This story contains pee and shit play and profane and blasphemous content. If you have an aversion to such sexual activities then please, do not read this story.
In the sunset afterglow, I park my car at the end of the dirty path leading to the secluded house. Others already parked.
Climbed down, I take off my coat and throw it inside. I stand still and mentally inspect myself. Did I prepare myself properly to join the rite? Since last night I avoided washing myself. This morning I just buzzed my head. By the opposite, as usual, it’s been long since I shaved my body hairs. I wear no makeup. No jewels of any kind. I left all the proper symbols of female vanity behind. I’m just wearing my tattered and unwashed sackcloth. And I’m barefoot, feeling the damp, dirty soil under my soles. I’m a humble, ugly looking, dirty and rather stinking middle aged woman. Without apparent hope. I’m ready.
I head towards the trees enclosing the house. As the afterglow turns into darkness, I slowly walk. One slow step after another. Hands joined in prayer. “I’m nothing” I murmur, step by step. Our mantra. “There’s no me”. “I’m nothing”. The damp cold under my feet. Step by step.
Maybe you’re unfit to a “normal” life. Maybe that’s your fate. No affections, no loves. Estrangement. You’re driven to religion. Stepping from a practice to another. You join, in time, every denomination. Kneel, meditate, chant. Monastic retreats. God, Gods, Goddesses. But the enlightenment doesn’t come. And you find yourself not giving a shit. Until, at the end of the nth meeting, you meet her. Her. Sitting across the hall, as the #nth preacher in your unsatisfied life gives the #nth useless sermon your heard. Her eyes piercing you. Eyes framed in a severe face, bald head, shabbily dressed. Looking at you so knowingly. An inner shiver runs down your spine.
At the end you meet her outside. You look at her. Dark brown, worn out pullover, black, long skirt, slightly dirty, callous, unkempt feet in flip-flops. You cannot avoid stopping to chat. And she talks. Her tone from stern to compassionate. Similar identify each other. She knows. She reads your eyes. She knows you. Your emptiness. And the deeper emptiness you crave. The feeling of fulfillment you find in humiliation, in degradation. she knows you cannot find it in being sissified, used as a sex object neither in being sanctified. You need something deeper, lower, miserable. There are more like you, she discloses. “I know you as I know myself.”
She’s a missionary. A missionary gathering middle aged women lost in a useless search. It’s time to end your search. to find your home canlı bahis in your unnamed, secret church. In the deepest corruption.
The front door is unlocked. There’s nobody in the vestibule. I know the way. On my left a door. The ladder to the basement. Dim light. I climb down, heart beating fast, a knot in my guts. Nerves making shake my body.
At the bottom I find myself in the spare, large basement. They are there, standing in circle, silent. All of them equally in their worn out sackcloth, barefooted. I can smell the unpleasant smell of dingy humanity.
I slowly enter the circle and stand in front of her. Raise my gaze to her cold eyes. Cold and knowing. And suddenly turning to a silent welcome. I kneel and bend down in the first devotion ritual. And kiss her feet. Slowly, willingly humbling myself, inhaling her filthy extremities smell. Isn’t filth exciting to you? Of course it is. You relish in filth.
I raise my gaze again as she lifts up the hem of her tatter to unveil her hairy legs and atop her hirsute, cunt. Without hesitation I push my face in the lush bush of dark gray, unkempt, hairs and inhale again. Pungent, stale womanhood, urine, dirt. Dirt that makes my head spin. I lose myself for a while. And kiss in adoration. Disgusted. Intoxicated. Fanatical. Devoted. Venerating. I fill my mouth with the sticky leftovers of her animal insides. The feeling of defilement inflame my senses.
She turns, then. Around. Her hands spreading her ample, thick buttocks. The next step in the descent to the annihilation of self, the next homage to awareness. I focus my gaze on her shithole. Her shithole. My overexcited sense of smell catches every particle of her tangy stink. The smell of her shit impregnating her hairy, dark brown hole. And I kiss it devoutly. I kiss Mother’s arsehole, my lips in touch with the bits of her excrements. I’m nothing.
“Thank you Mother.” I murmur in the darkness of her flesh hollow, my stomach straining. “Be welcome, daughter of corruption.” She answers “Welcome to the circle of annihilation of self. Enter the circle of decay and embrace your inner nature.”
You stand, hands joined, and move back to your place in the circle. The women kneel. And start chanting. “There’s no me”. “I’m nothing”. Again and again and again. A long time of obsessive repetition. All this women longing together, self abusing, humiliating, enjoining the common fall in abjection. “There’s no me”. “I’m nothing” I chant along swaying my body on my knees along with the other worshippers. In the dim light of the braziers I watch them. My sister nuns of corruption. Depersonalized by their monastic appearance, bahis siteleri bald heads shining, covered by a layer of sweat. Their faces, some blank, some freaked out. I lost track of time as the chant goes on and on.
Then the mother reise one hand and the drums start, beaten by two nuns. We raise on aching, shaking knees. I lift my cloth and throw it away as my sisters do. The circle dance begins. Bodies twisting, convulsing, squirming around. Sweated skin shining at the light of flames dancing in the braziers. It’s a chaotic, messy dance. Bodies swaying obscenely, thighs wide opened, sagging boobs shaking in a circle of lewdness.
My senses are overcharged. The sour smell of sweat flooding my nostrils. All of this revolting show totally involves me. I’m a part of it. I sweat. I’m dirty. I’m stinking. I dance obscenely. The sting of the whip biting my back forces a scream out of my guts. I scream wildly releasing all the mad frenzy in which I’m lost. The Mother is standing in the center of the circle twirling the whip around and hitting randomly the dancers. Moans, screams, grunts are raising from the insane pack. We lose any restrain.
The drums. The beat. The rhythm. The crack of the whip. The stomp of the bare feet on the dirty floor. The pulse. The pulse of my heart. The pulse in my twat. The pulse in my mind bewildered mind as the dance goes wilder. My random steps bring me to bump in other overheated bodies. Sweated flesh rubbing other sweated meat. Boobs crushing boobs. Thighs against thighs, buttocks.
In the haze confusing my mind, I feel hot wetness on my ass, a groin pressing me: one anonymous tongue licking the sweat out of my shoulder. I don’t care who. I love it. A louder scream distracts me from the feeling. One woman absorbed in the trance is gone mad. Another one grabs violently her arms from behind. One more nun stammering obscenities smacks brutally her tits. She hits hard, more and more time. The insane loves it. She welcomes every blow with a groan of pleasure. And begs for more.
In her paroxysm she spreads her legs and lets a sudden stream of piss out. A fourth nun throws herself on her knees in the spurt of urine. She happily, arms high, showers in it, drenches her bald head, her face, her whole front. And drinks. She groans, a demented expression on her face as she rubs the fluid, as a regenerating lotion, all over her body. The sister, busy in torturing the mad one’s tits, slams her cunt on the kneeling one’s head and starts rolling her hips around.
All around the dance is degenerating, as the circle tightens around the Mother. The noise of moans and screams grows high. The whip bahis şirketleri hits brutally all around. Hips gyrate lasciviously on one other. Kisses, spits, smacks, bites, brutal grasps are traded in a chaos. A revolting stench of animal dirt saturates the air. And it intoxicates me.
I hear myself moaning and throw myself on knees. I start crawling around rubbing my head and face in a tangle of limbs, buttocks, thighs, drenched twats, suffocating myself in a rancid cocktail of beastly wetness. Blinded, I let the bunch of meat and dirt engulf me. I’m hurting for the hits. I’m drowning in piss. I’m ecstatic. I randomly kiss, lick, suck as my heart seems to be going to detonate. I’m, finally, crossing the threshold: I’m wholly corrupted. I’m rotten flesh. I fall in blind, slow, animalistic, shaking orgasm.
The pack of bodies is hot as hell. I’m sweating like I’m going to die. Streams of drool and urine add wetness to wetness. One hirsute cunt is fucking furiously my bald head, filthy feet are rubbing my body all around. My face penetrates a dark recess of hairy flesh engulfed in two globes of thick, heavy flesh. The stench is imposing and overwhelming. I know where I am. Home. Home in mother’s ass. The Temple of Last Degradation. “I’m nothing. There’s no me” I murmur myself as I devoutly seal my lips around the foul hole to kiss it lovingly, renewing my act of defilement. I’m frenching Mother’s shithole. I’m adoring her filth. Tasting her earthy, vile core, the traces of her most intimate excrement. My tongue goes deeper, farming her grimy recess for her ultimate gift. Her blessing. Her execration.
In the midst of the dementia fogging my mind I hear grunts and gasps. I’m not breathing air anymore. I’m breathing her rotten gas. The nauseating smell fills my lungs and I gag, cough as a hand pushes my head deeper. I hold my retch.
The mass, suddenly, invades my mouth. I almost faint, breathless. But I hold myself to the sensation of disgust and keep awake to the liturgy of my last degradation. “I’m nothing!” screams my mind. I grasp the feeling of the rotten taste as the vile mass of Mother’s soft, runny turd overflows out of my mouth. It runs down my body. Stranger hands start grabbing pieces of it and to smear it all over my head, my face, my whole body. I’m sure other sisters are shitting around me. On me. On others. I reach out to grab unknown flesh. To rub. To smear. Engulfed in the feeling of bestial degradation I’m orgasming continuously.
My face is out of Mother’s ass, now. I feel someone’s body against mine, arms hugging me. A kiss on my lips. An invading tongue inside my mouth turned in a sewer.
I open my eyes to see Mother’s loving look piercing my eyes. Her severe face covered in shit. “We are nothing” she whispers. Then she starts puking on me. I fall in my ultimate epiphany. I fall in my afterglow.