An electrically operated cargo winch slowly lowers a cage onto a marble floor. Hungry bitches whine, pressing their faces into the steel rods, stretching their hands to the cherished delicacy.

“May the Seer of the Tempter be with you,” Venia Dyrko roars solemnly at the entire Temple. - Yes, open the gates of hell and enter Satan in your womb.

Female students, who have milked me all evening, clothe strapon ammunition. Huge members of pale pink cucumbers stick out of triangular plastic bases, heads with shiny plums flicker in the twilight of the Temple. Beauties are cautiously approaching the Cage, where the alpha asses crawl along the bars. Curving their backs, the tigress are waiting for their turn, hoping for the earliest possible resolution of turquoise addiction. Young girls are all, like one, virgins, lined up around the Cage. They know no sin, look at the breaking of fallen slaves with big eyes.

“It’s easier to train virgins,” Muller admits, visiting me on Sundays.

He was tired of sex at work, daddy Posner invented a new entertainment: communion through a lip anointing, so as not to poison the impotent soul.

I don't care about the existential crisis of the Sect. I pull up on the pipe to muscle spasms, like Sarah Connor, while seventeen moments crucified into the feeder:

“The virgin has a brain that is not as it is.” The virgin brain has one characteristic feature, as opposed to an expired one.

- Which one?

“Fear,” Muller winks. “The virgins fear anything more than sexual abuse. Therefore, they are so craven. Faint-hearted, obedient.

- Do you have a lot of them? - keep up a conversation with a shrinkage - like in cat games to play: it is with your paw, with his teeth.

“Today the youth is not the same,” Pavel Valerievich, with a feigned smile, shakes his head, expressing disapproval. - Here you are in what age virginity lost?

- Well, at twenty.

“Well, at twenty,” Muller teases. - So you are not freaked out, Dima, handsome! - giggles. - Today, the more beautiful the woman, the weaker the filling.

- How do you check?

- There is one reliable way, - Muller winks again, giggles.

I can not explain. Wyrex has one way. Sit down on the needle, serum slush truth. Further confession. According to the results of the interview, the candidate is poured, as spoiled, or, conversely, communion, as a blessed one - an uncut diamond.

Muller leaves, laughing at last:

- Well, you do not give up, Dima. We need your eggs. In them, as Venia says, is power.

The guard slams the feeder.

They are all innocent girls of the new church. Like the redhead, communion through the anointing. No sexual contact, except for ritual games.

Feeding the hungry brutalized alphas passes under the clank of the grille - so the fallen angels in the Cage express inspiration by taking a turquoise dope. The asses of the alphas, pressed into the bars, are burning with desire, the vaginas and the nodules of the anus are flung open with pink slits. Plastic members deliver the dose at the tips of the heads directly to the uterus. Virgin girls in the Scamps retreat, shocked by what they see.

A minute later, the Tiger Cell was overwhelmed with female bodies, voluptuous, satisfied faces froze in drug intoxication. For them, the Gates of Hell opened, the Seed of the Tempter entered the womb.

###

Pyramid "Wyrex" for a moment tilted to absorb new juices. The virgins were engaged in milking, they practically lived in the Temple.The second echelon went into the field to work, hoping for an early dose. Alphas received a turquoise free ration to help those in need.

Since my arrival at Sect, nothing has changed. Nothing! I became a hostage, a prisoner of conscience. I went to an unequal battle with the Sect and lost. The pyramid absorbed me like an earthworm and spat out through the cesspool. The biomaterial, which I essentially was, lived in a cell of a dungeon, like a microbe, wound month after month of indefinite imprisonment, beat the key out of a tusk, bullying at the slightest stroking. I went crazy with the inability to control the flow of pleasure dictated from the outside.

I was milked for slaughter.

###

About six months after the start of regular evening milkings, I began to notice a slight round swelling under the skin in the anus area. It was as hard as a watermelon seed. I was afraid to press, the subcutaneous abscess seemed a temporary misunderstanding. But the seed grew, every day it became more rounded and hard, like a bearing ball. I was afraid to talk about such "trifles" with the jailers, and even more so with the chief inquisitor. Internally, I almost immediately accepted the painful death that awaited me as a result of the rupture of an overgrown tumor.

She grew under the scrotum, walnut fastened to the rectum from the inside. Every day the pressure became more and more tangible.

"A terrible, shameful death awaits me," I thought.

When walking, I already felt the breath of death. A round egg in the anus, like a tennis ball, rubbed against muscles, played in the perineum, itched in the sphincter. I was not laughing. At night, I thought about how terrible death from rectal cancer is. He remembered Khimik, because it was he who invented the snake, genetically modified the strange creature that had attached itself to the member. Gluttony and abundance of sex, along with increased aggressiveness and physical activity, indicated an increased hormonal background in my blood. I felt that the energy is in full swing. Never before have I practiced so much sports, with such a frenzy I did not pump muscles. Some inner voice was pushing me to heroic marathons, driveways, squats and pull-ups, muscle contraction to insanity. I became wiry, like a rock, strong as Apollo, all covered with relief smooth muscles. I felt like a wild animal in a cage, thus the Tasmanian devil, who would deal with any group of virgins, if they just gape, turn away. The tumor in the anus was the only exception that bothered me in terms of health.

Therefore, I rather squeezed when, waking up one day at dawn, I felt strange attempts in the anus, as if the sphincter was involuntarily chewing on a tumor, trying to push it out. The tumor itched, slid deep inside to accelerate and slow down at the last moment, stuck in the sphincter. I lay on my side, knees tucked in, reassured myself, nervous trembling in my legs and arms, trying not to make stupid gestures. But every time when I forgot to sleep, I again began to chew on the tumor, causing the ball to slide longitudinally, which had recently grown to the size of a peach.

Towards morning, I fell asleep and woke up from an unexpected painful explosion in the anus, as if the rectum had burst out of the tumor, twisted out and remained lying so much in a huge hemorrhoid heap. I was even afraid to feel, something soft warm sticky to the anus.

“This is the end,” I whispered with my lips, covering myself with goose bumps. Hemorrhage, hemorrhoids, prolapse of the rectum - no one will bother with me. Ryzhenkovsky thugs hit on the head and buried in the woods. So end the fate of the obscure Dima Chernenko, who dared to encroach on the holy of holies - the Power of the Seven Keys.

My hand went down the back to the waist, slipped under the pants. In slow steps I approached the holy of holies - the anus, feeling the hollow between the buttocks. It was sticky and hot.

“Lots of blood,” I thought. - Lots of. Or pus. Or one and the other. And you can without bread.

Finally, I felt that which made me jump and sit on the bed, with my legs wide apart, my mouth wide open in surprise, my eyes open to the morning hurt.

In front of me on a sheet in sticky clots of mucus lay a yellowish speckled egg the size of a peach. Absolutely round. I took it in my hand, it was warm to the touch, quite heavy. After washing it in cold water, I put it in the drawer of the table and went to bed. I am very tired of the night vigil. Besides, the brain does not ...