I Became the Seed-Receiving Saintess of the Sex Cult
I Became the Seed-Receiving Saintess of the Sex Cult. It was the title of a novel I had favorited and then buried in my memory, and it was also the sentence that perfectly described the situation I now found myself in.
How on earth had I ended up favoriting such a trashy work? The reason was simple. I had been horny.
As the blatant title suggested, there were descriptions that made me wrinkle my nose. Still, it never crossed the line into genuine revulsion. After all, what was the whole point of reading erotic novels if not to get off? From that perspective, I Became the Seed-Receiving Saintess of the Sex Cult delivered raw, primal stimulation like few others. Of course, as the protagonist’s mental collapse leaked through the pages with gut-wrenching clarity, I eventually dropped it midway.
I let out a sigh and lowered my head. My gaze fell on the full, swelling breasts rising from my chest. Below them lay a narrow waist and voluptuous hips. A body so sensual it was impossible to call it male. And the unnerving emptiness between my legs. A shiver raced down my spine.
To think I had transmigrated into a novel I favorited and then forgot. I regretted not canceling that favorite the moment I dropped the story—like blowing on embers I should have left cold.
I could concede that becoming a woman wasn’t the worst fate. No—fuck that, it was still awful—but let’s say it was tolerable. And not just any woman. I had become a Saintess.
In a fantasy world, Saintess was one of the sweeter roles. Offer a few prayers, toss some heals from the back line, and you were pulling your weight. For a modern civilian who had never trained in close combat, it was the ideal, the safest possible class. Safety first in everything, right?
But the crucial point was that I had not possessed an ordinary Saintess. As the novel’s title made painfully clear, I had become the Seed-Receiving Saintess.
Seed-receiving. Cum-dump. Breeding whore. Call it whatever you like. No matter how pretty the title sounded, it was nothing more than a cult-owned semen toilet.
I looked around. The interior of an ordinary cathedral. On the surface. At night it became a den of mating, a place where every kind of obscenity was performed.
From the back of my mind, the novel’s forgotten opening rose like a nightmare.
The day the protagonist first took up the role of Saintess. He realizes something is terribly wrong. A grand, supposedly sacred baptism ceremony. He finds himself surrounded by countless naked men. At first he refuses to believe it. Then reality crashes down. The day the male protagonist lost his virginity. The day the curtain rose on a living hell.
The slow, methodical destruction of his mind through every perverse act imaginable. The process of a modern man being gradually reshaped into the Saintess of the Sex Cult was anything but pleasant. There was no need to speak of what came afterward. Just as the title promised, I would become the Seed-Receiving Saintess of the Sex Cult.
Remembering it now sent ice through my veins. Of all the novels I had ever favorited, why did I have to fall into this one? Rage boiled up at the possession method that had thrown all concepts of plausibility out the window.
Could I endure that brainwashing sexual torture? I knew the answer with absolute certainty. No. One hundred percent no.
So I would run. The only answer was to escape this deranged cult as fast as humanly possible.
The moment I hurried to move my feet—
Tap. Tap. A hand brushed my shoulder. I flinched and spun around. There stood a priest with neat features and neatly parted brown hair, offering a gentle, benevolent smile.
“Aria, the baptism ceremony will begin shortly.”
Baptism ceremony? My entire body locked up. I prayed desperately that I had misheard. Was it not enough to possess this body? Did an unavoidable crisis have to strike the very second I arrived? Couldn’t I at least have time to think?
Was I truly about to experience the filthy things the novel’s protagonist suffered? The same events that shattered my mentality even when I read them as mere text?
“Ah, is that so, Priest Ronin?”
A clear, bell-like voice flowed from my throat. Was I trembling right now?
Priest Ronin studied my face, then tilted his head with mild curiosity.
“You appear nervous with the ceremony so close at hand.”
Yes, you bastard. The thought of being pierced by other men’s cocks makes me shiver down to my bones.
When I nodded silently, Priest Ronin gave a warm, reassuring smile.
“Do not worry overmuch. It is an event that will pass as naturally as any single day.”
Being gang-raped was something that would pass naturally? Had this priest been born in some painless utopia?
I hadn’t noticed while reading, but that face was truly repulsive in its hypocrisy. This was the same bastard who would mercilessly thrust into the Saintess even as she wept and begged. In fact, he enjoyed her tears, didn’t he? From a distance he seemed like a capable evangelist of lust. Up close, there was no more dangerous monster.
Should I just crack his skull open?
Not a good idea. Smashing one priest’s head wouldn’t let me escape the Sex Cult. Their cathedral boasted surprisingly tight security. I would be caught and punished even more severely.
To escape, I needed to create chaos.
Should I set the place on fire?
Also a bad move. In this shitty fantasy world, magic could extinguish flames with ease. Magic was widespread here; there was no opening to exploit.
There was no way. No way…
Perhaps he interpreted my troubled expression differently. Priest Ronin put on a look of gentle pity and patted my shoulder with a large hand.
“Aria. It is truly admirable to see you worrying so deeply. It feels like only yesterday I regarded you as a daughter, yet here you are, already ascending to the position of the cult’s Saintess. After today, I suppose I will no longer be able to speak to you so casually.”
He sounded genuinely regretful. You fucking bastard. So you were the kind of scum who would ask his own daughter how cock tasted.
I felt a considerable culture shock and let my words trail off.
“…Priest Ronin.”
“Once you become the Saintess, you must carry yourself with even greater grace and composure. Now then, shall we proceed to the venue?”
The venue. The space where the baptism ceremony would be held. It would be crawling with men like cockroaches.
I sensed, with perfect clarity, that I was utterly fucked.
Whether he knew my inner state or not, Priest Ronin began walking ahead without concern. His footsteps rang like those of an executioner leading a prisoner to the gallows.
Suddenly he stopped and fixed me with a cold stare.
“Why do you remain standing there?”
I wanted to walk. But my feet felt nailed to the floor. I knew too well what kind of fate awaited me if I followed. Perhaps my body was rejecting it on a psychological level.
“…I’m coming.”
I forced my reluctant feet to move and followed behind him. My heart hammered violently. If I went like this, I would definitely be ruined. I had to find some way out before then. But how?
My eyes fell on the bible I had been clutching since the moment of possession. It was heavy enough. Sufficient weight to serve as a blunt weapon. From what I remembered of the news, a full-powered dictionary strike could deliver serious damage to a human skull. This bible was roughly the same weight—perhaps it could work.
The tempting back of Priest Ronin’s head as he walked ahead beckoned me. One solid blow. Hit him hard, then run like hell.
Creak. Creak. The bedframe groaned violently.
“What are you thinking about, Saintess?”
“Hngh… Back then I… should have smashed your fucking skull… haaah…!”
The Saintess, panting with heated breaths, suddenly shuddered from head to toe. She had reached climax. As she gasped roughly, her voluptuous breasts rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm. The priest watched that motion with clear enjoyment, then stroked Aria’s lustrous black hair.
“Your words and actions still show you have not yet accepted your proper role as Saintess. That is quite all right. We have plenty of time for your correction.”
Priest Ronin wore a thin, vulgar smile as his hand slid between the Saintess’s legs, caressing the wet slit. Already sensitive from orgasm, the continued stimulation made Aria twist and writhe as though seized by convulsions.
“Haahk… ughk…”
In the end, his relentless fingers brought another peak crashing down on the first. She—no, she—gasped with her mouth opening and closing, convulsing so hard she could barely breathe.
“You… fuck… hik… huu… stop… stop it…”
“I cannot do that. This education will continue until you fully realize what it means to be the Saintess of our cult.”
A small, solitary room in the basement of a cathedral. The name of that room was the Room of Repentance.