‘Well let’s all hold our load here,’ said Syncletia.

‘Ag-ggrreeeedd-d-d-d-d-d –‘ said Spyro.

Syncletia had a zeal in the risen Christ that was not about to be deterred by trifles, but it didn't take much mental computation to figure out that the deck was stacked against her here. She was not technologically minded, but knew enough to realize that she was not going to get anything meaningful out of the completely destroyed interface. Since she surmised that the onanites would above all precautions have taken the trouble to spunk-proof their equipment, it seemed more likely that it was the nature of the signal itself and its discharge of religious imagery that had caused the thing to give up the ghost. Between the non-functioning interface and the simple fact that not a single one of the bate-brothers in the mastubatorium was capable of stringing a coherent sentence together, things were going to be difficult.

They were already difficult enough while the wash of precum slime on the floor of the place already up to the level of her toes perched on the platform heels of her shoes. If this went on for too much longer she’d be using the thigh-length boots as waders.

She dandled her boot in the muck.

‘UUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRGHGHHHGHHHHHHGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!’

A massive plume of potent pre-spunk disgorged from Spyro's immense, thick, long, vascular member, the servos and motors on the spiritual warrior's penile truss whining as they struggled to restrict the emanations from the glossy, heart-shaped crown atop his three-decades tortured fuck missile. The gluey gout cascaded in a juicy spray all over Syncletia's gargantuan of bronzed fuck globes that stuck out of her chest and ran off the mountains in thick, sticky ropes. They pattered into the fuck-glue around her feet stickily.

‘S-ss—ss-orry sissssster S-s-s-ss-yncletia.’

‘No need to apologize Spyro, if God hadn't wanted you to do that he wouldn't have given you a penis. And what a penis he gave you. You know, if you give up the gooning, come directly to my cell, I'll give you an orgasm holier than the one that tempted Christ off the cross for the second time.'

‘Some might say that that was blasphemy, sister,’ Spyro said.

‘There is only blasphemy Spyro,’ Syncletia said, ‘there is only devotion through sin.’

‘I appreciate good theological discussion,’ Spyro offered, ‘that's when the edge is strongest.’

The servo motors on his truss whirred.

‘Your edge is my orgasm, Spyro,’ Syncletia said, ‘we are horns on the same goat.’

Horns on the same goat...

The words stirred something inside the Nun. The they reminded her of the dream that she had had the previous night. The one where she had woken up with her sheets soaking in sweat. The lodge. The goat horned figure behind her. She wondered if the dream was somehow connected to this psycho sexual religious communication from the outside into the masturbatorium. It had happened at the same time.

‘UUUUUUUUUUURRRGHGGGGHNNNGHHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHG’

Spyro unleashed another massive volley of pre ejaculate that shot from the tip of his hulking appendage and splattered her directly in the face. It hit her with a wet slap. She licked her lips. The translucent fluid slowly oozed over her cheeks and lips and started to hang in delicate silvery stalactites from her jawline and chin. Syncletia did not attempt to disturb the threads of incredibly potent precum and just allowed them to dangle from her face.

‘What about him?’ Syncletia said, ‘Is he too out of it to speak?’

‘Bbb-bbrother Jj--jjulius is one of our more d-ddd-d-evoted bbb-b-ate Bbbb--rothers,’ Spyro said, ‘he s-s-s-ss-s-s-pends 24 hours jacked in and j—ja-ja-jjj-jacackk-kk-king off. I wouldn't like to be the one responsible for removing his visor. The s-s-s-s-s-stimulation might be t-tt-tt-too much for him.’

‘Because of me,’ Syncletia said.

She was more than ever aware of the backdrop of absolutely frenzied masturbation all around her. The mastubatorium was too huge and cavernous, dimly lit, for her to make out much more than a few ranks of porn-addicted jerk fiends around her, stroking to her appearance. There was a concert of slick stroking all the time.

Spyro had a moment where it seemed like his entire apparatus was malfunctioning and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, whereupon a blob of saliva dribbled onto his beard. With clockwork predictability, his entire body shuddered as his monolithic brawny tube of fuck flesh expelled yet another massive deluge of gluey discharge that jetted from the tip of his penis and thumped into the stacked with vixen nun’s already glistening face.

‘Aa-a-apologies sister, b-b-ut you've already ss-s-seen the eff-f-f-f-ffect that y-yy-yyy-ou're having on the b-bb-b-b-b-b-rothers. Let alone me. Out of all of us here only I alone really have the r-rr-rrestraint to be able to converse with one of such outstanding ww-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-horeishness.’

‘That's very flattering Spyro, but it doesn't really help me,’ Syncletia said.

She was blinking the coagulated fluid out of her eyelashes.

Another spurt caught her in the face. Spyro gasped. The more his cum trunk hosed the nun, the more he was incapable of controlling himself.

‘Jesus Christ, I'll be fucking drenched if this goes on for much longer,’ the nun said.

‘T-t-t-t-tt-there is one tt-t-t-t-hing we could t-t-t-t-t-ry, said Spyro.

‘Enlighten me.’

‘I would be reluctant to remove the visor from brother Julius’, Spyro said, ‘b-b-b-bbut if I frotted with him I may be able to commune with him to the extent that I could extract some of the essence of the signal. And pass it on to you.’

‘You’re a hoot, Spyro,’ Syncletia said, ‘what do I need to do?’

Spyro undid the clasp of his mastubatory truss.

‘Y-you must g-gg-g-uide us. Cock to cock.’