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Katrina swallowed hard. "It's... been very freeing," she said carefully, her voice almost catching.

"Oh stop being modest," her mom teased. "She's been attending special sessions—Papa Cain's really helped her open up."

At that, her stepfather chuckled. "We're proud of her. It's rare to see a young woman so committed to finding truth."

Katrina's cheeks burned. They had no idea. No clue that under the table, she was still sore, still soaked, still dripping the truth all over her underwear. And when Herod's name came up again, all she could think about was how wide he'd split her open... and how badly she wanted more.

"You okay, babe?" Ethan whispered.

She nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just spicy." Spicy. Fucking spicy. What a lie.

Then came the final nail.

"Ethan, don't even think about booking a hotel," her stepfather said with a gentle chuckle, spooning rice onto his plate. "We may not have a guest room, but you're more than welcome to stay in Katrina's room." He smiled, eyes soft with trust. "You're both grown, devout... I'm sure you won't get up to anything too foolish," he added with a wink and a laugh.

Katrina's heart nearly stopped. Her pussy gave a sudden throb beneath the table. She forced a smile. Devout? She'd just had a man's cock in her pussy. Another one in her ass. Devout?

Inside she was spiraling. In my bed? After what they did to me? While I'm still soaked with their cum? She shifted in her seat, trying not to squirm as another warm pulse spread between her thighs.

They thought she was pure.

And now her boyfriend would be sleeping inches away...

Ethan looked touched. He reached under the table and held her hand. His palm was warm. Gentle. Nothing like the way Papa Cain had gripped her jaw... or how Master Herod had slapped her ass so hard it echoed through the chapel.

She nodded again, somehow. Her voice stayed polite. Her body did not. She could feel a slow leak sliding down her slit. Cum or arousal—she didn't even know anymore. Probably both.

Later, she stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Ethan carry his suitcase upstairs. He looked back and smiled like he'd won something. Like he was about to sleep next to his pure, devout girlfriend.

And she just stood there, touching the small damp spot that had bloomed on her dress.

The scent of rose shampoo hung in the air, but beneath it, she could still smell cock. Still feel her pussy sore and gaping. Still feel the ghost of Master Herod's hands on her ass.

Chapter 2 - Nights of Need, Days of Depravity Ethan kissed her goodnight like she was made of glass.

His lips barely touched hers—soft, timid, trembling with innocent love. He whispered "I love you" against her cheek as he pulled the blanket over them, spooning her gently like she was something fragile. He had no idea he was holding a girl who'd been spit-roasted by two men less than twelve hours ago. No idea that under the sheets, her pussy was still sore, her asshole still tender, and both still dripping echoes of their cocks.

She stared into the darkness, wide awake. His breath slowed behind her. Sleepy. Safe. Sweet.

And completely fucking useless.

Her clit throbbed. Her pussy felt hollow. Her asshole ached in a way that made her legs twitch with need. She was soaked again. Her body knew what it wanted—what it was now trained to crave.

She slipped her hand beneath the covers. Her fingers were trembling before they even reached her slit. One slow circle over her clit and she gasped. Wet. So wet. Filthy. She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder—Ethan still asleep, unaware, holding her waist like a virgin on his wedding night.

She rubbed faster, desperate, breathing through her nose. But it wasn't enough.

Not even close.

She pulled her hand out, frustrated, unsatisfied. Her pussy was twitching, hungry for more.

And then she remembered.

"A candle," Papa Cain had said during her last session, voice low and thick with promise. "Use it to open yourself. You're allowed to stretch. To learn. Use anything that fills you. Explore, little slut."

Herod had chuckled behind her, rubbing his cock through his robe. "She'll be stuffing many things in that greedy cunt by the end of the week."

The memory made her clench. She bit her lip. Looked deeper.

She reached for the nightstand and opened the drawer, fingers sifting through clutter, desperate.

Her fingers found it—thick glass, round at the base, cold and heavy in her hand. A perfume bottle.

Perfect.

She brought it under the blanket, lifted her nightdress, spread her thighs, and slid it in. Her back arched. Her mouth opened in a silent moan. Her walls clenched around it, aching for something bigger, blacker, rougher—but this would have to do.

She fucked herself slowly at first, then faster, grinding against the mattress to muffle the sounds. Her hand pressed tight against her mouth. The bottle pushed deeper. Her toes curled. Her thighs quivered.

She came hard, teeth digging into her knuckles to stop from screaming.

Ethan stirred behind her, mumbling something soft as he pulled her close again, spooning her like nothing happened.

The next morning, Katrina sat at the table, barely tasting her toast. Ethan was rambling about beach plans. Her mom smiled and passed juice. Her thighs pressed tightly together under the table.

She wasn't listening.

All she could think about was the bottle still under her pillow, sticky and warm with her juices... and the ache in her pussy that hadn't faded.

She needed more.

She made excuses.

A long shower. A quick trip to the garden. An innocent pantry stop.

Each time, she disappeared with something new.

In the bathroom, it was the rounded back of a shampoo bottle, slippery and fat. In the pantry, her fingers wrapped around a cucumber, her breath already quick as she imagined it inside her. In the garden shed, she bent over a wooden table, pulled her panties aside, and shoved it in, fucking herself until her legs nearly gave out.

Her asshole throbbed too.

But nothing filled her. Nothing satisfied her.

She came. Hard. Fast. Often.

And still... she wanted more.

Her thoughts weren't hers anymore.

She couldn't close her eyes without seeing Papa Cain's big cock throbbing in her mouth.

Couldn't walk without remembering the sting of Herod's fat dick punching into her ass.

Couldn't stop smelling them. Tasting them. Craving the stretch, the violation, the filthy freedom of being used like a whore.

She tried once to steady her racing mind—alone in the backyard, inhaling the warm afternoon air. She closed her eyes, willing herself to think of something clean. But instead of calm, the vision blitzed her: five towering black cocks hemming her in, her own voice begging, moaning, "More... stretch me wider..."

Chapter 3 - The Beach Disappointment Ethan was glowing. He'd woken up early, packed fruit and juice, even folded towels like some perfect little husband-in-training. Katrina stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, watching him with a blank smile. He wanted to take her to the beach. How cute.

She chose her bikini with precision: deep blue, nearly transparent when wet, and two sizes too small. The top pushed her tits up high and round, the barely-there strings digging into her flushed skin. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric, already hard. The bottom was worse—tight, narrow, and cutting up between her lips so sharply she could feel every step.

It wasn't for Ethan. It was for the memory of how they looked at her—Papa Cain, Master Herod, those three other filthy men. The way their eyes drank in her body like it was their precious possession.

Now she was on display, and Ethan looked like he didn't know where to place his eyes.

They found a quiet spot on a private beach. Warm sun. Cool breeze. No one else around.

Katrina stripped down, letting the towel fall away slowly. Ethan stared like a boy seeing tits for the first time. And in a way, maybe he was. Her full breasts swelled under the bikini top, barely contained, nipples pink and pointed beneath the wet blue. The bottoms clung to her hips, the fabric pressing hard between her pussy lips, outlining the shape of her slit in full view. The back had already disappeared between her cheeks, the thin string swallowed by her ass, leaving the curves of her firm, bare ass fully exposed—round, tight, and glistening in the sun.

He said nothing. Just stared, his shorts twitching slightly.

In the water, she brushed past him, her slick skin grazing his chest. His breath hitched.

"Like what you see?" she teased, watching the way his eyes darted to her chest.

He nodded, red-faced, eyes wide with admiration. "You look... like an angel," he whispered. She forced a smile, but inside, her pussy clenched in frustration. She didn't want to be romantic. She wanted to be used—raw, primal, like an animal in heat.

After a few minutes of splashing, they returned to the towel, lying side by side in the sun. Katrina watched droplets run down her belly, trailing over her hips. Her body was on fire—skin hot, pussy aching again, empty and throbbing.

Ethan smiled, turned to face her, leaned in.

They kissed. It was weak. Soft.

And then she climbed on top of him.

Her thighs slid over his hips, her bikini bottom pressing flush against the crotch of his shorts. Her hands pinned him to the towel. Her lips moved faster, tongue deeper. She rolled her hips forward, grinding her wet pussy against him slowly, hungrily.

And then... she felt it.

Tiny.

Soft.

Barely there.

A small bump, barely rising behind the fabric of his swim trunks. No weight. No pressure. No threat.

Her grinding slowed. Her body froze.

What the fuck is this?

She pressed harder, testing it. Nothing. Still soft. Still small. Like a fucking joke.

Disappointment hit her like a slap. Her mind raced—flashes of Papa Cain's cock stretching her throat, Master Herod's veiny monster opening her asshole like it was made for him. The idea of five fat, black cocks surrounding her made her pussy clench with hunger.

And here she was, grinding on a boy with a cock the size of her finger.

She wanted to scream.

Wanted to slap him. Or herself.

Why was she even here?

Why wasn't she on her knees again with a throat full of their cocks?

Ethan gently stopped her with his hands on her hips.

"Katrina... wait," he said softly, breathing hard. "We shouldn't. We might do something impure."

Impure? She nearly laughed in his face.

She smiled instead. A tight, forced thing. "Yeah... sorry," she whispered. "Guess I just... missed you."

She rolled off him, cheeks burning—not from shame, but from rage. Her pussy was soaked, her clit swollen, and the pathetic bump in Ethan's shorts had done absolutely nothing.

She should've stayed home.

Fucked a bottle.

At least that could fill her.

That evening, Katrina was quiet during dinner. Ethan chatted with her mom. Her stepfather cracked jokes. But she barely spoke. Her mind was trapped in the sand, still stuck on the weightless thing pressing against her pussy. Her tits still felt heavy. Her cunt still throbbed with disappointment.

A few minutes after dinner, thinking there was no one inside, she opened the bathroom door without knocking.

It was steamy. Warm. Ethan stood under the shower, eyes closed, rinsing shampoo from his hair.

She froze.

And saw it.

Between his legs—dangling like a wet noodle—was a small, white cock. Thin. Barely longer than her finger. Smooth balls. No weight. No girth.

Nothing.

She blinked. Her pussy clenched—not in arousal.

In shock.

In disgust.

How is that supposed to satisfy me?

Her mind snapped back to Master Herod's cock dragging along her asshole. The way Papa Cain's shaft bulged her throat. The stretch. The fullness. The pain and pleasure tangled into one delicious scream.

And here stood Ethan.

With that.

She backed out slowly, closing the door.

Chapter 4 - The Sermon of the Slut Sunday.

The day of service. Of peace. Of purity.

Katrina stood in front of the mirror, body flushed, nipples already hard under her thin church dress. She wore nothing underneath. No bra. No panties. Just her, raw and soaked, dressed in obedience.

The chapel was quiet as they arrived, her mother chatting with Ethan about how "peaceful" this new life felt. Katrina smiled faintly, but her thoughts were far from innocent.

She was already leaking.

Her thighs brushed, her clit throbbed. Her body knew who would be speaking today.

And there he was.

Master Herod.

Robe flowing like shadow, posture regal, hands folded calmly at the front. He stood tall behind the pulpit, unreadable, terrifying, imposing. But his eyes... oh, his eyes. When they met hers across the room, her knees nearly gave in. A slow smirk curved his lips—subtle. Brief. But enough to make her pussy pulse.

He knows.

She sat between Ethan and her mother, folding her hands in her lap, but it didn't help. The wooden chair beneath her felt rough against her bare skin. Her cunt was already wet. The pressure of the dress brushing her nipples made her squirm.

And then he spoke.

Master Herod's voice rang out—deep, smooth, commanding.

"Freedom," he said, letting the word hang. "Is not found in resistance... but in surrender."

Katrina's breath caught.

"The vessel is not meant to struggle. It is meant to receive. That is its purpose. To open. To hold. To be filled..."

She pressed her thighs together hard. But it was useless. Her pussy was already seeping onto the chair.

"All of us," he continued, "are made to serve something greater. Some of us... more than others."

Her mouth went dry. Her eyes burned. But she couldn't look away.

He spoke of freedom. Of divine design. Of obedience.

But to Katrina, every word meant only one thing.

Her body.

Her holes.

Her purpose.

"Some among you," Master Herod said, pacing slowly, "have already begun the path. They have tasted submission. They have been opened... and stretched... and they beg for more."

His gaze swept the room.

It landed on her.

Her heart stopped.

Her nipples throbbed under her dress. Her pussy clenched. She tried to hold still, but her hips shifted slightly, instinctively, seeking pressure. Anything.

"You will be filled again," he said, slowly, deliberately.

Her breath hitched. She nearly gasped. Her hand gripped her thigh hard, nails digging into the skin to keep from touching herself right there.

"And again."

Her thighs were soaked now. The scent of her pussy hung low around her, a private perfume no one seemed to notice.

Ethan leaned over. "You okay?"

She nodded quickly, eyes still locked on Master Herod. "Yes," she whispered. "Just... feeling the message."

Her voice shook.

The sermon continued—words flowing like wine, phrases carefully chosen: overflowing, intense pouring, unending filling. Her body responded to every one. Her pussy pulsed in time with his syllables. Her skin burned with shame and desire.

When he closed his message, the congregation clapped politely. Someone said "Yes, Master Herod."

But Katrina didn't move.

She sat in silence, thighs stuck to the wood beneath her, body trembling. She wasn't sure if she was going to cry or cum.

Because she knew exactly what the sermon had been.

A summons.

A promise.

A reminder of who she now belonged to.

Chapter 5 - Courtyard Games The sunlight was blinding in the courtyard, but it was nothing compared to the heat building between Katrina's legs.

She stood beside Ethan, pretending to be calm, demure, pure — all while her soaked pussy throbbed under her light summer dress. No bra. No panties. Just the wind occasionally grazing between her ass cheeks, and the idea of five cocks stretching her holes wide in her mind just like they promised to her.

Then they appeared.

Papa Cain's heavy steps echoed across the courtyard stone. Master Herod followed beside him, like a shadow made of flesh, black robes flowing, eyes sharp and hungry.

Katrina froze. Her whole body tensed. Her nipples hardened the moment Herod's eyes found her. He didn't need to say a word — that filthy gaze said it all.

Slut. Whore. Ours.

They stopped just a few steps from the family.

"Such a lovely gathering," Papa Cain said smoothly. "It's always refreshing to see young people walking in the ways of devotion."

Ethan smiled like a fucking lamb. "It's really good to be here, sir. Katrina's told me a lot about the chapel. She's grown so much."

Katrina's mother beamed. "Yes, it's been a real blessing. We're so proud of her... the changes, the confidence... and of course, thanks to both of you for helping her on her journey."

Master Herod cocked his head, a slow smirk curling on his lips.

"She is quite the student," he said, eyes never leaving Katrina's chest. "Eager. Curious."

Katrina's thighs squeezed together. She hoped nobody noticed the blush burning across her cheeks.

Then Master Herod turned to the mother — calm, smooth, filthy.

"You're a beautiful woman," he said. "Now I see where Katrina gets her beauty and... those generous curves..." A pause. "Though I wonder if you're as open to... freedom... as she's become."

Her mother laughed politely, confused but flattered. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm too old to be changing anything."

Katrina nearly whimpered.

She felt seen. Undressed. Fucked. Right there in the open.

And it wasn't over.

Master Herod stepped forward, his gaze now on Ethan.

"And this young man?" he said, extending a hand. "You must be the boyfriend."

Ethan shook his hand firmly. "Yes sir. Ethan."

Herod smiled, but his voice curled into mockery.

"Ethan," he echoed, slowly, as if tasting the name. "You must be very proud. Katrina's... a very special girl. She's always so... open with us. So... willing."

Katrina's whole body went hot. Her pussy clenched, leaking. Her knees trembled.

"Yes, sir," Ethan said proudly. "She's very devoted."

Master Herod leaned in, his voice silk and danger. "We're having a private session for her tomorrow. A very special one." Then louder, for everyone to hear: "Katrina... bring your boyfriend too. We'd love to speak with him."

Katrina's breath hitched.

She nearly dropped to her knees.

Ethan looked surprised, but nodded. "Of course. I'd be honored."

She couldn't speak. Could barely stand. She could feel their cum from days before still haunting her pussy — and now they wanted Ethan in the room?

The men exchanged parting pleasantries with the parents, then turned and walked away slowly.

Master Herod murmured just loud enough for Papa Cain to hear:

"Did you catch the way her dress stuck to that pussy?" Master Herod growled, voice low. "Little slut could barely keep her thighs together."

Papa Cain chuckled, eyes on Katrina's swaying hips. "She'll be dripping down our robes tomorrow. Begging for cock before we even unbuckle."

"Begging?" Master Herod scoffed. "She'll crawl—mouth open, tits bouncing—just to taste a drop."

"Good," Papa Cain murmured. "Because I plan to split that ass wider than she's ever dreamed. Let the boyfriend witness her drown in it."

They laughed—quiet, predatory—robes whispering against stone as they turned away, leaving Katrina's pulse fluttering and her pussy already soaked with dread-sweet anticipation.

"And the mother... now that's a surprise waiting to be unwrapped. Tight, graceful, all modest and composed. Older, sure—but that tight, ripe ass is still firm. I can tell that ass has never been properly handled. Probably clenches if someone even whispers the word 'cock' around her. I'd wager she's never even let a finger back there—too pious to dream of it." Master Herod chuckled darkly.

Papa Cain gave a wicked grin. "She's hiding a wild side, I can feel it. Let's just say... if Katrina's inherited even half of that ass, I wouldn't mind seeing what momma's been keeping secret all these years."

Chapter 6 - The chapel and the Brethren It was early morning. Katrina stood in front of the mirror after her shower, skin still warm, soft, and shaved clean. She moved slowly, deliberately, dabbing her pulse points with a scent so subtle it whispered impurity. Her light summer dress slid over her body like a second skin—thin enough to show the stiff peaks of her nipples, short enough to tease glimpses of her bare, freshly wet pussy with every step. She was getting ready... not just for the day, but for whatever they had planned for her.

As she adjusted the hem of her dress, Katrina paused, staring at her reflection. Her fingers trembled slightly. Why did they ask Ethan to come? He didn't belong in this. He couldn't see what she had become. He still thought she was his sweet, devout girl—the kind who blushed at dirty jokes and saved herself for marriage. But under this dress was a body that had been stretched, filled, and defiled by men who didn't ask for permission. Her mouth had wrapped around their cocks. Her asshole and pussy had been used like it was theirs. And now Ethan was part of this? Her stomach twisted. He can't know. He can't see what they've turned me into.

As she came downstairs, Katrina found Ethan already at the table, quietly eating toast and fruit like everything was normal. Like she hadn't spent the night wetting the sheets, grinding on her fingers, craving something he could never give. She didn't need breakfast—her hunger wasn't for food. It pulsed low and deep, in her clit, in her empty pussy, in the stretched-out holes that still ached from the last time the elders had wrecked her.

She forced a smile and sat beside him, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You know... you really don't have to come today. It's mostly long, spiritual stuff. Might be a little boring."

Ethan glanced up with a grin, his eyes warm. "If you're there, Katrina, it could never be boring."

Her stomach tightened. He had no idea what he was walking into.

Ethan drove them to the chapel, excited and clueless. He kept going on about how honored he felt to be invited, how much it meant to be part of her "spiritual journey." Katrina smiled, nodded—but inside, her thoughts were racing. Why did they ask him to come? What were they planning? Would he see her on her knees again... while her lips were pressed against a fat, throbbing cock? Would he hear the wet sounds as she gagged, feel the tremor in her breath as she moaned through someone else's cum?

The chapel porch was quiet, except for the creak of old wood as Papa Cain stepped forward with a smile that looked almost pious—until his eyes dropped to the outline of her pussy beneath the dress. Master Herod followed, hands behind his back, lips tight in a grin that screamed of memory. He had tasted every inch of her once. And she was back for more.

"Welcome," Papa Cain said, voice rich and smooth. "So glad you both could make it."

"Always a joy," Master Herod added. "We've prepared a special session today."

Ethan smiled, eager. "We're grateful to be here."

Master Herod tilted his head. "Gerald, was it?"

"Ethan, sir," he corrected.

"Ah, my mistake," Herod said, eyes twinkling with mockery. Papa Cain barely held in his chuckle. Katrina lowered her gaze, a flush rising in her cheeks. She understood their game of mockery.

They sipped tea on the porch. Katrina sat delicately, crossing her legs—knowing full well what they could see. Her thighs glistened. Her nipples strained beneath the thin dress. These two men had already been inside her—deep, raw, claiming every inch. And that clueless idiot Ethan sat right there, smiling like he still owned something that was never his to begin with.

Then came the clap.

"Brothers," Master Herod called out. "Join us."

From the shadows of the chapel stepped three more men—older, dark-skinned, their robes worn and their presence heavy with quiet authority. Their eyes lingered over Katrina like heat, slowly tracing the outline of her body—the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric, the smooth line of her thighs, the parted shape of her lips that betrayed her rising breath.

Katrina's heart skipped. They weren't joking. Five. They had spoken about five men, five cocks... and now she was seeing the rest of them, each one stepping forward like wolves circling prey. She had tried to prepare herself. She had whispered promises to her own reflection in the mirror that she was ready. But now, standing in front of them, watched like this, something in her trembled.

Papa Cain rose. "Brothers, this is Katrina. Our devoted one."

One of them smiled slowly. Another's tongue slid across his teeth.

"She is obedient," Master Herod continued. "Eager. And... always dripping for more."

Katrina clenched involuntarily. Her thighs tightened. She could already feel their cocks inside her mind.

"And this," Papa Cain said, gesturing lazily to Ethan, "is the boyfriend."

A pause. Then the smallest laugh—low and cruel—escaped from one of the newcomers.

"We have something special today," Herod said, stepping closer to Ethan. "A sacred rite. But to be truly present... to be truly focused... we must shut out all distraction."

Master Herod draped an arm across Ethan's shoulders, steering him a few paces toward an alcove. "Come, my boy—let's speak of spiritual discipline," he said, voice honey-smooth. Ethan leaned in, eager, never noticing the quick gesture Master Herod made behind his back.

At Master Herod's subtle signal, the four robed men moved as one—Papa Cain among them, his presence heavy, commanding. Two rough hands slid under Katrina's arms, lifting her from the chair with a deceptive gentleness that made her legs feel weak. One brother's palm settled at her waist, but as he guided her forward, it dipped slightly—just enough for his fingers to graze the swell of her ass through the thin fabric. A teasing brush, quick and deliberate. She tensed, breath hitching.

He trailed a knuckle up her spine, letting his hand drift just low enough to follow the curve down her back and lightly dip into the crease of her ass. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "No panties..." he whispered. "And already wet." She shivered, her thighs clenching on instinct.

Her nipples, already hard beneath the soft fabric, pushed against the dress. She felt their eyes devouring them—four men whose cocks had stirred the moment she entered. Their hunger wasn't loud. It was simmering—a silent, perverse reverence.

Papa Cain stepped close, his hand resting gently on her throat, thumb brushing the soft pulse beneath her skin. "You remember what we told you about obedience, don't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with promise. She nodded, barely breathing.

But her voice trembled as she asked, "Why is my boyfriend here...?" Papa Cain chuckled low, like he knew a secret she couldn't yet imagine. "Ah, sweet girl. Always thinking." He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Don't worry about him. He's here for a reason. Just not the one he thinks."

Each step forward was a tease, a slow unraveling of her body under their gaze. Their whispers filled her ears—soft filth, wicked praise—and though no one watching would see much, Katrina could feel everything. She was already soaked, already clenching.

And as the chapel doors creaked open to receive her again.

Outside, Ethan sat with a straight back and an eager smile, nodding intently as Master Herod's voice rolled over him like a sermon.

The older man spoke slowly, deeply, eyes calm but glinting with quiet mockery. "This session is a sacred one for Katrina," Herod said, resting a hand on Ethan's shoulder with feigned warmth. "She needs focus. Support. I need you to be strong for her."

Ethan's brow furrowed with sincerity. "Of course. I want to be there for her in every way."

Herod's smile twitched, just enough to betray the predator beneath. "Then you'll do everything we ask. No hesitation. No distractions. Trust us. Trust the process. It's all for her."

Ethan nodded, oblivious. "Anything. If it helps her grow in her faith... I'm ready."

Herod clapped his shoulder. "Good. That's what we hoped to hear."

Chapter 7 - The Chair of Confessions The chapel smelled of smoke, sweat, and something sweetly unholy.

Katrina stepped inside, her breath tight in her throat. The soft hum of the ceiling fan stirred her dress around her thighs. Five chairs waited in a crescent before her—each man, calm and silent in his robe, moving to take his seat. And at the center of it all stood a single chair: dark wood, smooth from use. Her chair.

She could feel the wetness between her legs growing with each step.

Ethan walked beside her, oblivious. He looked around the dim space with quiet awe, as if stepping into something pure.

Katrina, on the other hand, felt her stomach twist.

What??? Why did they bring him here?

He didn't know. He couldn't know.

He still thought she was his sweet, faithful girlfriend. But this room... this was a sanctuary for something else entirely.

Ethan smiled politely as Papa Cain extended his hand, eyes wide with admiration. "Welcome, my boy," he said. "We're honored you could join us. Please, over here. We've prepared a special place for reflection."

Ethan nodded eagerly and followed the gesture, settling into a chair tucked in the far corner of the room. Not hidden. Just distant enough to hear... and not understand.

Master Herod approached him with slow, deliberate steps, his hands folded behind his back like a man carrying ancient wisdom.

"This session," he said softly, "will be a deeply liberating one for Katrina. A moment of spiritual release. We've found that the best way to support someone on that path... is through silence, stillness, and reflection." He held up a folded black cloth. "I'd like you to wear this. It will help you meditate more deeply on the things we spoke about outside. It's not just a blindfold, Ethan—it's a symbol. Trust. Focus. Surrender."

Ethan looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Of course. If it helps her... I'll do it."

Master Herod smiled. "Good boy."

With a quiet breath, Ethan leaned forward and allowed Master Herod to gently tie the cloth over his eyes. The blindfold slipped into place, soft and snug, shutting out the flickering candlelight and the menacing glow of the room around him.

He was then guided back to his seat in the far corner, where he sat quietly—upright, still, eager to be part of something he didn't understand. Hands resting on his knees, breath steady, face calm. A silent observer in the shadows... blind, unaware, and surrounded by wolves.

Katrina stood in the middle now, facing the men. Her dress clung to her hips, the thin fabric fluttering just above the place where her thighs met—where slick heat had already begun to coat her skin.

But her gaze drifted—past the semicircle of robed men, toward the far corner where Ethan sat. She watched as Master Herod gently tied the black cloth over his eyes, whispering something low and reassuring in his ear.

Her breath caught.

They're blindfolding him? What kind of game is this?

She felt her knees weaken as she watched Ethan smile softly, like he was being invited into something beautiful. He settled back into the pew, serene and trusting—completely unaware of what he'd just agreed to.

He thinks he's helping me reflect. He doesn't know they're about to watch me fall apart. He doesn't know I'm already soaked... already craving their cocks.

The contrast hit her hard—his innocence and her filth. Her eyes burned. Her thighs trembled.

Master Herod stepped away from the corner where he'd just finished blindfolding Ethan, his movements smooth and unhurried, like a man who knew exactly what came next.

He crossed the room slowly, the hem of his robe brushing the stone floor with each step, until he stood directly in front of Katrina. Towering. Calm. In complete control.

His eyes locked with hers—piercing, unreadable, and dark with intent.

"Katrina," he said, voice low and reverent. "Come. Let us begin."

She moved slowly toward the chair, legs tight, every step a fight between instinct and shame. The wood was cool against her thighs as she sat. She could feel her bare skin meeting it. No panties. No bra.

Her fingers rested in her lap.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Master Herod's voice broke the silence—low, rich, almost gentle, yet edged with something dark.

"Beloved brethren," he announced, turning slightly so his words carried to every corner of the chapel, "we gather today for an intimate rite—one of guidance, growth, and overflowing devotion. Our sweet disciple, Katrina, has shown a zeal that humbles even the oldest among us. Her willingness to be shaped, to be poured out, is a challenge we dare not take lightly."

Ethan, blindfolded in the far pew, straightened a little at the mention of her name, clearly pleased but none the wiser.

Master Herod's hand drifted to Katrina's shoulder—light, reassuring, proprietary. "Before we proceed, child, you must know the full circle that surrounds you. Each brother has pledged to guide you on the path of freedom you crave."

He gestured toward the crescent of robed figures.

"First, you know our venerable Papa Cain," he said, voice laced with reverence. Cain dipped his head, his dark gaze sliding over Katrina's erect nipples and the slick sheen along the tops of her thighs.

"Today, we are also joined by three esteemed elders—each devoted to the deepest mysteries of... release."

Herod's eyes gleamed as he introduced them, one by one: "Papa Earl," his skin pale and papery, eyes sunken but sharp, lips curling into a smile that lingered far too long on Katrina's tits. He looked like he hadn't blinked in a full minute.

"Papa Vernon," heavier, with a greasy sheen to his bald head and a slow, deliberate stare that dragged across her thighs and up the curve of her hips. The kind of man who breathed heavy even when he wasn't moving.

"Papa Virgil," thin and twitchy, with a nervous smile and bony fingers folded in his lap. But his gaze never wavered—locked on the dark patch at the hem of Katrina's dress like a dog watching meat fall off the bone.

Each man inclined his head in a shadowed greeting, their collective gaze washing over her skin like heat. Katrina shivered, nipples tightening further, thighs betraying a fresh gleam of slickness. They saw everything—her perfect, aching breasts; the quiver of her bare inner thighs—and their silent approval made her pulse thrash in her ears.

Herod's fingers pressed slightly into her shoulder, grounding her. "They have come," he murmured, "not to judge, but to witness your devotion—your readiness to open further, to overflow."

Katrina's breath hitched. Ethan, sequestered in blindness, could only hear the calm cadence of ceremonial words—nothing more. He couldn't see the way Papa Earl's tongue swept slowly over his lower lip, or how Papa Vernon's thick hand shifted beneath his robe to adjust the growing heft pressing against his thigh, or how Papa Virgil's pale eyes glittered with unspoken promises of how far they planned to take her.

"Now," Master Herod finished softly, "let the confession begin. Show them, Katrina, the fervor that burns inside you."

And the room seemed to tighten around her—thick with incense, thicker with want—while the five men prepared to drink in every trembling, soaking moment of her surrender.

"Tell us, Katrina... were you faithful to your... "discipline" this week?"

Her eyes dropped. Her chest rose with a trembling breath. "Yes, Master Herod."

"Did you... "stretch" yourself?"

The room was silent. The air grew thick.

Her head turned, almost instinctively. Her eyes found Ethan, sitting quietly in the far corner—blindfolded, upright, peaceful. His hands rested on his knees like a boy in church school, completely unaware of the filthy tension soaking the room.

Katrina's stomach twisted. Her lips parted, but no words came. She hesitated.

Master Herod stepped in behind her, his voice low and deliberate, just loud enough for her and the brethren to hear.

"Don't worry, child... he won't understand. That little fool wouldn't know what obedience sounds like even if it screamed from between your legs."

She nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "I did...

"With what?"

She didn't look up. Her cheeks flushed hot.

"Perfume bottle... shampoo bottle... cucumber... and my... fingers."

A quiet chuckle rolled from one of the men. Another shifted, the robe in his lap tenting slightly.

Master Herod's smile was calm. Deliberate. "And... did you enjoy it?"

Her thighs clenched instinctively. Her voice trembled. "Yes, Master."

Papa Cain's voice slid in from her right—smooth, steady.

"When you opened yourself, whom did you think of?"

She bit her bottom lip.

"You," she breathed. "and. Master Herod..."

Herod nodded slowly, eyes never leaving her face. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, guttural murmur—too low for Ethan's blindfolded ears to catch.

"Tell me, slut... do you miss our cocks inside you?"

Katrina's breath caught. Her knees twitched. The filth of the question wrapped around her like a noose—tight, humiliating, perfect. She couldn't lie.

She didn't speak—just gave a tiny nod, eyes lowered, lips parting as a soft, breathy "Mhhmm..." slipped from her throat.

Papa Cain leaned forward slightly, his voice dipped in mock kindness—sweet on the surface, but soaked in filth.

"Tell me, girl... does that tight little pussy of yours think about us often? About being stretched wide and filled like it's meant to be?"

His words dripped down her spine like hot oil.

Katrina shivered, cheeks burning, her thighs clenching around nothing.

Her breath hitched. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, fingers brushing against the hem of her dress. She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "...Every day," she whispered, eyes flickering. "A-all the time... I can't stop..."

Her thighs pressed together, a tremble running through her. The confession alone made her pussy throb.

From the side, Ethan stirred. His voice gentle, unsure. "Is she... okay?"

Herod's smile faltered for a split second. Without turning, his voice cut through the room—low, sharp, and laced with authority.

"Do not interrupt, boy," he snapped. "Let her release what's inside her. This isn't for your understanding."

Ethan fell silent immediately, shrinking into the corner.

Katrina's breath grew shallow. Her pussy clenched at the sound of Herod's tone—stern, commanding, unapologetically in control.

Papa Earl's voice slid out of the half-circle, scratchy and eager. "When you lie awake at night, girl, does that little flower of yours twitch—begging to be stretched again?"

Katrina's cheeks flamed. She bit her lip, gave the faintest nod. A tiny whimper slipped free. "M-mhhmm... it— it won't stay still..."

Papa Vernon chuckled, the sound thick as tar. "And your tight gate, sweetheart? Still sore from our last visit? Or is it already aching for another rod?"

Her hips jerked. She couldn't meet their eyes, but her body told the truth—one sharp tremor, then another. "It... it aches," she breathed, fingers tightening on her dress.

Papa Virgil inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. "The smell of your need's filling the room, darlin'. You're dripping before we've even touched you. Tell us—what do you crave right now?"

Katrina's heart pounded.

She was soaked now—dripping, throbbing, aching. And they could see it. Smell it. Feel it.

A soft, helpless sigh spilled from her lips. "To... to be filled," she whispered, voice cracking.

Herod's voice dropped low. "Then show us your devotion, child. Release your tension."

She froze.

Ethan... He didn't know. But he was there. Right there.

Her legs opened. Slowly. Her dress rode up, higher and higher, until her bare pussy was exposed to the five men—pink, wet, twitching. She could feel the cool air kiss her soaked folds.

Her fingers moved between her thighs, trembling. She pressed her fingertips to her clit. She gasped. Her hips jolted. Her other hand covered her mouth. Her eyes darted to Ethan—still blindfolded.

She slipped two fingers inside. The squelch echoed faintly. The chair creaked beneath her. She fucked herself slowly, then faster. Her breath was ragged. Her thighs shook. She moaned into her palm.

The men didn't just watch—they devoured her.

Their eyes were fixed on her trembling thighs, the way her fingers disappeared under the hem of her dress, dipping into her soaked little pussy with slow, desperate need. Her hips rocked, subtle but shameless, her breath catching each time her fingers pushed back inside.

Papa Earl shifted in his seat, groaning low as his hand slid under his robe. He palmed the bulge pressing thick against the fabric, eyes locked on the shine of wetness glistening on Katrina's inner thighs.

Papa Vernon licked his lips, his chest rising with every ragged breath she took. "She's fucking leaking, the filthy girl," he muttered, one hand gripping the arm of his chair while the other adjusted the heavy shape tenting beneath his robes.

And she was. Her fingers moved faster, her body trembling. Slick sounds rose from between her legs—soft, sticky, wet. Her mouth hung open, eyes glazed with heat, face flushed with humiliation and need.

She didn't care. Couldn't care. She was giving them what they wanted.

Her pussy clenched hard. Her stomach fluttered. Her fingers curled deeper, faster, harder.

And then she came—shaking, soaking, whimpering.

Juice flooded down her thighs, pooling on the wooden seat.

She slumped, breathless, a mess of slick heat and shame. Her fingers glistened. Her chest heaved. Her skin burned.

Papa Cain rose and stepped forward, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "You've done well, Katrina," he said softly. "But this was only the beginning."

Chapter 8 - The Feast Begins The chapel thickened with heat.

The scent of sweat, incense, and something deeper—fermented lust—hung heavy in the air like fog. Katrina seated on the wooden chair still glistening beneath her with the slick evidence of her confession. Her skin shimmered with sweat, and her breath trembled with something between shame and yearning.

Master Herod stood behind her.

He didn't speak at first.

Just reached forward—slow, deliberate—and took the hem of her sundress between his fingers. The soft cotton was soaked at the hips, clinging to her curves, hiding nothing. With one smooth pull, he lifted the dress over her trembling body, exposing her inch by inch—her pale back, her tight waist, the swell of her hips.

She didn't resist.

The dress slipped up, catching for a breath on her heaving boobs before sliding free altogether. He tossed it aside like a shed skin.

Now she stood bare before them.

Her body was a vision of lust—flushed, glistening, perfect.

Her tits were full and high, nipples hard and begging for touch. A sheen of sweat traced the valley between them. Her stomach was tight, trembling slightly with every breath. Her hips flared beautifully, her thighs thick and soft and slick with arousal. Between her legs, her pussy gleamed—wet, twitching, lips parted and puffy, begging to be used.

Master Herod's eyes dragged over her slowly, like a man surveying his finest offering. His cock twitched beneath his robe.

Then—his voice, low and sharp, broke the silence. "On your knees, whore."

She obeyed, limbs shaky. The room pulsed with candlelight and male hunger.

Without a word, the five robed men stepped forward—gathering in a slow circle around her trembling, naked body. Each stood tall, silent, commanding, their breaths thick with hunger.

Their eyes devoured her—her flushed cheeks, her heaving tits, the slick sheen glistening between her thighs.

Their hands moved to their robes.

For a moment, they simply stood there—gripping the swollen shapes beneath the fabric, thick cocks outlined in velvet folds. Big, dark, throbbing lengths—barely contained, already leaking. Each man stroked himself slowly, teasing her with what waited just beneath the cloth.

Katrina's mouth fell open, her breath catching. Her knees pressed together instinctively.

Then—one by one—they began to strip.

Katrina's eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. Before her—five towering cocks. Thick. Black. Veiny. Musky. They swung low and heavy, already half-hard from the sight of her dripping body, growing by the second.

The biggest belonged to Master Herod, curving upward like a blasphemous monument—dark as midnight, thick as her wrist, the tip gleaming wet.

But the others weren't far behind.

Papa Cain's cock was a brutal thing, wide and throbbing, glistening with a sheen of sweat. Papa Earl's was long and curved like a wicked hook. Papa Vernon's hung low and thick, with veins like raised roots. And Papa Virgil's twitched, leaking, eager—smaller but pulsing with dangerous need.

The scent hit her next—deep, earthy, raw. Her knees buckled.

Her pussy clenched violently. Her mouth watered.

She was surrounded by cock. By power. By heat. She was nothing now—just a dripping hole to be filled.

Master Herod stepped forward and lifted her chin with two fingers. "You've confessed, girl. Now open your mouth and serve."

She obeyed.

The first cock that touched her lips was Virgil's. It throbbed against her tongue, salty and slick with pre-cum. She wrapped her lips around it and took him deep—hungry, aching. He hissed as her tongue swirled and her throat opened.

A wet suck echoed through the chapel.

Her hands reached out blindly—finding two more cocks, one in each palm. She gripped Papa Earl and Papa Vernon, pumping them with slow, messy strokes. Their shafts throbbed in her grip, thick and warm. Her spit dripped down Virgil's length and onto her chin as he started to thrust into her mouth—slow, deliberate, deeper each time.

"Good girl," someone murmured. "Such a good little chapel slut."

She moaned around the cock in her throat.

"Good little disciple," Papa Cain muttered. "So eager for her shepherds."

Katrina was a mess now—lips swollen, eyes wet, chin shining with spit and pre-cum, hands jerking every shaft she could reach while her mouth bounced from cock to cock, giving each one her service.

She barely remembered Ethan was still in the room—sitting quietly in the corner, blindfolded, his face soft with innocent hope. He still believed she was seeking freedom, still thought she was fighting for purity. He had no idea that what she truly came here longing for... was big, black cocks.

She was soaked.

Her thighs glistened. Her pussy twitched with every moan. Her cunt clenched with every drip poured down on her by these towering men of of the chapel.

And then—Cain's voice broke through the haze again.

"Enough."

His tone was deep. Final.

She gasped, pulling back, panting. Her breasts rose and fell, tits slick with sweat and stray drops of spit.

"Back on the chair," he said.

Her legs shook as she climbed back into the wooden seat. Her thighs fell open wide, and the room practically pulsed with heat.

Papa Cain knelt between her trembling thighs, his presence commanding, patient... hungry.

With thick fingers, he spread her folds apart—slow and wide—peeling her open like ripe, forbidden fruit. Her pussy was glistening, flushed pink and slick, lips swollen from neglect, her clit twitching with every breath.

He leaned in.

His hot breath rolled over her soaked entrance, making her shiver. Then—his tongue touched her.

Soft at first. Just the tip, flicking over her clit like a tease. One slow stroke, then another—wet and warm, tracing lazy circles around the aching nub. Her entire body jolted.

She slapped her palm over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Mmmhhfff..." she whimpered into her hand, eyes wide, back arching off the chair.

But Papa Cain wasn't gentle for long.

He buried his face in her cunt, his tongue diving deep between her folds—lapping at her juices with long, greedy strokes. He dragged it up from her slit to her clit, then sucked it into his mouth and flicked it fast, firm, relentless. The obscene sound of his tongue working her echoed through the room—wet, sticky, filthy.

She moaned louder, desperate, the sound breaking through her palm. Her hips began to roll against his face, unable to stop chasing that heat.

Papa Cain growled against her, the vibration making her thighs tremble.

"Such a sweet little pussy," he murmured between licks. "Soaked like a sinner begging for more."

He plunged two fingers inside her, curling them deep while his tongue attacked her clit in tight, rapid strokes—sloppy, reverent, merciless.

Katrina cried out again, her hand no longer enough to silence her.

She was losing it—legs shaking, pussy clenching, mouth slack with pleasure. Her head fell back, her breath ragged, her soaked hole twitching around his fingers as his tongue dragged her toward the edge.

And around her, the other men didn't just watch—they stepped in to silence her.

Master Herod was first, grabbing her by the hair and guiding his fat cock between her parted lips. Her moans were instantly muffled as he sank into her throat, his grip firm, his pace slow but unyielding.

"Can't have the boyfriend hearing his little slut scream for cock, can we?" he muttered darkly.

Papa Vernon and Papa Earl their cocks already slick from her earlier service. She reached up with both hands—fingers wrapping around their thick shafts, stroking them feverishly as Master Herod fucked her throat.

Her cries were gone now—swallowed down with every thrust. Her tongue flattened under Herod's cock, her lips stretched wide, spit pouring down her chin as her hands jerked the others like her life depended on it.

She moaned around the girth stuffed in her throat, her body trembling while Papa Cain kept devouring her soaked pussy below—tongue relentless, fingers curling deep, dragging her toward the edge while the others used her mouth and hands to keep her silent.

She was being pulled apart—licked open, stuffed full, drowning in cock.

And then it happened.

Her whole body seized.

A sudden, uncontrollable spasm ripped through her—her back arched, her hips bucked, and with a ragged, muffled scream around Master Herod's cock, she squirted.

A hot, gushing spray burst from her twitching cunt, splashing across Papa Cain's face and chin, soaking his beard in her release.

He didn't stop. He moaned into her, tongue lapping greedily as she convulsed above him.

Her hips rocked back and forth, slamming into his face, chasing every pulse, every wave, until her legs shook and her arms trembled from the effort of staying upright.

Spit and precum ran down her chin. Herod's cock still filled her throat. Her hands never stopped stroking the others. But her mind—her body—was lost in that brutal, beautiful explosion of pleasure.

She came hard.

Soaked the floor. Soaked Papa Cain. Soaked herself.

And still... the feast had only just begun.

And then—Master Herod stepped in front of her, cock in hand.

One of the other men—Papa Vernon—stepped behind her, grabbing her thighs and lifting them high, spreading her open like a display. Her legs trembled in his grip, wide and vulnerable, her dripping pussy fully exposed, twitching, pulsing, glistening.

She gasped as the fat head of Herod's cock pressed against her soaked entrance. Her hole clenched around nothing, already desperate to be filled, begging silently for the stretch, the heat, the brutal claiming.

He pushed.

The first inch stretched her open. Then another. Then more. Her pussy fought him—tight, twitching—but her body welcomed it with a needy tremble.

"Ohhh fuuuck," she cried out, gagging around Virgil's cock, drool pouring down her chin.

Ethan stirred in the corner, blindfolded. "I-Is she okay?" he asked, voice soft, uncertain.

Herod didn't even slow. "Silence," he barked. "Let her experience her freedom."

Katrina's eyes rolled back. The word freedom sank into her bones like a curse and a blessing. Her body shook with every stroke—Herod pounded her with measured brutality.

She was fucked. Claimed. Owned.

Papa Earl's cock replaced Virgil's in her mouth—longer, thicker, curved. It dragged along her tongue, scraping the roof of her mouth as it pushed deeper and deeper. She gagged, tears spilling, but never pulled away.

"Take it, little slut," he growled. "Take every fucking inch."

One cock down her throat, one in her pussy. Her hands never stopped stroking the other two—Papa Cain grunted every time her fist twisted around his shaft.

Then Papa Cain stepped back, eyes locked on the twitching ring between her cheeks. He growled low.

"Up," he commanded, voice thick and dark. "On your feet, girl."

She obeyed instantly—shaky, breathless, her body still slick with sweat and her juices. Her legs wobbled as she stood, spit and arousal dripping down her thighs.

Papa Cain took the wooden chair behind her and sank into it, spreading his legs wide, his fat cock standing tall and proud, already glistening with need.

He slapped the thick shaft once, then pointed to his lap. "Come ride it," he muttered. "Ass first."

Katrina's breath hitched. Her cheeks flushed with shame... and hunger.

She turned, climbed onto him slowly, one knee at a time on the sides of the chair. His strong hands gripped her hips, guiding her backward until the head of his cock pressed against her tight, untouched hole.

He spat—thick and hot—right onto her asshole. The wet sound echoed off the chapel walls.

Then he rubbed it in with his fingers, circling the twitching ring, smearing his spit like lube, spreading her open.

Her body tensed as the fat crown pressed again.

"Relax, slut," he growled, his voice calm but commanding. "You'll take all of it."

And with one slow, ruthless push—he began to slide in.

"Oh yes... yes," she whimpered.

He pressed the fat tip of his cock to her asshole and began to push.

The stretch was unreal.

Master Herod stayed deep in her pussy while Cain forced her open from behind. Her body trembled, clamped, adjusted—two fat cocks filling her, stuffing her, claiming her.

Her mouth pulled off Earl's cock just long enough to sob, "F-fuck! I'm full... so full..."

The chapel echoed with the slap of flesh on flesh. With her whimpers. With their groans.

Cain and Herod found a rhythm—one in, one out—pistoning her between them, fucking her pussy and her ass. Her body bounced with every thrust.

Papa Vernon leaned down and sucked her clit, adding another layer to the overload. Her breasts bounced. Her mouth hung open, tongue out, face soaked in spit and sweat.

She snapped.

Another orgasm hit hard—legs shaking, cunt pulsing, eyes rolled back. She squirted, spraying clear jets onto the stone beneath her. The men cheered like beasts in heat, ravenous and wild.

Still, they didn't stop.

Master Herod pulled out of her stretched, used pussy, and Papa Cain slammed into her pussy in one brutal thrust, making her cry out, legs twitching. They swapped holes again—Master Herod taking her ass, Papa Cain her cunt—filling her, emptying her, using her like she was nothing but a wet, broken toy.

And then the others...

One by one, each of the five men took turns in her pussy, her ass, her throat—rotating her like a ritual offering, cocks plunging into her from every angle. Her holes were raw, dripping, wrecked—and still she begged for more.

Papa Earl stretched her pussy wide, thrusting deep until her thighs trembled.

Papa Vernon pinned her hips down and fucked her ass with slow, punishing strokes.

Papa Virgil used her mouth like it belonged to him—holding her hair, pushing past her tongue, letting her choke on the sheer size.

Chapter 9 - The Stretching Ritual Now Katrina was stuffed. One cock buried deep in her raw, soaking pussy. Another drilling into her asshole.

Her whole body jerked with every thrust—they were fucking her hard, together, in sync. Her insides clamped around them, trying to survive the stretch, but she couldn't stop moaning. Couldn't stop cumming.

She shook. She screamed again. Her pussy exploded—hot, wet jets squirting out around the thick cock impaled inside her, spraying her thighs, the chair, and the stone beneath. Her body convulsed, overstretched and gushing, completely undone.

And in the corner, Ethan sat quietly—blindfolded, still, clutching his hands together like he was praying. He tried to believe she was being healed. That she was receiving some holy, intimate breakthrough. He told himself it was something sacred, something honorable... but he didn't see the cum-soaked truth. He didn't hear her moans for what they were—worship of cock, not freedom.

She was gushing like a broken whore.

And they still weren't done.

Papa Cain and the other elder pulled out, slow and wet, her holes gaping wide—pussy twitching, asshole quivering, both leaking her juices and spit.

She collapsed forward, gasping like she'd run a marathon. Her body was a mess—sweat-slicked, precum-streaked, dripping and raw.

Then Master Herod stepped in.

The stone floor was cold beneath him as he lay down, his massive black cock rising from his robe like a fucking monument.

"Come sit on it," he ordered, his voice calm and cruel.

Katrina obeyed, knees shaking, body trembling. She crawled over him, straddling his waist. Her pussy was still twitching, still leaking from being filled and stretched—but it wasn't enough.

She lowered herself, and his cock slid in deep—so fucking deep it felt like he was inside her guts.

Her mouth fell open, a silent scream caught in her throat.

She rode him slowly, but then—another shadow moved between Herod's legs.

Another of them. Another cock.

He knelt between Herod's legs, his thick, leaking cock in hand, and lined it up right beside the other cock already buried deep in her pussy. Katrina felt the pressure, the impossible width—her breath caught, her eyes going wide.

"W-what? What are you doing?" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper—soft enough that Ethan wouldn't hear from the corner. "I'm already full here... how am I supposed to take more in here?" She gasped again, her voice cracking in disbelief, her thighs quivering. Her pussy fluttered helplessly, already stretched raw and leaking, but the thick tip kept pushing, rubbing insistently against her ruined entrance like it belonged there.

One of them laughed. Another slapped her thigh.

"Shut up, slut," Papa Cain growled. "This pussy was made to take all of us."

"You hear that?" another sneered. "You're not a girl anymore—you're a fuckhole. A sacred cunt for our cocks."

Then they pushed in—both of them—stretching her pussy open like it belonged to them. And it did.

Her pussy was claimed. Two huge cocks forced inside her cunt at once, sliding together, stretching her open far beyond what her body could handle.

Her eyes rolled back.

Her belly bulged.

She screamed—"FUCK I'M GONNA BREAK!"—but her hips still moved, desperate for more.

She was a cock-hungry animal now, and the men knew it.

They fucked her pussy together. Hard. Deep. Wet sounds echoed through the chapel as their cocks slammed into her again and again, her cunt stretched around both shafts like a ruined fuckhole.

Papa Cain stepped behind her—this time, his cock coated with slick and her own juices.

Another elder joined him, cock thick, dark, pulsing.

They aimed for her ass.

Her gaping, stretched, twitching asshole.

She was sobbing now, barely able to think.

"Her ass is too tight," one growled, spitting on the twitching hole again.

"Can't take two cocks like this," Papa Cain muttered, pressing his thick tip against her stretched rim. "It needs to be held open. Fucking spread wide like the filthy little hole it is. Then we open it,"

Master Herod snapped. "Young man. Come here."

Katrina jerked forward, her eyes wide, her body still trembling from the stretch. "What... what are you doing?" she gasped, voice breathless and cracked. "Why are you calling him?"

Shock and confusion slammed into her at once—her mind spinning, her used body still stuffed and quivering, and now Ethan was being brought into it?

Master Herod didn't even look at her. "Shut up and take what's given to you," he said, voice calm but sharp. "Your holes don't get to ask questions. They just get filled."

Her breath hitched. Her heart raced. She didn't understand.

Ethan. Still blindfolded, stepped forward, slowly, obediently.

They guided Ethan forward, placing his hands on her ass cheeks like he was helping with a task.

"There... now spread this open for her," one of them murmured, voice calm like it was nothing more than service.

"What is this...? Katrina? Is this... you? Are you okay, love?"

Her eyes fluttered back, her mouth drooling around the cock in her throat. She was shaking, dripping, stretched wide and wrecked.

Katrina whimpered, looking back. Her voice was soft, cracked, filthy.

"Yes Ethan, I'm ok..."

He knelt behind her, still blindfolded.

His hands reached out—soft, unsure—and settled on her ass cheeks.

He thought he was holding her. Thought he was steadying her.

Thought he was helping her receive her freedom.

That's what he told himself. That's what he clung to—like this was some kind of sacred healing, some important release.

But all he was really doing... was holding her wide open for other cocks.

He spread her wide—wide—exposing her twitching, spit-slick asshole, not realizing he was offering her up like a fuck platter.

Her asshole twitched. Open. Exposed. Inviting. Papa Cain pushed in first. Then the second cock followed. It was brutal. Slow. Stretching.

Katrina screamed—a raw, savage sound that tore from her throat."FUUUUCK! MY TIGHT GATE—IT'S TOO MUCH!"

Her body convulsed, her legs kicked, her spine arched from the overload of pressure deep in her guts.

Ethan flinched. His hands were still gripping her wide open.

"Katrina? What—what happened? Are you okay?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

She whipped her head toward him, eyes wild, drool spilling from her lips.

"Shut up and do your fucking job, Ethan."

That was all it took.

His face flushed. His hands tightened around her ass.

He said nothing more. He just held her steady... while they wrecked her asshole completely.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Her mind shattered.

And then—Papa Virgil stepped in front of her, his cock already wet and angry.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

She obeyed.

He shoved it in—deep. Past her tongue. Down her throat. She gagged instantly, spit exploding from her lips, dripping down her chin.

Now she was full.

Two cocks in her pussy. Two in her ass. One down her throat.

She was being fucked like a thing. A fleshlight. A filthy chapel fucktoy. Their little broken slut.

Her tits bounced wildly. Her clit was swollen. Her eyes streamed with tears as she moaned around the cock choking her.

Ethan's hands held her open.

Her body was nothing now—just a trembling, overstretched vessel. Her pussy stuffed to the brim with two thick, pulsing cocks, grinding and stretching her walls so wide she felt like she might tear. Her ass clenched around two fat cock, buried deep, pressing up against her insides. And her throat? Completely filled—her lips stretched around a veiny shaft, her cheeks bulging, spit pouring freely as the man used her mouth like a wet hole.

The sounds were obscene. Slap. Squish. Gag. Moan.

She couldn't take it. Her body was twitching, overheating, dripping. Her eyes rolled back, her breath caught in her throat—and then it hit her.

Her thighs snapped shut around the cocks in her pussy, her spine arched violently, and her cunt exploded.

She squirted hard—a violent spray of hot, clear liquid gushing from her swollen pussy lips, soaking Herod's cock and the other elder's balls. The force of it splattered up her thighs and ran down her belly, pooling beneath her like a holy offering.

Her body convulsed, muscles seizing as another jet followed—then another—as her soaked, fucked-out cunt emptied itself in wave after wave of orgasm.

The men groaned in approval. She heard curses, praises, filthy growls all around her as her body became a fountain of filthy, broken pleasure—her cunt squirting, her thighs shaking, her holes twitching from overstimulation.

And all the while... Ethan was still behind her, holding onto her dearly—his hands gripping her thighs like he was steadying something sacred, like he believed he was anchoring her through some mighty deliverance.

Her moans were gagged by the cock in her throat, but her eyes—wild, glazed, teary—said everything.

They finished her off in a brutal, messy crescendo. One by one, the men tensed—grunting like beasts as their cocks throbbed violently inside her.

Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded her pussy first, soaking her womb, then her ass, twitching and stretched, filled to the brim. One cock emptied deep in her throat, and she gagged as the warm load spilled down her neck and into her belly.

The rest pulled out and painted her—thick, hot, sticky ropes splattering across her tits, her throat, her face. Her skin steamed under it, coated in heat and filth. Her nipples dripped. Her lips shone. A thick strand clung to her eyelashes before sliding down her cheek like a mark of impurity.

Katrina shook under the onslaught, gasping, moaning, swallowing between broken breaths.

"F-fuck... it's so warm... inside me..." she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, eyes rolling back in soaked, ruined bliss.

Cum oozed from her stretched pussy and gaping asshole, smeared across her belly, pooling beneath her like a puddle of sin.

And in the flickering candlelight, she looked exactly as they wanted her: used, glazed in seed, and completely owned.

She was drenched.

Chapter 10 - The Collapse Katrina lay sprawled on the cold chapel floor. Her body was slick with sweat and seed, her skin painted in cum that clung to her chest, her thighs, her mouth. Her pussy still gaped open, raw and twitching, leaking down her inner thighs. Her asshole ached from being stretched wide. Her face was slack, her breath ragged, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.

Around her, the flickering candles still burned.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't think.

All she knew was the feeling—emptied, ruined, full.

Master Herod knelt beside her, adjusting his robe as he gazed down with a satisfied smile. The other elders moved quietly in the background, dressing themselves, their expressions calm and pleased, like the ritual had ended exactly as they knew it would.

He leaned down, brushing a sticky strand of hair from her face. "You've done well, Katrina," he murmured, voice thick with mockery. "Took every cock like a trained little fuckpet. The brethren are pleased. You've made yourself useful and now you're ready."

She blinked slowly, her lips barely moving.

Her voice was hoarse. "Ready for what?"

Herod smirked.

"To stay. To serve. This chapel is your cage now," he whispered softly, his lips close to her ear so Ethan wouldn't hear. "Your mouth, your pussy, your ass—they're not yours anymore. They're holes for the brethren. Used whenever, however. You'll wake up with cock buried inside you, and you'll fall asleep soaked in our cum. That's all you're good for now."

His hand trailed down, scooping a line of cooling seed from her belly and rubbing it slowly into her lips.

"You were made for this."

She trembled. "This is where I belong?" she whispered. Then, her brow furrowed. Her voice cracked as she mumbled, "What about my parents? What about... him?"

She pointed toward Ethan—still blindfolded, sitting on the stone floor, soft smile on his lips like he was still dreaming of something romantic.

Herod laughed quietly.

"Let me take care of that."

He snapped his fingers, and one of the elders walked over and untied Ethan's blindfold.

The light hit his eyes. He blinked. Looked around.

And then he saw her.

Katrina stood now—her legs weak, her dress sticking to her cum-slick skin, her hair a tangled mess, her thighs glistening. She wiped her face slowly with a damp cloth, handed to her like it was a rag of purity.

"Katrina?" Ethan's voice was soft, uncertain. "Are you okay? Why are you so... sweaty and wet? Did they...? Did you...?"

He trailed off, his words breaking apart as his eyes slowly scanned the room.

The floor was a mess—slick, smeared, used. Dark stains glistened in the candlelight. Droplets, splashes, trails.

He looked back at her—at her soaked thighs, her sticky skin, her tangled hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her dress clung to her body like it had been peeled off and slapped back on, her nipples still poking through the thin fabric, her lips parted and slick.

He swallowed.

She looked like she had been fucked senseless.

But his mind clung desperately to the hope that it was just... sweat.

She looked at him for the first time, her heart thudding, the mess on her skin still warm. It was obvious—too obvious—but she forced a shaky little smile, trying to break the tension.

"Shut up, Ethan," she said with a nervous laugh. "How could you even think that? It was just... part of the session. Nothing more."

Ethan blinked, as if snapping out of a fog. He nodded quickly, eyes wide.

"Y-yeah... yeah, of course. It must be my thoughts. I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to—" He didn't finish. He couldn't. Something in his voice cracked.

Master Herod adjusted his robe, his voice calm and composed, as if everything was perfectly ordinary. "Let's go," he said. "We should speak with your parents... and with you Gerald."

Ethan blinked. "It's Ethan," he corrected softly, shoulders stiff.

Herod gave him a slow, lazy glance. "Of course... You... Ethan."

Ethan opened his mouth, but said nothing.

He turned back to Katrina, his voice low, pleading. "Katrina... are you really okay? My love, you're not yourself."

Katrina's head turned, her eyes locking onto him—and for the first time, really seeing him.

The soft voice. The pleading look. The weakness.

She sneered.

"I told you I'm fine, Ethan. Stop bothering me." Her voice dripped with disgust, like the sound of his name tasted sour in her mouth.

Ethan's face fell. His lips parted, wounded, but no words came.

Behind them, the elders chuckled softly. "Still thinks she belongs to him," one muttered.

"He's standing there worried about her feelings," another scoffed, "and she's still dripping with our cum."

Chapter 11 - A New Life Begins The house was quiet when they arrived. The same neat little home where Katrina had once kissed her mother's cheek before church, and held Ethan's hand like he was her future.

Now she stood at the doorstep behind Master Herod and Papa Cain—still filthy from the chapel. Her skin gleamed with sweat, her thighs sticky with dried and leaking cum. Her pussy throbbed with every step, raw and aching. Her asshole still tingled, stretched from what they had done to her just minutes before. She hadn't been cleaned.

She smelled like sex. She looked like impurity. And she was home.

Herod raised a hand and knocked gently.

The door opened.

Mrs. Kalina stood there—her beauty undeniable even in her age. Curvy. Tired eyes, but glowing cheeks. A tight blouse tucked into a fitted skirt. Her cleavage just visible beneath a gold chain resting between her breasts.

Master Herod's eyes dipped immediately, slow and deliberate, sliding down her figure without shame. Behind him, Papa Cain watched her with silent hunger, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek.

"Good afternoon," Herod said, smooth as honey. "We've come to speak about Katrina."

Inside, the family gathered in the living room. The air was thick with something none of them could name.

Katrina sat quietly beside Master Herod, her knees together, her hands folded over her lap like a perfect little doll.

Master Herod spoke first. "Your daughter," he began, "has accepted a calling."

The room went still.

"To live at the chapel. To serve the brethren. To give herself fully and completely in body, mind, and soul."

Mrs. Kalina gasped softly, pressing a hand to her chest. Her voice cracked. "I always knew she was... special," she whispered. "But I never thought it would all happen so fast..."

She turned to Katrina, her eyes glossy. "Are you sure, baby? Is this truly what you want?"

Katrina looked up slowly, still seated beside Master Herod. Her thighs were sticky beneath her dress, her body still aching. But her face... her face was calm. Peaceful.

"Yes, Mama," she said, her voice steady. "I wish to join them. I've found my purpose. My reason for living."

She glanced briefly at Master Herod, then at Papa Cain.

"To be a faithful servant," she continued. "To be available whenever I'm needed. To be opened wide for freedom... for their need. That's where I feel closest to the truth."

Mrs. Kalina covered her mouth, moved and overwhelmed. She didn't understand the words fully, but the sincerity in her daughter's voice silenced her.

Papa Cain's eyes stayed locked on her huge tits.

Her stepfather nodded slowly, almost absentmindedly, as he sipped from his cup. "If it's for the chapel," he said, "and she's content... then she has our blessing."

Master Herod smiled. There was something dark in it. Something victorious.

"She won't need to pack," Papa Cain added firmly. "She will be given everything she needs."

Ethan stood in the corner, watching like a ghost. "If that's your wish, Katrina," he said softly. "I support you."

He looked broken.

"Yes," she said, voice calm, almost serene. "I feel the calling. I've never felt so alive... so certain of who I am."

She finally looked at him—just long enough for the truth to land.

"This is where I belong now. Not in that little life we imagined. Here. Serving the brethren. Being freed. It's who I was always meant to be."

Herod rose and clapped his hands lightly.

"Well then. We should go. Thank you Mr Kalina and Mrs Kalina... and Gerald."

Ethan flinched. "It's Ethan," he murmured.

Herod glanced back briefly.

"Yes, yes. You."

Ethan's lips parted again, but he didn't bother... He lowered his head.

He turned to Katrina, one last time.

"Katrina... are you sure?"

She turned to face him. Not with affection. Not with warmth.

Only disgust.

"I told you yes, Ethan. I need this."

He swallowed hard. Nodded once.

Herod commanded her with a single word. "Come."

Katrina stood without hesitation, her body still aching, her dress clinging to the filth between her thighs. She followed him, calm and obedient, and walked out of the Kalina home without looking back.

In the car, her mind was a storm.

Her parents' faces. Ethan's voice.

But beneath it all, louder than everything, was the throbbing between her legs. Her pussy still slick. Her ass still sore. Her throat tender from being filled.

And still... she craved more.

More cocks. More hands. More mouths. Her body didn't want rest. It wanted to be used again. Stretched. Spilled into.

She sat in the back beside Master Herod. Papa Cain drove, calm and slow.

Herod's hand rested on her thigh beneath her dress. Warm. Possessive.

"You'll sleep in my bed tonight," he murmured, his hand sliding up her sticky thigh. "And that used little asshole of yours? I'm going to spread it wide and keep it stuffed all night long. You'll be crying into my sheets, begging for more while your filthy pussy leaks down your thighs."

He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"I'm not stopping until you can't walk. Until every inch of your body remembers who owns it."

His fingers slid higher, brushing the bare heat between her thighs.

"Just raw passion. Just you, stretched and open, taking what you were made for."

Katrina's breath hitched. She bit her lip.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

Behind the wheel, Papa Cain smirked in the rearview mirror.

"Katrina," he said, voice low and smooth, like a warning dressed as affection. "Tomorrow morning, you'll be in my room as the sun rises. On all fours. No excuses."

His eyes flicked up again, locking with hers through the mirror.

"I want your mouth full, your pussy dripping, and your asshole stretched open—ready to take me in every hole."

He paused, watching her squirm slightly in her seat.

"You'll crawl in like the obedient little whore you are. And you won't leave until I've filled every part of you with my seed. Again. And again."

Katrina swallowed, thighs clenching. Her body was already aching for it.

As the Kalina house disappeared behind her, Katrina felt no sadness. No fear. No shame.

Only purpose.

She belonged to them now.

To the chapel.

To the brethren.

To the men who turned her into something impure.

And tonight... her body would be used again.

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