In the crypt, we dress in our robes for the ceremony, each of us choosing a different mask. Maybe she won’t know which of us is wrecking her tight cunt, listening to the sweet sounds of her begging us for more, then begging for a mercy we’ll never show. Down here, we’re animals, monsters, savages. Down here, we are primal beasts who feast on the flesh of innocents.
I pick up one of the oversized sheep heads on my way out.
“What’s that for?” Angel asks. “Don’t you want to see her tears when you say all the fucked up shit to her that gets you off?”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t want to look at my sister’s face while she gushes like a faucet on my cock. I’d rather her not know it’s me. She’ll like that too much.”
“It is the season of the lamb,” Heath says, spinning around in his ferocious wolf mask. “As long as I can hear her bleating for mercy inside that thing, I’ll get mine.”
In the sanctuary, the Hellhounds’ altar is strewn with flowers, this time early spring blooms instead of the late fall ones we used on HAVOC night. That seems so far past now, though it’s only been a few months.
The Master arrives in his full attire, as usual. He looks around at us.
“Where is Mercy?”
We all glance at each other. I’m about to say we fucked up when Heath speaks, his voice echoing inside his mask.
“She’ll be here,” he says. “I sent her a summons.”
Then he throws his head back and howls, the vicious sound echoing in the room, up the stairs, and down the tunnels before it disappears.
Five minutes later, just as he predicted, Mercy peeks through the door above. When she sees us, she glances over her shoulder and then slips through the door and hurries down the steps, eager for what’s coming.
She stops at the foot of the stairs and looks from one of us to the next. “What do I do?” she asks.
The Master points to the stone in front of us. “Undress and join us in this sacred space.”
She gnaws her fat lower lip as she slowly reaches down to remove her clogs, then slips out of her cardigan. I can hear the other men breathing behind their masks, can feel the hot dankness of my own face covering as my breaths come faster when she slowly peels her shirt over her head. We all stare, captivated, as she reaches behind her and undoes the clasp onher bra, then lets it fall to the floor. The full, milky globes of her tits with their rosebud nipples make my head swim. She hooks her thumbs into her skirt, working it over one hip and then the other before letting it pool around her ankles. Then she stands for a moment, letting us take in the glorious sight of her bare body. My cock stiffens, and I’m glad for the robe that covers me, because I’m so hard she would surely see it.
She swallows visibly, then races on tiptoes to the stone altar where we’ve fucked plenty of other sluts who came to us looking to get wrecked. But this is Mercy, pure as her unblemished skin, her eyes as innocent as a lamb’s.
The Master helps her lie down, then arranges her feet apart, on the edges of the stone.
“Are you ready to receive today’s blessing?”
“Yes,” she says, and he runs a gloved hand down her body, giving each of her nipples a perfunctory squeeze. I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to growl at him to take his fucking hands off her, fighting the instinct to throw myself between them and protect her. But I don’t. I stand there seething in fury while he dips a hand between her open thighs, pushing a finger deep inside her. She gasps, her back arching, her tits rising and her ass digging into the stone.
“Would you like to give them your body as today’s holy sacrament?” he asks.
“Yes,” she gasps, her knees opening.
He slowly drags his finger from her pussy, then opens her lips to bare her glistening center to us. “In communion with your brothers, you may come forward to receive the body of the lamb.”
Angel hurries forward and drops to his knees like the hungry bastard he is. He buries his face between Mercy’s thighs, his tongue stroking from her asshole, through her open gash to her clit, licking between the Master’s fingers.
Mercy whimpers, her thighs quivering as he licks her again and again, until I’ve had enough. “He said take communion, don’t feast,” I snap, yanking Angel back. Her pussy is bright pink with arousal, already drenched with his saliva and her juices. I lean down, gather my spit, and hurl it into her hole. She gasps, and I straighten.
“I’d starve before I sucked that used up hole,” I say, turning away.
Heath cackles but he lunges forward, rubbing the rubber snout of his mask in her pussy while the Master holds her spread. Heath pulls the mask tight to his face, then pushes his tongue through the small opening in the mouth and flicks it as rapid as beating wings over her clit, all the way down her slit, until he’s mashing the rubber against her opening. He laps at her entrance, gathering my spit, mixing it with her arousal and Angel’s saliva. At last, he sits back, the muzzle of his mask wet with the combination of all four of us. I can picture his triumphant grin even though I can’t see it, and I want to knock his head in too, as well as Angel’s. I don’t want to see them tongue-punching my sister’s tight cunt while I can’t even have a taste.
“Good girl,” the Master murmurs to Mercy, then circles the tip of his black-gloved finger around her clit and through our contribution to her wetness before pushing it deep inside her again. Her knees fall open, and she moans, rocking her hips while he finger fucks our spit into her cunt for another minute. I can’t even see straight by the time he slides his slick finger from her and helps her sit.
“Your turn, my lamb,” he says.
“What?”
“I want you to trust me,” he says, and he slides a silk handkerchief from somewhere in his robes and ties it around her eyes as a blindfold. “Now kneel for them, and open your mouth.”
