This story is my own creation and is intended for an audience appreciative of fantasy CBT and possession by dark forces. Move on to the next story if you think you might be bothered. Or feel free to stop at any time and take a breather before continuing. It'll be chapter by chapter anyway.
If this is illegal in your part of the world, you may want to reconsider continuing. Its up to you.
This story is entirely fiction. it is not about you or me or anyone we know or have known. In our entire lives.
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DECONSECRATION Chapter 1
I stand in this late part of the day as I was told, at the foot of the stone steps. I am close to the old German church, close enough that I am soon in its shadow. The end of the day brings an unexpected chill and I move into the late afternoon sunlight to the right of the steps. I am afraid to move too far, for fear I will miss him or anger him with my disobedience. I consider leaving, but I stay. I stay because of his promise and the power of my desire for his power. I have not met this man nor have I seen him except in the corners of my early morning dreams. This church, these steps, even the shadow to my left are central to the dreams. He abides in this shadow, in this church. From here, he comes to me nightly in images of violence and fire, with dark promises that arouse my most repressed desires. He offers me power and pain, suffering and healing.
I came to this church, to this abandoned town in Germany from New Orleans after Mardi Gras in 2017. Unknown to me at the time, my journey began as I was wandering off Burbon street after Shrove Tuesday. I was wearing dirty 501s and my last year's Folsom t-shirt that said, " Slavery: Gets Shit Done" to keep away the tourists. This college kid, German as it turned out, was leaning against a graffiti covered wall. He stepped out and caught my t-shirt, then my eye, shoved his hand down the front of his pants and smirked. There can be a lot of promise in a good smirk so I smiled and stopped to chat. After a couple of minutes talking about the various evils of our fairly evil city, he nudged his backpack with his sneaker and said, "I have a few items in here you may find interesting." It turned out to contain a half bottle of schnapps, some brain fuck chemicals and a set of Hager sounds.
Booze, drugs and something to poke up my dick. This kid read me like a white party invitation. He said he was staying in a hostel so I took him and his magic backpack to the little shotgun house my grandmother left me on the edge of the Garden District. He was blonde, of course, and cute in a generic Hitler Youth kind of way. We got started on the drugs, finished the schnapps and got down to the Hagers. God only knows what those drugs were but they produced some interesting results.
My memory of the events is hazy but I recall he seemed to grow darker over time or maybe the room grew darker, or maybe both. In my only vivid piece of memory we are sitting on the floor facing, with our legs wrapped around one another's backs. We are sharing a 14mm Hager, half up his dick and half up mine. He has rolled his ample foreskin over the two cock heads and is jacking us both off. As we near orgasm, I finally look up at this face. It darkens, seems to become more angular, and he says cryptically, "This can the beginning for you. If you cum now, you step toward the Master." WTF, right? I suppose I could have held back longer but I was horned to a precipitous edge and stoned beyond reason so of course I came, filling up his foreskin with spooge in the bargain. Anyway, who could resist such an invitation? And who the fuck was the Master anyway?