Nick awoke wearing a collar in a gilded cage with only kibble to eat, which alternatively tasted like spam or his mom’s fried chicken.
It wasn’t all bad, Nick thought to himself, scratching his balls through the Victorian-era chastity device he wore between his legs. Sure he didn’t have the freedom to leave his cage or to masturbate, but the two-pound weighted nipple clamps weren’t all that heavy, and his little cell had a big-screen supernatural TV that let him see all sorts of kinky shit.
It was better than HBO.
Nick had already watched his parents have sex on three or four occasions (once they engaged in kinky role-playing that made him blush), watched Damien fuck his girlfriend while she sat on her awesome German WW2 motorbike and confirmed the rumor, started by their press manager, that the new ultra hot twin pop-princesses Kit and Slug Fairchild were in fact lesbian lovers.
Nick had watched the twins have sex a number of times in various bizarre and kinky positions, both betting very wet and aroused in the process, and enjoying many blissfully powerful climaxes as they twisted and writhed together.
Sometimes the twins included a fellow named Michael, a gay guy with no balls, in on the action, though even having watched a couple of times Nick wasn’t sure exactly how THAT worked, and he rarely focused on the boy long enough to figure it out. The appeal of tongue on clit was enthralling, and there was teeth on nipples, and fist in cunt to be had besides!
Besides their active and insanely entertaining sex life, the rock-star twins were also natural-born witches with very powerful guardian spirits, but that interested Nick a hell of a lot less. Hot lesbian action.. steaming hot pop teen porn DUDE!!!
The lights in the chamber flickered off and on like a kindergarten classroom and Nick felt a electric shock that was like a kick in the groin with one of Laila’s biker boots. He knew from experience that this meant his mistress, the demon who he had made the failed pact with, was approaching to torment him.
That wasn’t so bad.
Not really.
Most of the time she whipped him lightly, never enough to leave permanent marks, just bright red blotches, and once in a while she drew a little blood. What really got his goat was that she brought the moonchild with her, his son, who she held by the hand like a prized pet.
He didn’t like to remember the part his seed had played in the creation of this monster, even though the sex HAD been good!
Under the command of his mistress, Nick had already been involved in various disturbing and often disgusting carnal acts: gang rape, urine and blood-play, and a few other things that are not fit to write here and which I will leave up to my foul-minded readers to imagine for themselves.
Needless to say, Nick was insanely humiliated, and because of the chastity device, horny beyond all human conception. In short, he really wanted to go home and get laid.
He missed fucking Elisabeth, the smell of her young cunt. The feel of her silky red hair on his shoulder, the texture of her nipple when he pinched it. The way she’d squeal delightedly in orgasm. It was almost more that he could take! He wanted to tear and rip the device from his poor imprisoned genitals. He wanted to cry out in agony and freedom, as his large and relatively talented manhood filled out to its full length and sensitivity. He wanted to thrust his poor, underused member into any hole that could accommodate him. He would have killed to see his own seed burst forth in climax, he would have been glad to kill. But it did not burst forth.
Hell wasn’t that bad.
Not really.
Sometimes, especially when he was being gang-raped by a particularly foul-smelling herd of goat-demons with dicks the size of tree-trunks, he felt as though his soul was flying away from this dismal place and back into the world which he was supposed to inhabit. The sensation was so pleasant it made precum leak onto his pant legs and the device dig into his tender man flesh.
From these little magickal excursions, Nick knew that his body was in the city hospital, and that the doctors believed he had had a drug-related seizure, even though his toxin screens kept coming back negative. The doctors did not expect him to survive.
He knew also that Elisabeth came to his room every day after school and sat by his bed and cried, or chanted healing spells in Enochian, or anointed his forehead with a mixture of fertile soil, cum and pussy juice to draw his spirit back from the beyond.
In hell, Nick’s mistress, wearing a skin-tight red body suit with function zippers over the breasts and genitals, opened the cage door with a sensual wave of her red press-on-nailed hand.
She was already a pro at bondage tying, having been a dominatrix in hell since her drawn-out death by gonorrhea a thousand years before, though Nick did not know it. She took her time tying her toy firmly to the bars, breathing down his neck heavily while she worked and tied izmit escort his hands and feet very tightly, taking little trouble to save Nick pain. She smiled when he moaned as the ropes gut into his skin. He whimpered plaintively and his mistress chuckled.
The moonchild stood completely silent just outside the bars, and though his eyes were only half-formed, Nick felt them burning into him, ruthlessly witnessing his pain and humiliation. The life his son would have had flashed before his eyes like some sort of twisted anti-abortion advertisement. His first day at school, red backpack and boxed lunch with Cookie Monster on the front, his first kisses with a beautiful redhead with pigtails, his first and last fuck, which are regrettably censored.
Nick winced. He hated the little bastard, heart and soul, for the guilt and self-hate he was filling him with. It was too much, he just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand who he was and couldn’t change fast enough to forgive himself for his sins. Without saying anything, the boy was already demanding too much of him.
He shut his eyelids to keep from seeing his dead demon child, the product of his godforsaken lust and black magick, but it did nothing to rid him of the insane pressure of those half-formed globes. Nick was every inch the kind of repentant sinner hell was famous for.
It was one thing to be his mother’s sex-toy behind his father’s back, and constantly bang her after school when you’re supposed to be studying math, but quite another to gang-rape her with his little sister and her lesbian playmate, in order to knock her up.
That was just plan wrong. Twisted, perverse, oddly arousing and very, very wrong.
The device dug into his battered manhood. A cold sweat dribbled down his back as he remembered how easily he has slid in and out of Susan, how deliciously her unconscious body had reacted to his relentless thrusts.
The demon began flogging Nick with “the wrath of God” a special reproduction of the cat o’ nine tails with which The Lord struck Satan during her fall from heaven. It was designed to inflict pain on a purely spiritual level.
If Nick had been much more than a horny teenager with a major zipper problem, eager to get in the panties of any hot woman he came across, her blows would have been very severe indeed. But as it was, there was only the moonchild he repented, and the strokes had an almost pleasurable effect on his sex-starved body.
The monster continued to drill into his flesh with his horrible half-formed eyes, and the lashes continued to snap across his back, leaving their red marks on Nick’s boyish flesh.
He thought about the Fairchild twins, entwined together on the floor of their condo apartment, their cunts overflowing with their fluids, their eyes wide with shock as he slid his dick into first one and then the other, like a dipstick testing their pleasure. He would make them forget their fag friend. What they needed after all was a real man. God damn, did he want it to be him! His dick was begging for a little action.
It was very hard for him to fit in the tiny chastity belt into which he was bound. His desperate member was writhing, pleading on hands and knees to be let free from its captivity. The ejaculation fantasy, which filled his fitful nights, was taking over him, gripping his poor abused body and twisting it to its will. He could see the spray of cum glistening in the air like precious jewels. It winked at him like a coy lover, teased him like Elisabeth and her vibrator. Each and every stroke made it that much worse. Holy shit, he was horny. He would have given anything for just two minutes to wank.
His mistress, with a cackle, jammed a large pink glass dildo up his ass, and his anus swallowed it like a kitten lapping up milk. Oh damn, oh damn!
It hurt his male pride to be so willfully penetrated, violated like a woman. He had seen over and over on his kinky hell-TV that many straight men enjoyed anal stimulation. But he couldn’t wrap his brain around it. In his childishness he felt so guilty and alone. What was left of his self-image was completely shot. His mistress’s fiery tongue licked his swollen rosebud. God damn! He really was a pathetic little man whore.
His mistress’s body temperature was so high that he was being burnt. His face was pressed up against the bars to the point where his cheeks were indented, but he could tell from his beautiful mistress’s deep sensuous bestial moans that she was somehow stimulating herself. Maybe the glass plug was in fact a strap-on, or perhaps she was wearing some sort of magickal device that allowed her to get off on other people’s sensations. Nick cursed under his breath, though the bars cut into him so deeply it came out more of a grunt. He felt himself slipping away from himself, slipping into his dark inner insanity.
The cage left red strips across his face. He could feel the dildo pounding in and out of him, milking his prostrate and causing his penis to strain once again, so desperately, against the izmit escort bayan unyielding confines of the damn device. Each moan was adding to his pleasure and agony. Each gasp fucked him to the core. The floor of the cage where his mistress was standing was beginning to get soaked with warm demon juices, which smelt heavily of vodka and chili peppers and stung his feet and filled his lungs with fire.
He was completely out of his mind with horniness, a screaming, writhing, smoldering bundle ultra repressed teenage desire, with a sadomasochistic twist.
He moaned sluttily, biting down on his lip to stem the tide of raw lust and frustration that was coursing through him. The taste of blood refreshed him. It was so rare that he tasted anything but kibble, urine, or demon meat that his soul had almost forgotten. The lining of his nose, and pit of his belly, were burnt by the demon juices.
The demon-child watched on.
His mistress came, emitting an undead cry like a lemur monkey, which struck Nick like a the knife of an unskilled surgeon in some deep dark part of his body. He felt unnaturally cold and hollow and yet elated, as if he would will himself to heaven itself with a thought.
Nick felt his body of light rock in place as Elisabeth mouthed the worlds of a very old prayer to return wayward souls, but he was trapped against the bars and the only change was that he felt a little heavier, a little more real, more human.
His mistress came again. This time Nick thought of a cat being hit by a car, but his poor sex-starved brain found a way to make even that erotic. He was drugged out if his mind with his own neurotransmitters. His soul tore between returning to his juice-soaked body back down on earth and the insane penetration that was lighting his whole soul on fire. His sister’s will struggled weakly against the demon who held him. He was grabbed, held and paralyzed with the sensation of light and dark, hunger and satiation, desire and fear. The sensation was so overwhelmingly powerful that it was actually crippling, like a wipe-out on a boogie board that sends you spinning.
Nick had never been so aroused, or if he had, it was light-years from his mind. There was nothing else, nowhere else. The battle that held him, the sensation was all there was left with him he was a pool of desire. Even the chastity device that dug into his tender flesh and the plug that filled his bottom so impossibly did not exist. There was only the sensation.
For the next two days, Nick didn’t have the strength to hit a button on the remote of his hellish television; he sat in the corner of his cage not thinking, not eating, not even being. If someone had left a burning cigarette in his right hand, it would have burned down to ashes and welts without ever being noticed.
All this time, he had a sloppy grin on his face, like someone who took the short bus to school.
Nick’s little sojourns home were becoming more and more frequent as the days passed, and the size and number of the demon dicks that penetrated him became larger and more perverse. He knew in his soul that it was only a matter of time before he was home again, no matter how grim the doctor’s prognosis.
His EEG still showed coma-like patterns, but his breathing and heart rate were improving and there was some spontaneous movement (often accompanied by spontaneous erections, and sometimes, regrettably, spontaneous ejaculation). He was getting better.
Elisabeth seemed to know too. Her mood was becoming more and more cheery each day, and her dresses more and more bizarre and subtly slutty, the way they had been before the three of them had messed themselves up by gang-banging their mother in a black magick ritual.
Her pink checkered summer dress with the lace trimmed pockets made an appearance at his bedside, as did the little white cockeyed number which exposed the thong she wore under it. The orderlies, a couple of male nurses, and a female doctor or two, had a way of waiting for visiting hours to tend to their chores in Nick’s room. Poor Nick. This often meant he had to wait longer for his bed pan to be changed, or for the cum to be sponged off his belly (and once off the ceiling).
—
Amber lived at a cross-roads in a little occult shop run by a woman named Victoria, who also taught her magick. No window door or cabinet opened to the same place twice. Once, the large store window in the front opened to a magical forest with trees that sprouted branches like dildos, and then a minute later, into the women’s shower at the local YMCA.
The cabinets connected to random cupboards around the world without worrying you ahead of time which one. But this wasn’t frustrating; your hand simply found whatever it needed at the moment, and the trick was to realize that that vial in your hand, not the dragon’s blood or wormwood you were scrounging for, was the proper ingredient for that which you really ought to be making.
Sometimes Amber’s fingers found themselves clutching izmit sınırsız escort a dildo or a vibrator she didn’t remember picking up. This was a sign from the cosmos that she had done quite enough work for the moment and really ought to be getting off for an hour or two on one of the soft pelts in the backroom, before going back to her daily grind.
Once, about three days after Amber had arrived, she had spent an entire week doing nothing but fucking herself with various toys she happened upon, though the shop was very busy. Which you think would get on the nerves of any red-blooded business woman. Victoria, however instead, quickly found, that Amber’s fresh young bosom body was such a draw that she could charge for admission into the store and still have enough customers to keep her hands from being idle.
The money was pretty good too, as was the taste of Amber’s chocolate pussy.
All in all, the two witches made a fair living making potions and giving tarot readings to people from various lands around the world, some of whom had inhuman characteristics, such as an extra appendage you could sometimes glimpse out of the corner of your eye (or feel crawling under your skirt), the wrong number of breasts, or an unnaturally large bulge in their pants. Victoria really enjoyed eyeballing the last sort. Amber had seen her drooling once or twice.
When Victoria shut the thick wooden door for the night, or perhaps the morning or afternoon, they would sit together on pelts and weave spells just for the fun of it, sometimes with needle and thread, sometimes with tongue or dildo. Their spells were always deliciously erotic, whether they were for health, money, or just for a stronger climax. Sometimes they talked or sang instead, though that, too, was rarely innocent.
Sometimes Amber and her mistress were joined by the witches Kit and Slug Fairchild and their supernatural familiars, who brought silk and jewels or exotic fruit, often things that were only thought to exist in fairy tales. They left these gifts at Victoria’s feet without saying anything, and then picked up their own sewing needles and joined the chant, or listened to the bard’s tales Victoria spun.
—
For once the Nymph Queen, a beautiful woman with golden blond hair on her head and none on her pussy, was not out corrupting chaste maidens or celebrating life at a decadent orgy. She was lying in the sweet-smelling grass with her husband, an old fisherman who had a bit of trouble thinking with the larger of his two heads (though he had recently developed a peculiar taste for theoretical physics). Her hands and his feet dug into the earth non-self-consciously. Their cries rang into the heavens and the stars answered and sent their love. Their fluids fed the roots and the trees smiled down at them and took their part in the fun. The grass tickled their backs, the dirt clung to their hair, and they tumbled endlessly, sky and stars, man and woman, tree, root, grass and earth.
—
In Hell, Nick was playing voyeur again. He loved his devilish TV the way a toddler might love her blanket.
Slug’s tongue was firmly wedged up her sister’s eager pussy, and Kit was moaning and writhing against the futon passionately, her arms stretched up over her head, her body gyrating viciously with every thrust.
Slug had to wipe her sister’s juices off of her face every half a minute or so to keep them from going up her nose. Her sister’s pussy was the same savory sweet taste as her own, which she was finger-fucking. She didn’t know whether it was diet, genetics or the fact that they couldn’t keep their hands off themselves and each other, that made them taste the same, but it was a total turn on. It was almost as though they were connected by the groin: one great big lesbian tryst that lasted their entire lifetime.
Slug kissed her sister roughly on the mouth, their tongues fencing, the taste of their sex still on their lips. Kit fought her sister’s movements, to plant lustful kisses on her twin’s cheek, neck, and chest, while Slug began to skillfully weave herself into the sinful dance, pressing her tongue and teeth against Kit’s nipple, then her belly button, then nipping and playfully massaging the area above her sister’s groin, heightening her arousal.
Nick moaned like a whore. His cock would have been rock-hard if it wasn’t for the damn chastity device that was constantly denying him his pleasure. He whimpered a little bit as his soft tender young flesh rebelled futilely against its unjust captivity. He saw his little obsessive ejaculation fantasy out of the corner of his eye, but it couldn’t distract him too much from what was on the tube.
The twins were still at it. Repositioning themselves so they lay on their sides in a 69 position, they were lapping at each other’s wet cunts, playfully racing each other to climax, though they were both writhing so forcefully that their mouths tended to slip off each other’s clits and down their thighs instead.
It was almost like a slapstick comedy, watching them go at it, and Nick thought it very arousing. The two girls did too, apparently, because they came very quickly despite the sloppy work. Kit came first, crying out in a high-pitched voice that would have clung to the church rafters at services.