Temple Street

Please see original story for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Included dominant/submissive and occasionally coercive sex between men. Includes BLASPHEMY. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like but I will write you into the nasty bits of a future story if you flame me. Donate to Nifty TODAY at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

I fell into yet another deep, dream-filled slumber. This was the worst to date. The images of intense and brutally-sensual sex were still there, only more varied and more prolonged. The difference was that I, in this dream, was forced to witness all of them with my cock locked in a painful, rasping, pinching cage. I awoke gasping. The condom I'd donned before bed had ruptured as I tossed and turned, so I again awoke in a stick swamp of dogwater, some dried and some fresh.

***** Temple Street 3c: Urkkija is Born (part 3) By Bear Pup

M/M, M/M/M (M); voyeur; blasphemy; domination; intense and prolonged edging; BDSM; twin-play, cum-as-penalty;

'Lucky it's Saturday,' I thought as I stripped the sopping sheets from the bed. 'Fuck! I even soaked the mattress pad!' I gathered all of it up and started my piling process. This is how I sort laundry. Start dumping into piles and shuffle stuff about until you get similar colours and fabrics into piles of roughly the same dimensions. I found myself wandering past the windows a bit more than was strictly necessary, but the Temple stayed dark.

I grabbed some running shorts, a tank top and some trainers. I wrapped my bundles in the (now dry and slightly crackly) sheets from earlier in the week and headed to the laundrette next door. I ended with four loads so I swiped my card through four washers to get them started then added the various powders and potions that laundry required, along with the sorted loads. I had this routine timed quite well. I jogged down to Bethnal Green and hung a right to the coffee house named The Common E2 and ordered their addictively-bizarre shakshuka, eggs baked in some sauce the colour of heartburn. Spicy and delicious. I refilled my coffee after and got back to the laundrette about twenty seconds before the beeping started. Off to the dryers, then back to the flat. In retrospect, the blood music had started to pulse stronger, but I don't think I realised it.

Shower, shave, some light cleaning and another longing gaze across Temple Street then back downstairs, this time with my basket. I was well too early and the place had gotten more crowded by the time the driers stopped. I decided to go back up to do the folding. I froze when I went passed the window. The basket thudded on my carpet, forgotten.

The Temple was again candle-lit. For the first time, though, Lord had two guys in supplication before him. They might have been twins; I thought so but could not be certain. They were of a height (hard to know exactly due to their position) with identical muscled builds, both covered in a thick, Latin matt of dark fur. Manscaping was definitely NOT their thing. Those dark curls and olive skin gave me their mental names, Romulus and Remus.

They knelt knees apart, hands behind them, painfully erect, one prick perhaps slightly larger than the other but both average-sized and cut. Both men were sweating heavily and breathing hard; they'd been there for a little while already. Lord stood in front of them with an overly-long riding crop in his hand.

He asked the one on His left, Romulus, a question and seemed satisfied. He asked something of the one on the right, Remus, and frowned. The riding crop came up and flicked like a bolt of electricity, straight to the glans of Romulus. Remus gave a wrong answer and Romulus got punished; a massive pulse of blood beat then the melody settled back to the rhythm. Neither really moved, but Romulus's head was thrown back, jaw locked to prevent the escape of a scream. He quickly recovered and leant forward to kiss the crop.

Another question for Romulus, another for Remus, another for Romulus. The latter's wrong answer pounded one beat of blood music as he received a swish-flick strike from the crop. Remus was not as good holding the pain and I could see him shriek. That instantly earned Romulus a snap to the balls (and stressed-beat from the Beast of Music), but again he held his scream. Question followed question. The crop flicked, finding shaft, glans, testicle or thigh. Remus was weaker and nearly always cried out, leaving Romulus to absorb nearly double the punishment.

I was panting at the scene; each time the crop flipped forward, my nuts churned with sympathetic pain and urgent lust; the Beat of the Beast forced my heart to match its driving tempo. Perhaps ten minutes went by before Lord began to wickedly flick his crop back and forth, catching both men on each stroke. Shaft, glans, testes or frenulum. Back and forth, over and over, the rhythm surging in intensity and (perhaps) exultation. Both were obviously howling with pain before Lord stopped, spun on His heel and left my view, reappearing in the sanctum. He stood patiently, arms gripping something above the frame of my view and legs spread wide. I was again struck dumb by His incomparable masculine beauty. He was a Viking god, a force of nature, a sexual masterpiece.

When Lord left, Romulus and Remus collapsed forward sobbing with pain, but I could also see elation and joy on the nearer man's face as he rolled it back and forth across the cool of the stone floor. I was also fascinated that neither man let his arms leave their tight, behind-the-back grip, even as the heaved in recovery. Finally regaining their composure, the two turned to each other. As one, they struggled to their feet, arms still locked and using each other as leverage and support. I watched as their swollen cocks brushed each other and Romulus leapt back as if stung. They turned and followed Lord.

Lord said nothing, neither acknowledging nor gesturing to the pair. They needed no instruction or encouragement. They fell to their knees to either side of their (and my) Lord. The blood melody swelled and the men seemed ensnared by its pulsing beat. Starting with the feet, they caressed and licked Lord's muscles. Labour had been cleaning Lord; Romulus and Remus were tantalising him. Their tongues worked in tandem; their hands seemed controlled by a single brain. One would go up, the other down, then they would converge at some erogenous zone, left/right or font/back.

This was also the first time I had witnessed Lord react strongly to an acolyte's work. Yes, He was more than simply animated as He fucked, spanked, abused or used His worshipper; yes, He had reacted with pleasure to Labour's ministrations. Romulus and Remus, though, were sending Lord out of His mind with lust.

Whilst Romulus teased the top if Lord's crack, for instance, Remus tongue-fucked His belly button. One attacked each nipple whilst stroking His inner thighs. Romulus's face buried in one armpit, fingers teasing an abused nipple, mirrored by Remus in an identical pose. One went for His neck and jaw whilst the other tongue-fucked Lord's ear; when the sensation became too much and Lord tilted His head, Romulus and Remus flipped targets. With every tantalisation, the Beast deepened or stressed or intensified the blood music. The combined effect had Lord's chest heaving and thighs quaking with frustration, need and delight, as the twins drove Him and the blood song into frenzy.

Romulus and Remus moved behind Lord and I watched as Lord thrust his ass back. Each man began to nibble and chew and lick one buttock, slowly converging at Lord's most-private crevice. I saw His head fly back and a howl stretch His lips as the two men attacked his hole, Romulus at His ass-lips and Remus at His taint, or Remus tongue-fucking His anus with Romulus long-tonguing the trench. As the blood song reached a new peak of frenetic urgency, they suddenly threw themselves in front of Lord and latched onto either side of God, kissing and caressing from sac to glans whilst two hands massaged, fondled and caressed Lord's nuts and two more stimulated His ass.

Without apparent signal from either Lord or each other, they began to attack God's glans. Their hands redoubled their ministrations on balls, taint and ass. One would tongue-fuck God's piss-slit whilst the other nuzzled the frenulum, then both began to nibble and lick the flared ridge. The blood music flared to crescendo as Lord exploded. Romulus and Remus swapped, each accepting one pulse of the nectar of God and then allowing the other an explosive surge. Back, forth, and back again.

Finally, Lord slackened, then sagged. The twins grabbed Him as He crumpled. Their combined strength was enough to get Lord into the bed and covered. The two knelt, one to each side, heads bowed. Lord finally roused slightly and said something, an instruction and dismissal, before seeming to fall into deep sleep.

Romulus and Remus retired to the nave. They stood, staring at each other as if enchanted. Abruptly, they launched into each other's arms and shared a kiss worthy of Roman Gods. Their hands brutally stroked and caressed each other with a fierce but coordinated need, obviously bringing each as far into the passion as a human could endure. Suddenly, the pair dropped to the stone floor and they flowed sensually into position. 69 was just... not the right description. It was the symmetry of Gemini, both legend and symbol. I could see as they climaxed in unison, the sexual release of energy could be clearly felt across Temple Street, even as the Beast's Song blurred into the rhythm of Lord's sleep.

I set down the scope and gripped the windowsill. There was a large and spreading spot of wetness on the floor as my precum oozed and osmosed through the carpet fibres. I was shuddering on the very edge of orgasm, breathing ragged and irregular, heart hammering like a steam-chisel. I dared not even retreat to the kitchenette for ice; I feared the slighted breath of air or motion-related touch would send me into the sin of ecstasy.

I concentrated on my breathing, a trick taught me for stress by a short-lived fitness trainer. I was finally able to return to myself, the Lord and his twins relegated to an (insistent and desperately-for-attention) memory. I spun away from the window, stumbled to the kitchenette and drank glass after glass of water. I returned and, ignoring the window with every ounce of willpower I possessed, began to fold my clothes.

I finally dressed in something street-worthy and headed down to Bethnal Green Road. I simply wandered. I needed to eat, but everything seemed... wrong. I passed all of the American franchise places, Mc Nasty, KF Rat, Substandard, etc. I wandered past local or semi-locals, Nando, Star, Old George, Pellicci. I didn't hurry and took a lot of time staring at window; more specifically my reflection in windows. What the fuck was I doing? Had Lord done something to me or had I done it to myself? Why did it matter so much to me what He thought (yes, I capitalised 'he' in my thoughts; arrest me already)?

About an hour after the twins had found paradise, I ended up in a not-horrible Indian place called Lahore Express. I don't know and will never ask what they put in their tiny fried surprises known as pakora. Literally anything could be inside and I shuddered to think of the Sweeny Todd options as I devoured the scrumptious little dumplings. A tikka, biryani and rice joined the menu. I knew that I could dine on the remains for at least one evening of the week.

The indigestion had started before I was halfway home. I knew better than to eat curry-like things when upset. I made it home around 2:00, carefully put my take-away in the icebox and sat for a moment. I grabbed a glass of water and went to the medical cabinet and grabbed a bottom of chalky pink stuff, then sat and read until my gut was back on speaking terms with the rest of my body. I was a bit dumbfounded that I'd stayed hard throughout the episode and suddenly noticed a deepening of the blood music which brought me back to the window.

Lord was in the nave with an acolyte that I had a hard time seeing. He was dark; not black but certainly from the far reaches of the Empire. He had long, thick, black hair that obscured his features, often leaving his face and chest in shadow. Shadow. Perfect.

Lord was being incredibly rough with Shadow. Using that hair as a handle, Lord slapped him over and over. The blood harmony sang and throbbed with the blows. Each time he'd pause, Shadow would lunge forward and kiss the palm, bringing trilling arpeggios to the blood music, even though I could tell it was pulling viciously on his thick hair. Lord switched and grabbed Shadow's nipples. Surrounded by wide, fired-egg aureoles, the nips were thick and long, giving Lord something to really latch onto. Lord tugged, twisted and pinched his nails into the sensitive nubbins, throbbing to a backbeat in the Beast's Song. Shadow was obviously vocal, and Lord appeared to appreciate that. As expected, whenever Lord paused the tit-torture, Shadow would bob and weave to kiss, lick and suck Lord's hands, apparently babbling his thanks and worship.

Suddenly, Lord grabbed two huge fistfuls of hair and wrenched up and back. Shadow's handsome face came into clear and stark view. He was simply beautiful. Fine, stunning lines framed luscious lips, but the real feature was the eyes. As if they'd been stolen from a fawn or shy jungle beast, they were huge and liquid and flushed with adoration, need and lust.

Lord began to sway and the blood music gained a deep counter-beat sometimes found in Bollywood soundtracks. I had really no idea what was coming until God, engorged and thrusting from Lord's loins, began to slap and punch across Shadow's cheeks. Each blow accompanied by a cracking beat in counterpoint to the blood song's rhythm. I have no idea how long that lasted, but when Lord and the blood chorus slowed Shadow's lips were swollen and slicked with God's precum; his whole face shone with a sheen of it and his cheeks were red and inflamed from the dick-whipping.

Lord released Shadow, who dropped but never let his eyes leave those of his master. He was shaking badly, but with pain, lust or awe was impossible to tell. Lord reached down quickly and dragged Shadow up by his abused nipples and dragged him into the sanctum. My cock was dripping snot everywhere as I moved to retrain my scope on the other window, desperate to see how Lord would complete Shadow's Sabbath.

Lord said something and pointed toward me. I flinched as Shadow met my eyes through my scope and smiled. Lord looked as well and said something, the blood music began to swell and my breathing got shallower and shallower. With a gesture, my world went bright white.

I reeled back from the scope and it took a moment for me to see what had happened. The blinds to the sanctum were now closed at an angle which brutally reflected the London sun straight into my eyes.

I stood in shock, shaking, panting, an addict who drug was suddenly snatched away. I dropped my precious scope my hands were trembling so bad. I turned from the window stunned and hurt. WHY? What had I done? Why would Lord do this to me?

I stumbled through the rest of my day, eyes drawn constantly across Temple Street. The blinds to the sanctum remained closed, though I could see the flicker and flash of candles reflected at the edges. I saw no one in the nave at all, coming or going. What made the torture immeasurably worse was that the blood music continued to sing, throbbing and softening or deeply thrumming or beating wildly. Every shift drew me back to the window; every throb stoked the fire of my desperate need; the three crescendos of wild abandon that night left me crying in frustration and desire.

I slept, though I have no idea how. The blood harmony, as always, haunted my dreams. I could see vague shadows of debauchery and lust, but only through a thick veil of mist. I could hear the moans and pleas and exultant screams of release, but at a muffled distance. I awoke to sheet soaked but only with sweat. The jimmy had held up this time, full to bursting but intact.

It was still that rosy hour before true dawn. I pissed out of desperation but was back at the window moments after waking. My stomach dropped in horror. The sanctum was still hidden from me, but now the nave as well! Both glowed at the edges with the red and gold of candles. Tantalising shadows would course across the windows so I knew that several people moved there. One of them had to be my Lord. Had to be the man carrying my God, my obsession, my addiction, my universe. But no hint told me which was which, driving me further into desperation.

My Sunday was a complete shambles. I could not focus on any task, often finding myself with the hoover running idly as I tried to penetrate the blinds across Temple Street. I burned my eggs, lost in thought over what could have made Lord hurt me in this way. My lunch of a sandwich laid half-eaten for an hour as I tried to think those windows clear. By eventide, I was more a wreck that I'd been since Exams so many years earlier.

It was full dark on Sunday evening when I saw something change. I leapt for my scope, praying that Lord would have mercy on me. What I saw was anything but mercy.

The glow of candlelight was heavier and I could sense that a large number of people were in the Nave. A rhythmic swaying wove subtle shadows in the paper-thin spaces between the blinds. The blood music swelled, stronger than I'd ever heard. From nearly subsonic to a staccato tattoo, the beat rose and fell with the shadows' movements. It reached a crescendo and crashed like waves against a shore.

The intensity of light moved into the sanctum. The worshippers must be holding the candles. The Beast of Music panted in my ears, the tempo rising and falling, with each cycle deeper and stronger than the last. I finally broke around 9:30. Neither my heart nor cock nor tortured brain could take the not-knowing. I pulled out the case for the laser microphone that, earlier in the week, Lord and seen me aim and with eyes, voice and gesture forbidden. I didn't care. I fumbled at the latch and my hands shook so badly I couldn't get the thing positioned. The teasing shadows still payed to the melody as it swelled again. I had to, HAD TO know.

I flipped the switch and aimed the invisible beam at the sanctum's windows. I heard the briefest stanza of a deep, indescribably-erotic chant before Lord's voice overrode. My headphones erupted in sound and the blood music exploded, "I SAID NO!"

The mic tumbled from its perch and I knew, immediately, that the condemnation had been for me. Horrified at my transgression, my wilful disobedience and wanton stupidity, I disconnect the mic and left it where it lay and literally crawled to bed.

My dreams that night were nothing short of haunting. I watched through a door as Lord ravished a man's ass. The door slammed, "I SAID NO!". An invisible hand caressed my aching prick and balls; I neared orgasm and pain hit my nuts, "I SAID NO!" Scene after scene, torment after torment, titillation after titillation; as I approached each dream-climax, "I SAID NO!"

I awoke shaken. My dick was hard an aching, but the torments of the night had at least reduced the constant stream of precum. The jimmy was sopping, but was a lot less like a water balloon. I did my morning ablutions and looked across as the window blinds. I got ready for work like a good little wage slave and caught the Tube to work. Kula latte and a bun, and tried to settle into work.

The Carter-Hughes affair really was going to be complex, and it was also a great learning experience for the interns and newbies. I looked at the notes that Ogilvy had suggested for compartmentalisation. I gave council stuff and permitting to a relatively-new pair named Cora and Coraline (go figure) along with all they actually needed to know. The permits would, as always, be for "An Event Produced by Ogilvy Planning, Ltd." I got Argus to do the contracts for DJ Dee Jai, Abdul for Carlos DaSilva, and the more-seasoned Beth those for Galliard (he would have to be included in at least the preliminary design work for the sets if he was going to be useful for the fancy dress costumes).

I pulled Nelson Chu and Misha O'Brien together. Both were experienced and I would need help with perimeter security and logistics. Both had been with the Firm nearly as long as I had, so I was not worried about over-compartmentalising. Ogilvy had also suggested the pairing. Johnny got staffing; I knew I could trust him, especially with the absolute requirement of senior folks only. I kept internal security (the person-by-person stuff) for myself, but looped in Audrey so we could jointly work on the staging and construction.

The deep-dive into planning had successfully driven the blood music to the background, but that ended when I went to leave for lunch. Ignored through the morning, my hard-on had worked itself into the most awkward possible position. I started to stand and just as suddenly sat back down, expressions of pain and embarrassment vying for control of my face. I spent a minute frantically trying to untie myself without drawing notice. It was like being in school again, called on to work a problem at the most inconvenient time in a teen boy's life. As with school, any movement capable of alleviating the 'problem' was also one that would draw the stares of everyone in the room.

I was cursing the very precautions I'd taken to avoid embarrassment; they were the cause of this one. Layers of fabric and the tacky-slickness of the condom had literally tied my crown jewels into a Gordian knot. I managed to stand without actually screaming, but it was a close-run thing. I made it to the W/C as casually as possible, likely looking like I was passing a kidney stone. Once inside with door locked, I almost screamed again as taking down my pants caught something and my universe twisted in horrifying ways. A few tugs, grunts and a shuddering sigh later, I extricated the bits that I so dearly cherished without (I hoped) any lasting damage.

That episode consumed a nice piece of my normal luncheon, so I broke normal tradition and ran over to a chippie nearby and consumed the salty, vinegar-laced fried slice of fish heaven whilst walking back. As always, I saved the chips for afters; the drips and dribbles off the fish made them so... greasy, gooey, glumpy and transcendently glorious. I detoured into the self-serve spot at the Lamb and Flag for my bitter-and-coffee, getting the expected glare from the barkeep and, as he expected, ignoring it with a cheery wave.

Thus fortified, I resumed my work. I planned to use mornings for the Carter-Hughes business and afternoons for the rest of my portfolio. I had a message on my spindle from one of the interns about a seating problem with the Viscount of Garnock wedding. It took more time to get the silly little poof to explain than it took to solve. Some titled gentry (a baronet of one stripe or another) was going through a messy and acrimonious divorce; their daughter and the son of the mother-in-law needed to be kept out of range of cat-spitting contests. A quick glance, a line drawn and the crisis averted.

I got into the security dossiers on another society wedding, this one complicated by a connexion to the Royal Family (not direct, tangential, but still close enough that I shan't mention names). It was, oddly, a rare love match. The couple had met and fell madly in love, in unlikely and Victorian-style cliche, on an A&K Cruise on the Nile complete with an engagement ring the following year made on bended knee and slipping what may well have been a legitimate relic of some miscellaneous Queen of Egypt onto the bride-to-be's finger. I loved and loathed security details; whilst giving me an excuse to pry deeply into the behind-the-veil lives of the aristocracy, it was also deadly serious. People could and did get attacked at society events.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, my brain lost all connexion to the work with a single phrase, "Monday next as the sun sets, come to me," followed in an instant by the echo of, "Come prepared, body and soul." I began to shake a bit. I was clearly off when Ogilvy walked by on his way to the loo.

"Are you right, Waycombe?"

"Y'yes, sir. Perhaps a touch of cold?"

"A visit to that amazing neighbour with his 'organic remedy' seems in order." I swear I think he almost winked! His words hit far, far too close to home and all the remaining colour drained from my face as he went about his business. Shaking like a leaf, I gathered my kit and told Angelica that I could be reached on my mobile but I needed to speak with the doormen at Adelphi Terrace; I fled. I did, indeed, stop at Adelphi Terrace and did speak to the doormen. I got the particulars for the business management and a feel for how we could integrate and/or segregate the normal amenities for the building's residents with the needs of the Carter-Hughes affair. I could just as easily have done that by ringing them, but I had to get out of the office.

I made it to my flat a trembling wreck. Two other flat-dwellers, a lesbian couple from one floor up, asked if I needed them to run to the druggist. I just smiled and said that all was fine, just a long day. I stripped, starting at the door and letting garments stay where they fell. I was naked when I got to the windows and something inside me rejoiced. The blinds were back at a tilt that allowed my voyeuristic vices and the blood music seemed to welcome me again.

I ran to the shower and cleaned the day away. "Come prepared, body and soul." I couldn't honestly say that I knew what that meant, but I decided to break out a plaything I rarely used, an enema wand that fitted to the spigot. I had a twinge of discomfort as the cold wand went in and another when I started to feel full, but it was a little like riding a bicycle; your body remembered what to do. Since it had been a while, two washes and a rinse seemed right. I finished and felt that glorious fully-empty sensation.

I got online thinking of the specific instruction, "Monday next as the sun sets, come to me." Sunset. London. Today... FUCK! There were three of them. "AS the sun sets" so not the onset of it but also not when it vanishes. I split the difference and decided on the middle point of the three, 7:04 pm. The midpoint of Nautical Twilight. Sorry, did someone say OCD?

That gave me over an hour. I manscaped a little (oaky, an obsessive amount in an effort to meet that perfect point of "could be natural" between "cave-man" and "who is he kidding"). I checked the effect in the mirror. I was depressingly average. Mid-brown and curly hair of moderate length. 180 cm a lightly padded but not at all fat. Pale English complexion toned up by a distant (unmentioned) Italian lover who also contributed to the very sparse body hair; nicely-coated legs and forearms, a treasure trail and a few strays (now shorn) around the aureoles plus a Peter Cotton Tail patch at the top of my ass (trimmed to less-fluffy proportions) and fuzz on my ass and thighs.

As for The Package? Nice, average length and slightly fat cock. I never could figure out how to measure a penis; everyone seemed to do it so differently. I guess that explains the porn stories about 14" cocks; they measured from the asshole to the tip of the stretch foreskin. I was about average based on locker rooms peeps (soft and hard) of my youth and young-adult sport forays. I had a naturally-hairless and oddly-smooth sac (hardly any wrinkles) holding, well, normal testicles. My ass, I'll reluctantly admit, was a bit better than average with a nice bubble shape and cute little dimples.

I tried on six different outfits before realising that I had never seen anyone in the Temple with a stitch of clothing, unless you counted a chastity device. I decided instead of things that came off and on the body with a minimum of fuss or time. Okay! Ready! Clock: 5:49 PM. FUUUCK!

I now have slightly more than an hour to jitter and sweat. I tried to read and realised after five minutes that the book was upside down. I turn it upright and, five minutes later, realised I have not yet turned a page. I cleaned. I even dusted (who dusts? WHY?). I was finally calm enough to look at the clock. 6:01. AAGGHH!

I spent the next hour is a state of frustration that I cannot even describe. I did... something. I thought... nothing. At 6:55, I couldn't take it any longer. I casually strolled (ran like a madman) across Temple Street. I skipped the lift and rushed the stairs to the second (third for yanks) floor. I found the door and entered. It was an oddly-shaped vestibule. About ten feet wide and four deep, with benches on each short wall and lots of hooks. The door I'd entered had been "flat-standard" metal. The one in front of me was smoky, iron-pegged oak. There was no doubt that this room was demarcation line between worlds.

I stripped my clothes and neatly hung them (randomly threw them in the direction of hooks). I spent a couple minutes catching (more or less) my breath. I checked the watch I'd stuffed in the pants pocket. 7:00 was close enough.

But now what? Knock? Pop my head in and say, "Hi honey, I'm home?" What is the standard protocol for subjugating oneself to one's personal deity? I finally realised there was nothing like a knocker on the door and that no one would hear someone knock with anything less than a battering ram.

The door eerily did NOT creak and groan. It swung easily into the Temple's nave and I followed its bulk. The candles in red or golden glass encased in sconces of wrought iron sent a flickering glow through the room. Now that I was inside, the stone floors, rough walls and heavy oaken trim simply made sense. The blood melody here was unnerving. The Beast of Music seemed to hover, slathering, over my shoulder waiting for a chance to take me in its maw. Yes, I looked.

When I turned back to face forwards, Lord was there. Every muscle and curve flashed with highlights, every hair shone. The Beast's Song began to swell.

A sudden and imperious gesture found me kneeling in front of him. Conscious action? Maybe, but I never thought that I wilfully moved. I was just... there. The heavy door had slammed behind me with the sound of a drumbeat of doom. I gazed up at that face, those eyes. What I could never have seen with my scope was that the glow of coals never left them; it was just invisible to anyone not meeting that gaze... at least until the glow broke loose and flooded the room.

He stared at me for minutes, reading the fine print of my soul. I could FEEL him rifle my mind like loose pages of an unbound manuscript. I could no more have averted my own gaze than have sprouted wings and flown.

"Why are you here?" My laser-mic was one of the best in the world unless you were an elite military force, but it had failed to capture the raw masculine force. It was a roar of a cave-bear, and echo of thunder across the veldt, the lusty growl of a great cat about to dine... on me.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" The roar shook me, even seeming to shake the stones themselves. My awe at his voice, presence, body and eyes had caused me to wait too long.

"I, I am here to serve you, Lord, and my one true God that is your manhood. To serve. To worship. To be taken by you."

"Good," He purred, a leer washing that amazing face.

"You spied upon your Lord and your God, wittingly or not. A week ago tomorrow, you spied on us in our Temple?"

The statement had the hook of a question. "Yes, my Lord, I spied unwittingly. I , I s-s-saw your majest.."

"SILENCE!"

My jaw snapped shut so quickly I bit the side of my tongue slightly. What power!

"You spied and spied unwittingly. That is all I asked.

"When I came to you after Adsensus' baptism, you claimed to be willing to serve your Lord and your God. You were given several instructions. The first, to be here as the sun set, was obeyed. The second; have you prepared yourself? Prepared your body?"

"Yes, Lord." I knew better than to answer more than asked.

"Prepared your soul?" The blood music ignored my own voice, but resonated with Lord's as if each syllable echoed through eternity, diminishing with each cycle but never stopping; like the sound of the initial Big Bang that some claim to be able to hear even today.

That was tougher; I had no idea what he'd actually meant. "I, I think so my Lord." The Beast of Music seemed almost to... chuckle at this.

The slap was snake-quick and my right cheek bloomed red. But Lord had cupped his hand and pulled the blow. It stung and it sounded like an explosion, but the pain was minimal; the humiliation, however, was intense. "I did not ask you what that meant and I am sorry, Lord. I, I thought of little else for the week, giving my soul to you and..."

"Enough." No shout or roar, just a command.

"Have you skipped work since?"

"No! No, Lord!"

"Did you go to the office and tell Jack what I instructed you to say?"

"Yes, Lord!" I was over the moon to be able to answer correctly.

"Did he accept your 'organic remedy'?"

"Yes! Exactly as you sai..."

"Enough. Did you {a flutter in the blood music registered} get assigned the Cater-Hughes affair?"

"YES! Yes, Lord!"

"Good, child. Good. And have you met the clients?"

"Yes! I met them and they approved! They are..."

"I know who -- and what -- they are. Stay silent for a moment." The coals in his eyes flared, a crackled red beneath the shadow of ashes. "You have done... as instructed." I nearly fainted with relief.

"Your sex was not to touch another, not to be touched by another. Has it been so?"

"YES! Yes, oh, yes, Lord!" The blood music peaked with my own excitement at giving 'good' answers.

"You were not to attempt to reach orgasm. Has it been so?" The depth of the blood harmony changed a little, which should have warned me.

"Yes, um, yes Lord!" The slap this time was brutal, but brief.

"You lie by omission. You watched and watched, desperate to cum, didn't you Jeffrey?"

A mouse squeaked with my voice, "yes."

"You watched day after day and night after night, increasing your arousal to the breaking point?"

A gnat answered, "yes."

"You tried to listen again on Wednesday. Did you do that Jeffrey?"

I could no longer meet those eyes. The Beast's Song seemed almost gleeful, a predator finding his prey with neck stretched, waiting.

"Yes, Lord. I'm so sorr..."

A series of fore- and backhand slaps brought my eyes back to His. In a flash of memory, I lunged forward and began to kiss and thank Lord, Lord's hand and Lord's palm for the cleansing punishment I deserved, eyes locked to His glowing orbs. The blood melody liked that and simmered.

"And I corrected you."

"Yes, Lord!"

"And you knew that meant you could watch (even though that tempted you toward orgasm) but not to listen." The music throbbed.

"Yes, Lord! YES!"

"And you did not listen again?" The music soared.

"NO, Lor... ohmygodohmygodohmygod." The music rejoiced in my failure. "I, I, I, took the mic last night. The blinds were CLOSED! I couldn't SEE! I was in such nee..."

My face exploded in pain with a sustained series of blows rained down, the Beast's concert now so loud that it was like a rock venue.

I was sobbing incoherently, lips bruised and swollen, face red and wet with tears, when Lord suddenly stood back.

"I told you to prove yourself this week. I told you to prove that you were worthy of my attention and perhaps, just perhaps, also worthy of God. DID YOU?"

I was inconsolable with grief. I had thrown away the prize I wanted beyond rubies or parl. I had failed. "NO! Oh, GOD, I am so sorry! NO!" The blood song mocked me, singing with a saccharine sweetness.

"Do you deserve a second chance?" Lord almost spat at me.

I cannot honestly say where the response came from. I was far beyond rational thought, must less machinations and ploys.

"NO! I am not worthy! I am worthless! But I, I, I beg you and God to give me the mercy I don't deserve! I am useless and a failure and a disgrace. But, I beg you! Please, PLEASE!" I was a weepy, inchoate, amorphous mass of jelly at Lord's feet by this point. My world was dissolved. My every dream had crashed by my own selfishness.

"An interesting proposition," Lord purred. "Do you think that you could redeem yourself?"

"YES! I don't deserve the chance, but I will do EVERYTHING! ANYTHING! to serve you, to serve you and GOD!"

"So be it." The music crashed and boomed.

I hiccoughed to a stunned silence. Huh?

"You will return tomorrow for your... correction. Your transgression is neither forgotten nor forgiven. Your selfishness has sinned against me, against God and against your own hopes, dreams and aspirations. Can you be salvaged in service of the Lord and of your God? I doubt it. You remain nothing more than Jeffrey. Return tomorrow at the same time. Take no food between now and then. Do not seek, attempt or accept pleasure. Stay chaste. Stay remorseful. Stay pure. Think ion what you have done and what you should have done instead.

"And add one name to the Carter-Hughes guest list, Jeffrey. The name is Darius Rostami. Add Darius Rostami to the list of guests. There will not be an extra person because one of the invitees will not attend. Darius Rostami, Jeffrey, Darius Rostami."

"Darius, Lord." "Rostami, Lord." "Darius Rostami, Lord."

"Yes, Jeffrey. Return at the same time tomorrow and tell me that all of the following are true: You have taken no food. You have not sought pleasure. You have not attempted to gain pleasure. You have not accepted pleasure offered. You have stayed chaste. You have stayed remorseful. You have stayed pure. You have added Darius Rostami to the Carter-Hughes guest list.

"If every one of those is true, Jeffery, God has told me that we will reconsider. We may give you a mission and a name, Jeffrey. Is any one of those things is untrue, do not return. And you will never see into the Temple again."

I was weeping and grovelling at this miraculous chance.

Suddenly, Lord was gone and the candles were out save for two to the sides of the portal. I dragged myself up, stumbled through the heavy door and pulled my clothes haphazardly onto my body. I obviously made it across Temple Street and into my flat because I woke there the next morning. For the first night in memory, I had not dreamed.

I knew that, above all, I needed to find out what Lord could give me. The need burned in me. The blood music ran my pulse. I cleaned and dressed for the day and worked like a demon. I build the security dossier on Darius Rostami. Persian, father briefly exiled Mosaddegh before being welcomed back when British and American operation put Pahlavi back as the Shah, at which point the elder Rostami became a shadowy but close advisor. Darius born during that period, but was at school (Harrow, House Druries) when the shah was deposed and Darius' father and mother vanished in the Islamic revolution. I flagged the dossier for standard protocols for a target of Islamic extremists, but at a low level.

He read Cultural History at Aberdeen then specialised in Religious Diffusion in the Ancient World at (of all places) the University of Minnesota before returning to England. Now a fairly-prominent art dealer, specialising in legally-exported pieces from prehistoric Middle East. I bumped up the level for Islamists as IS specifically targeted that type of art for destruction. Financially secure in the extreme, with no family contestation since he had been an only child and his father's wealth was in UK banks when he presumably died. No wife, but linked to the "expected" string of B-Listers. No known offspring. Nothing else really of interest. Since about half the guest list was at low-to-moderate interest to Islamists, Darius would not cause any sort of stir, and the other planners had been briefed to expect guest changes.

I stumbled through the rest of the day. Lord's instruction to eat nothing was becoming a challenge. This time, I took His words at their most restrictive and had nothing but water. That meant no coffee. That meant no beer as well as food itself. I was in a right state by mid-afternoon. About the third time I bit the head from an intern, Audrey stuck her own head around the wall.

"You want to tell me why you're being an arse or should I begin guessing?"

Of the many things that I do poorly, blushing is well up the list. I end up looking like the featured treat at Wimbledon, strawberries and clotted cream; huge and near-random splotches of glowing red surrounded by bloodless white swirls. Audrey laughed. "Out with it, you!"

"I, um," inventing wildly, "you know I've been under the weather for the last week and the herbalist suggested I cleanse. I'd not done it before and thought it was worth a try, so nothing but water for 24 hours."

"What? WATER? Water does not have caffeine! Water does not have, oh my god, ALCOHOL! What were you thinking?"

We laughed. Audrey retreated and I forcefully got myself back under control. I apologised as the interns that I'd savaged filed past at day's end before wrapping up myself and heading homeward. Oddly, the absence of food and "normal drugs" like caffeine and alcohol disrupted the desperate jitters of the week. I was almost cogent as I prepared myself (enema, shower, manscaping) and instead of frenetic stress, I was able to sit and do some calming exercises to prepare my non-physical parts for my meeting with my Lord. The Temple glowed as I looked across Temple Street with anticipation tinged with fear, awe and need.

I arrived at 7:00 and stripped, then opened the door and came again into the Nave. As the previous night, the glitter and glimmer of ensconced candles gave the room a warm if threatening glow. As I stepped into the nave, I felt the Beast of the Music purr behind me as the pace and intensity increased. Lord was again in front of me without me noticing how or from whence he entered. The same imperious gesture and I was kneeling before him.

"Why are you here?"

I knew better than to hesitate. "To serve you and God if you will accept me. And to atone." The blood music gained in tempo.

"Why did you fail to join me and God last night." Each word flowed into and around the blood melody, caressing and caressed by the Beast's Song.

"I, I was selfish and needy and unworthy of your, or God's, consideration. I am sorry, and beg..." The blood music throbbed stronger.

"I know what you beg. Answer only what I ask." His voice was stern but gentle, like a loving father or favourite teacher. "Have you taken food since we spoke last?"

"No, Lord, only water."

"Have you sought pleasure?"

"No, Lord." The Beast of Music purred, contented.

"Have you attempted to please your mind or body?"

"No, Lord."

"Have you accepted pleasure from another?"

"No, Lord."

"Have you been remorseful?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Have you been pure in thought?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Is Darius Rostami on the Carter-Hughes guest list?"

"Yes, Lord!"

"Have you thought about your transgression and how you can improve?"

"I've thought of little else, Lord."

"Do you think that you can be salvaged in service to me and God?"

"Yes! Yes, Lord!" Again, the blood music surged.

"Do you think you deserve forgiveness for your transgressions?"

I sensed the trap there instantly. I longed to say that, yes, I deserved to enter His service, but I knew better. For the first time since kneeling, I let my eyes fall to His feet.

"No, Lord, I am still unworthy. Please tell me how I can redeem myself and be worthy to serve you." The depth of the blood melody swelled.

Lord said nothing until I again met his eyes. They glowed with a redder, more lustful fire.

"You will feel punishment. You will prove yourself through tasks. Are you ready to commit to me and God without hesitation, reservation or promise of relief, release or reprieve?"

"YES, Lord! Yes, with all my soul, yes!"

"Lean forward. You will need sustenance for what is to come." My heart beat as wildly as the blood music itself. I watched as the fulfilment of my deepest needs approached me. God in all his glory waved seductively beneath my nose. I somehow knew better than reach out or to move. The scent was intoxicating, overpowering. It was the primal male, masculinity distilled and purified, wafting from God and assaulting my desperate and welcoming senses.

I opened my mouth and Lord inserted God between my lips. I began to suckle, contentment and utter completion swept me. A pulse of nectar, potent and inescapable, lashed my tongue. A second and a third left me high on lust and need and adoration. My world collapsed as Lord withdrew and God slipped from my drooling lips.

"That will be enough for what is to come."

I found myself standing and moving in Lord's wake, not to the sanctum but to the back of the nave, and area I could never see from my window. Most of the walls were tiled with stone, but this wall was aged oak, studded and bound with black iron. My hands simply knew where they belonged and soon I was secured, arms above me fastened at the wrist and legs spread fastened at the ankle. Lord stood back.

"You will see me again tonight, Jeffrey. But I will not be the one to administer your penance. You have not earned that right."

A block of ice plunged through my stomach. I was desperate for Lord's touch, even in punishment or anger. My body craved His own, hungered for His dominance, thirsted for His attention, in any form no matter how painful. And I was denied. I shrank under the weight of my sin, my worthlessness, my unworthiness.

My head snapped back up when I sensed movement from the door of the sanctum into which Lord had disappeared. The surge of elation at His return evaporated like mist when I saw Worm, now Adsensus, head bowed and tentative, approaching me.

He spoke. "We are both to be punished. I sinned! I sinned so badly that Lord will not even touch me to relieve it. I am instead relegated to punishing you, and doing so in a way that Lord knows I least enjoy."

I watched as this Olympic-style stud came closer. It was undeniable that he was a potent man in his own right, though now in service and submission to the Lord and to God. His eyes finally met mine and I could see the loathing for both himself and me, both of us sinners and both needing punishment. A shiver ran through me. The idea of what this man would do to me, what tortures he had been instructed to use, was ice down my spine.

Without losing eye contact, Adsensus dropped to his knees. I gasped as he reached out to my cock, what had ruled my universe for the last week. Every need, every lust, every dream, every denied orgasm came calling to present its own long-overdue bill. Instead, this man was going to hurt it, and me, in punishment for my inexcusable lapse. Adsensus caressed me and I shuddered.

Memory... "Your sex is not to touch or be touched by another."

"NO!" I screamed. The blood music swelled and the Beast seemed to chuckle. "Please, no! I won't sin again. Don't touch me!"

Memory... "Do not seek, attempt or accept pleasure." I felt Adsensus' tongue touch my glans and groaned.

"Stop! Now. Do not do this. Punish me, but not in a way that makes my sin worse! Give, g, give me pain, and give it anywhere but there!"

Memory... "You will not attempt to reach orgasm." The man's lips circled my cock and the tongue snaked inside my skin.

Adsensus pulled back. "I am to confess to you, to make my failure and humiliation complete. I, like you, were forbidden from seeking any pleasure. I was forbidden from allowing anything to penetrate this ass that belongs solely and forever to God. I FAILED!" Worm was weeping. "I don't, don, don't suck cock. Lord told me to do so for five men and sw, swallow them. It killed me but, but I did it! The last of the men I needed to please per the orders of Lord was... unsatisfied." I saw the disgust wash across his face. "I, I was not g, good enough. He was large and he, he, he TOOK ME!"

I felt for Adsensus, a victim twice: He was taken against his will which also violated his oath. That sympathy paled a bit and the blood music relished what was to come, "...and he made me cum with his cock in my ass! He plundered me, probing and probing and probing that one place that I needed so, SO badly, that Lord promised me that God and only God would ever caress. AND I CAME!" The last was a wracked sob, but Adsensus sobered.

"And now, now so must you."

I was aghast but also so fucking horny I would have banged a goat. Then it flashed back to me. I could not allow myself to reach orgasm. I had sworn. I began to beg Adsensus to stop as he began to pleasure me. I screamed and pleaded. The blood chorus mocked me, rising and falling in cruel mimicry of my own cries. I tried to pull myself from his luscious, succulent lips. He would not be denied.

I could feel his tongue lick my balls when he got my cock down his throat. He licked past his teeth to tickle and tease my desperate orbs. He swallowed over and over and over, massaging my glans and frenulum as I cursed him and begged him to stop. I screamed for mercy from Lord, that he not force me to betray him. The Beat of Music would have none of it and the tempo swelled and the basso rumble deepened.

Adsensus' eyes bore into mine. He hated what he was told to do unto me, and hated me for reaching the pleasure that he was denied. Mercy? There would be no mercy here, far from it. The anger and frustration blazed in his eyes as he began to pull up, flutter and lick and caress the head, then slowly plunge back to the root, caressing my prick with his mouth and tongue and throat. Even as I protested, I knew that my body demanded this release, oaths and promises be damned. The itch that I'd denied for the week through the visual temptations and torments was about to be scratched. The desperate need that had built and built and BUILT...

I screamed in agony and ecstasy as Adsensus pushed me beyond my most resolute attempt to resist, far over the edge and into oblivion. The blood music's crescendo was complete and intense. The orgasm that rocketed through me was like nothing I'd experienced. I was cumming from every nerve, exploding from every pore, screaming my lungs out in exultation. And Adsensus never stopped staring into my eyes or ceased his ministrations.

I came for an eternity and was brought back, gasping and heaving for air. What rocked me was the pleasure-pain of post-orgasmic over-sensitisation as Adsensus, far from pulling back, intensified his efforts. The Beast's Song laughed and the blood tune danced in my ears. This time, my screams and pleas took on a new character. I was going out of my mind, bound to the wall and helpless as Adsensus' eyes burned into me. I wept and cried and begged incoherently.

Then it happened. I sensed it building and howled in denial and rejection. I'd swollen again and Adsensus went back to the deep-shallow-deep pattern that set fire to every nerve. I felt it then, his finger teased my hole. I whimpered and squealed in protest and desperate need. I tried to buck that torturous mouth off me, only succeeding in throat-fucking the man before me then driving that finger deep into my gut when I pulled back. That enflaming every touch, every nerve ending, every forbidden fantasy. His digit found my prostate and began to prod and probe and pinch. Over and over, Adsensus took me fore and aft, driving every pleasure centre in my world until finally I screamed again as the cum was yanked from my body against all my efforts to prevent it.

And he continued. For the length of a lifetime, Adsensus nursed and teased and stroked and finger-fucked me. His tongue would French my piss-slit, he would add a corkscrew motion to his probing finger or caressing hands. If my erection flagged, he pinched and teased my nipples until it resumed. If I seemed lost in sensation, he raised gooseflesh as he stroked my inner thighs or tickled below my armpits. His eyes never left mind, he was humiliated and horrified, but was also relishing the torment he was inflicting as we punished each other to the relentless beat of the blood music.

My fifth orgasm left me literally hanging limp and sobbing uncontrollably. The peaks of pleasure and pain had wrecked me. My mind was lost in a pleasure-torture haze and I was frankly insensate when Adsensus finally stepped away. I just moaned and sobbed. I distantly felt hands release my restraints. In a dream-universe, I felt myself carried to the sanctum and laid in the bed. I laid there for time indeterminate and heard Lord's rumbled words and Adsensus' pleading answers.

A sudden gasp of delight brought me close enough to awareness that I could watch God claim Adsensus' willing, oh-so-willing, anus. Lord's muscles writhed to the beat of the blood chorus as he fucked the weeping-with-joy acolyte harder and harder to a spectacular anal orgasm, then another. Adsensus wept and kissed Lord's feet and lovingly licked the dick- and ass-slime from God, continuing to grovel and thank them both for their blessing.

Lord's growl and purr of a voice gave Adsensus his instructions and admonitions for the week, then sent him on his way. Lord turned to me and my consciousness finally clicked into place.

"You have done well, tonight, little Jeffrey. You refused to surrender yourself to the selfish pleasure that you craved and fought bravely to deny your body the release it required." Love, adoration, relief and determination flooded me like the fire of the most potent whisky. "You have, indeed, done well.

"Your Lord and your God are pleased with you, enough to give you your name and the start of your mission.

"Do you know what drew you here?"

I tried to mumble about the window; somehow Lord knew what I my wordless utterance meant.

"Yes, your voyeurism and lust brought you to us, and you belong to us. Your abilities as well as your weaknesses and vices will serve me and, through me, God. Does this please you?"

A weak but coherent "OH! YES!" were my first words since around my third orgasm under Adsensus' tender mercies.

"You will need a name, for neither Jeffrey by which you were born nor Cory by which you choose to be known reflect who and what you are in your service to Us.

"You are Urkkija. It is an ancient word. You are one who watches, one who reports, one who observes but neither condemns nor participates. You are Urkkija, Spy of Lord and God."

"Urkkija," I murmured. The name encased me like a mantle of warmth and affirmation. "Urkkija. Spy for Lord and God. I am Urkkija, Lord. I am yours, Lord, and I am yours, God."

Lord pulled me off the bed and onto my knees.

"This is your God," Lord intoned as he presented his massive and throbbing phallus to me; the Beast of Music took interest. "Are you willing to worship your God? Worship me and attend to the whims of your God?" The urgent throbbing rhythm intensified, compelling, essential, demanding. "You failed your first test; can you swear that you will not fail again?" I tried to speak but found myself mute.

"Once this God accepts your adoration, there is no return. There is no retreat. You give your soul to this God and you must accept every word from me, your Lord, as the ultimate law. Each is the word of your God." The force of the blood-music deepened, pulsed, demanded. "Can you make that commitment?"

Power of speech restores, I cried openly, "Yes, Lord, YES! Yes, you are my Lord and He is my God!"

"Monday is your Sabbath. You will dedicate yourself each Monday evening as the sun sets until the sun rises on Tuesday to the direct and immediate service of your God. You will keep your personal Sabbath holy for your Lord and your God. You will serve Us at all times and in all things for the rest of this life, but your Sabbath is holy and sacrosanct. You will cleanse your body and your soul beforehand. You will be clean and ready for your God and for your Lord when you arrive, ready and unhesitant willing to fulfil any command. Nothing may interfere with that oath. Nothing. Can you do these things?"

"Yes, Lord, for my God I will do these things."

"In the next week, you will record five men in the most sacred and animalistic of rites, their orgasm. All must be strangers, and none must be paid or induced. None may know that you are recording them or later that the recording exists. Their faces, their sex and, if not alone, those of their partners must be clear, and their sacramental moment must be preserved. Can you do these things?"

"Yes, Lord, for my God I will do these things."

"Lastly, and most-importantly for you who have already disobeys, you will never cum again without your God's permission. Unlike some acolytes, you may be blessed with that privilege outside the Temple, but only with the knowing and explicit instruction of Me, your Lord, or this, your God. If you cum, by your hand, by the ministrations of another or even in your sleep, you will have committed a mortal sin against your God and your Lord WILL know, and will exact retribution. You know this as you witnessed Our retribution, at its gentlest and most-merciful, this evening. You may give pleasure to those who seek it at your discretion, but you will never accept such pleasure, either in return or as a gift. Can you do these things?"

"Yes, Lord, for my God I will do these things." I was breathless at the phrase, 'gentlest and most-merciful'; I had hoped to die before that cum-torment ended. I swallowed hard to imagine what worse punishments would entail.

"You in your soul know more rules than these. From these simple strictures, you can extrapolate what your God demands and what your Lord expects. I, your Lord, will punish transgressions but you must never, ever expect boons if you give nothing more than that which has been demanded, nor from mere abstention from sin. To please your God, you will do more than obey; you will divine His desires and fulfil them without hesitation or reservation. Can you do these things?"

"Yes, Lord, for my God I will do these things."

"Think over what you have learned. Return on your next Sabbath, to this place at the appointed time, and present yourself, your deeds and your soul for examination. You have proven yourself unworthy this week and your soul rests on tenterhooks at the mercy of your God. You entered this place today a nothing, and thus you will become again if you fail us in the slighted thing. You have accepted, embraced and dedicated yourself to your God and to me, your Lord. You will now seal your commitment with the ultimate sacrament."

Lord leant forward and God entered my mouth as it had at the top of the evening. A blood chorus swelled and pulsed, deep, insistent, low, strong. Unlike before, I knew my obligation and began to worship that mammoth cock. My eyes never left those of Lord, mine adoring and his with increasing glow. I took him deep and shallow; I tongued his taint and balls whilst caressing his length and girth; I nursed at his swollen sac or his meaty foreskin; I plunged quickly, slowly, lovingly, demandingly. Finally, Lord began to pant and God to throb and Lord's eyes began to move from the glow of banked coals to an open, all-consuming flame. I went to the root, burying God as deeply in my gullet as science would allow and kept rooting and pushing to consume every millimetre, swallow every excretion, relish in each sensation.

The Beast of Music howled in triumph and the blood melody crashed like storm-waves on the rocks. I was rewarded and God's seed flowed into me. It was in my throat and then gone, to enflame my entire body. Lord's eyes illuminated the room as I felt my own skin and muscle glow with the power of God's seed.

A quiet roar, a thundering whisper, an unquestioning command, "Urkkija, go forth and do your God's, and your Lord's bidding."

Author's Note: I knew that Jeffrey would fail for Lord set him on that path. I knew that Adsensus would fail as well. What I didn't know was how Lord would extract their punishment. Two Davids decided it. One planted the seed of repetitive-orgasm-as-penalty. The other noted how indescribably-humiliating it is for a Dom who has submitted to a greater Master, for that Master to force him to serve someone he would normally have found utterly unworthy of his attentions (more so in a most-subservient in an act he detests). THANK YOU! Note that YOUR Kink List might make this story and others better.