stretched out, naked except for the mask. Tom just waved him on, with a sweep of his hand, that indicated he was on his own.

Hastily, Ed climbed on the table between her legs and drove his cock into her receptive cunt. As he lowered his body onto hers, Tom moved to the head of the table, smiled at him and slowly removed the mask from the girl.

"Laura!" Ed said, shocked at the sight of his sister.

"Mmmmmm… I never knew I had such a sexy brother," she cooed in his ear.

Ed had dreamed of this moment for many years, never breathing a word to anyone that he secretly wanted his sister. But now… in her like this… it was like all he ever thought it would be – and more.

As Tom watched the couple squirm on the table, his eye caught something on the wall. He looked quickly and saw the mysterious glow, only this time it vaguely resembled the figure of a man, with two black spots where the eyes would be and what appeared to be a grin on its mouth. It weaved and moved, giving Tom only a blur that he couldn't bring into focus. All he could do was stare, almost hypnotized by the waving motion as it seemed to dance on the wall. Then it disappeared.

The others were all in the swing of it now, scattered all over the mattresses in a mass of moving arms and legs. They didn't notice the glow on the wall, probably wouldn't care at this point anyway.

Tom slipped out, got dressed and went down to the bar in the bowling alley to get a shot of whiskey to steady his nerves. An hour later he had drunk himself into a stupor, almost to the point of passing out. Fortunately, Charles' uncle appeared, took him outside and got his head cleared in the cold night air, before driving Tom home.

Once Tom reached the front steps of his house he was in reasonably good shape again, thanked Art for getting him home, then stood on the steps waving as Art drove off. As soon as the car was out of sight, he made a quick dash for the corner bar and plunged back into the relief of his drunken stupor. When he finally passed out, he was gently deposited in a corner booth and left there until the bar closed.

Even then, as he wobbled up the street to his house, he could think of nothing but that glow on the wall. It seemed more threatening now that his head was like mashed potatoes. He was almost afraid to go up the dark stairs to his apartment thinking the spirit might be biding in his bedroom. But logic swept back into his head long enough to convince him that it was all a hoax.