Thread: Ordo Xenos [Reydan and Kaybee]

Were Astarael to hold Tzeentch as her patron one might have expected something more subtle, a handful of daemons at most, possibly of a completely different affiliation even to suggest a different god has his hands in this little slice of insurrection. Slaanesh however was anything but subtle, and so as Henrietta stood in the chaotic wake of the warp's passage, the tear in space-time from which stepped no mere handful of daemonettes but a keeper of secrets in all their glory. Hello little Psyker... It's voice was many in one, voices of men and women layered over each other, some sounding as though they screamed in pain, others as though they moaned in the deepest most rapturous bliss imaginable. The voice alone promised so many possibilities, a infinite number of pleasures offered in every word. A long tongue coiled forth from a not-quite-human mouth as the Keeper raised its head, drinking in the moans and screams rising from around it as the still-living arbites acted on those base urges Slaanesh so eagerly encouraged in them. A few had been killed outright by the wave of psychic energy, their minds snapping under the strain, but many more had simply been overwhelmed by it, reduced to feral creatures that sought to slake their newfound desires on the nearest object to their lust. Some found each other, men and women, men and men, women and women, all coming together, voices rising in pleasure as they took of each other's bodies freely. Some found others, those outside whose minds remained intact, those who had not been touched by the blast at all, ignorant of it's true threat until their own arbites, their protectors, the lawkeepers of the station came bounding towards them. They would run, but driven by unholy lust, the maddened arbites would catch many of them before they could get far enough... The keeper of secrets brought it's head down, it's second pair of arms reaching in the mean time to lift Henrietta up, raising her until she dangled before its face, that inhuman tongue that had been tasting the air now moving to taste her, coiling wetly over her skin, its forked tip slithering over the curves of her breasts, teasing her nipples while another of the demon's arms brought a hand to her cunt, massaging her outer lips with all the expertise of a being that literally lived on these carnal pleasures, teasing her as it's mere presence slowly worked to warp her mind... One cultist died, but driven by unholy zeal and eagerness to desecrate both sister and the altar the rest of them paid the woman no mind as she fell. One of the men grappled Rosamond, a hulking brute of a male who seized her arms and twisted them harshly up behind her back, forcing the idol from her fingers in the process to fall to the stone below. One of the more chaos-minded men of the group subsequently picked it up and swung it against the ground, beating it until its form distorted and eventually gave, breaking on the stone floor of the sanctuary, but Rosamond had bigger things to worry about as the men and women surrounded her. The men were reluctant to get close to the angry sororitas' face at first for fear that she might bite but while she spat curses and invectives at them one of the women pushed down her pants and thrust her pussy against Rosamond's lips, muffling the tirade and moaning exaggeratedly with every curse that made the sister's mouth move against her womanhood, taunting her with those little pieces of pleasure she could take from her unwilling form. While she did so, the another of the women used a set of ties to bind Rosamond's wrists together, freeing up the man holding her down on the altar to move back a little, uncovering Rosamond's form for the others to reach in towards her. Almost immediately half a dozen pairs of hands seized and wrenched at her clothing, some more sensible ones pulling down her pants and panties and wrenching the fabric to tangle her ankles in them, the more zealous ones simply grabbing at whatever cloth they could find a decent handful of and pulling, tearing her shirt and the sensible combat bra beneath to shreds in their desperation to get at the soft skin underneath. Rosamond would find callused palms against her legs and the the curve of her ass, grasping and pinching while undelicate fingers probed the lips of her womanhood. These were no pleasure princes, but they were all devoted cultists to chaos, and while their methods were brutish, none would ever say their methods were ineffectual, though it was true that they had never been put to such a test as a daughter of the emperor herself before... Rough fingers sought out the sororita's clit, applying constant varying pressure while others teased at the lower entrances to her body, pushing but never penetrating until suddenly Rosamond would feel a cold slick liquid touch her as the cultists found the holy oils used to consecrate the shrine and elected to put them to a more perverse use. The first cock to enter her did so that way, lubricated with sacred oils and thrust into her pussy, sheathing himself deep inside her with ease thanks to the slick coating, desecrating both oil and sister in a single motion. Almost immediately he began to move inside her, building a steady pumping rhythm in her womanhood while two more similarly-greased fingers sought out her asshole and slipped inside. Behind him the other men were beginning to line up, intending to defile her one after another, over and over until every last one of them was spent. And all the while, Astarael lurked at the edge of Rosamond's mind in her feigned unconsciousness, waiting for that slightest instant of weakness, that moment of failure where she could swoop in and set upon the battle sister the first impressions of the slut she would become...