Shauna's Tattoo

The moment I saw you, I knew you. On lunch break from your depressing office job somewhere nearby. There you were, searching the hallowed halls of Office Max for an organizer. Of course, I knew you were in search of a great deal more. My blackened, eternal presence is possessed of the finest radar. It senses that void, that emptiness, that unmistakable longing with pinpoint precision. And besides, you looked the part. Black, sexy dress, jet-black hair, ultra-hot black patent leather high heels; a dark angel indeed. Your tattoos signified on even higher levels. On the outside of your beautiful, muscular calf, which burst incarnate from below your lovely knee like some other-worldly diamond perched above those glorious black spikes; there, a red heart with black trim. An inscription I couldn’t make out. On the inner calf a nebula of small, scattered black shapes strewn in such an intricate and compelling pattern. Yes, it was you. You were there for a reason. You had chosen noticeable, branded legs and, my mind kindled, I was compelled to wonder if there weren’t more delicious insignias hiding a little farther toward the equator.

I spoke with you briefly at checkout. You remember. I asked and you told. The inscription read: ‘Mommy & Daddy’s Girl.’ We chatted on the way out, and you admitted to liking younger guys. Maybe not as young as I, you said by way of clarification, but of course, you’d never been hit on by an immortal before. Sometimes this job is just too easy.
“But they’re going to be pissed if I can’t come back to the office. They’re pretty strict.”
Your voice, so low and seductive. Your name, Shauna, music to my ears.
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure you. “It’ll be fine.”
You don’t know me or trust me, but you believe me. You tell them you haven’t been well all morning, and now it’s getting worse. “I really should go home for the afternoon.” To your amazement, they’re fine with it, just as I said.

Your apartment is perfect. It’s all Punk’d out, Goth’d out, maximum dark. My approval makes you giggle; raspy, throaty, divine. I have the feeling you’re already well up on the drill.
“I must confess, I’m feeling a little confused,” you say, smiling. “I would say ‘this isn’t like me’ but it sounds so stupid.”
I just watch and listen.
“Perhaps something to drink,” I suggest.
You have pretty much everything, but we settle on wine.
“Wine is perfect for romance,” I add.
“Romance,” you echo curiously.
We sit down in your small, cozy living room and it’s time for me to go to work. I can already feel your ample, solid body pressing against mine. Sipping the wine. Beautiful. You are beautiful, and I watch as you become one with the moment. So much you want to know, but it will have to wait. You understand on some level.

A strange sensation, nothing seen so much as felt. My eyes to yours. Mirrors of the soul and all. You look at me so coldly now and light your cigarette. A bigger drink of your wine and you indicate ‘refill.’ I am happy to comply.
“I’ll be right back,” you say. “And take off those clothes.”
You disappear into your bedroom and I am left with the onset of suspense that signals the real beginning of this little tête-à-tête. It never ceases to amaze me how little must actually be done in these situations. It is as though I merely plant the tiniest seed and her splendid, impeccable mind does the rest. She is so ready to come alive with Satan’s pure grace, which already resides so deeply within her subconscious, and so far, in the freshness of my recent incarnation, I find THAT to be the most beautiful thing. The fact that all this power is simply dormant there in these spectacular women. All I have to do is ‘brush them with my wings’ to awaken it.

But then comes the more complex part. In order for an encounter to succeed on every level it is crucial that I ‘suspend’ my powers once I have opened the psychic doorway. The spark of Master’s spirit has entered into her. She is alive now with new, dark possibilities and attitudes. She has experienced a quite sudden moment of enlightenment and is divinely aware of who she is and of the depth of her power. It is left to me to ‘fall back,’ suspending my own powers and allowing Jamie to operate on his own for the remainder of the encounter. In time, this exceptional woman will be able to hold her own with any demon or warlock you’d care to name, but for her initiation, she will fare much more effectively if she exercises her power over a truly mortal form. She’ll enjoy it more as well. I’ll have to remove myself from his being for the moment, and leave Jamie to his own devices. Of course, I’ll be right here, floating ‘round the room, you might say, experiencing the entire affair more or less vicariously. That doesn’t mean it’s second hand for me. It’s absolutely real, it’s just that it’s experienced in another dimension; on another plane. Master has likened this phenomenon to astral projection, in which the soul or spirit leaves the body, yet remains conscious of all that is happening to it.

You emerge on fire from that bedroom. I am so proud of you…even as Jamie is so terrified of you; that’s what we always go through. You wear a black corset with hot red trim, exquisite, black thigh-highs held lusciously in place with black garter straps from the corset. Insane 5-inch heels; black, and sharp as daggers. Your body, a dream. Strong, pudgy thighs; baby fat on top with lots of strong muscle below. I hadn’t noticed your breasts as much. They are milk-white mountains now spilling magnificently over the cups of that divine corset, which must be a size and half too small. I am stunned by your presence. Bravo, Shauna. Now, I must describe things in the third person as they happened to the possessed initiate, Jamie Brett.

You start with a few basic orders; more wine, light your cigarette, kiss your feet, lick your shoes clean. Jamie’s in love. Then, the spirit begins to take hold.
“I have been thinking a lot lately about getting a dog. But then again, maybe I don’t need one. Or rather, maybe I already HAVE one!”
You look him over disapprovingly and the fear begins to come.
“Of course, you don’t look like a dog. I’ve never seen a dog as ugly and disgusting-looking as you.”
You walk across the small room, your phenomenal ass completely exposed below the rim of your corset. Nothing but the lacy thong-bottom beneath that. Your movements are devastating, crippling. He is frozen, watching you slink to the small table by the door where you take up the morning paper. You roll it up and smack it into your palm.
“I don’t know if I could truly do with having such a fucking ugly mutt for a dog,” you say. “But I guess we better make sure first that you ARE a dog! Now, let’s see…aha! One thing dogs are known for is drinking out of the toilet. Do YOU drink out of the toilet, little Jamie?”
He nodded.
“Mmm, but dogs also communicate by barking,” you laugh. “So, let’s hear a little doggie communication. Go ahead. Impress me.”
He’s not about to fuck around with you. He starts right in with ‘woof-woofs’ and ‘bow-wows,’ with a few whimpers thrown in for good measure. Your laughter is hoarse, foreboding, so sexy.
“Well, at least you sound like a dog. Maybe I’ll get used to your ugly mug. “OK, let’s see if you drink out of toilets. Come on.”

You lead him to the bathroom as he begins to unravel from the sight of your unspeakably hot body. With each powerful step you take, the intense weight of it presses down hard into those devilish high heels causing them to squeak. The smell of your legs, the sight of your legs, the squeak, squeak, squeak of your shoes. His cock is throbbing in ecstasy now. In the bathroom, you stand next to the toilet and point downward. You are the divine goddess.
“Let me see you drink,” you say.
He goes all the way in. He laps and laps. He hears your whiskey voice giggling. He sees your powerful legs within inches of his face.
“Well, I guess you’re a fucking dog,” you laugh. “Of course, I don’t tolerate dogs drinking from my fucking toilet, so you’ll need to learn your first housebreaking lesson.”
You jerk his head out of the toilet by the hair.
“Bad dog!” you say, smacking him hard across the face with that rolled-up newspaper. He whelps.
“I said, BAD DOG!” You slam him again. The sight of you, bent over him that way; your leg flesh quivering with each imperious shift of your body and even more deliciously each time the paper finds its mark; your tits bouncing incomprehensibly with each strong and painful blow; everything about you now has him reeling. His dick throbs harder, dribbling pre-cum. You smack it hard with the newspaper and the goo splatters. Not good.

“Look at that!” you scream. “You got fucking cum on my bathroom floor! BAD DOG!”
More hard shots with that newspaper before you grab him by the hair and rub his nose in it.
“Now lick it up! Lick it up until it’s TOTALLY SPOTLESS!”
Still clutching him by the hair, you snap his head back, looking deeply into his eyes.
“Do you have anything to say to me?” you ask.
“I-I’m sorr—“
CRRRACK! That paper, so hard across poor Jamie’s face.
“Dogs can’t talk!” you exclaim. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Now he’s not sure what to do, but he assumes it’s some sort of doggie whimpering, which he tries to launch into. Only the slightest sound passes his lips before you’ve shoved his head down into the toilet. This time, you hold it there.
“Maybe this will teach you not to talk to me like that. If you’re a fucking dog, all you do is bark and cry, got it?!”
You’re not letting him up. He needs fucking air. Reaching crisis point. He makes out your yelling, but not the words. You wait until he breaks and the water enters his lungs before jerking him out forcefully. Coughing and gagging; convulsions of the body trying to expel the water. You’re thrilled, delighted with his agony.
“You know what? I don’t even particularly like to keep a dog in the house. I think it’s far preferable to keep your ugly ass outside. That way, I don’t have to worry about cum-stains on my floor, plus the house won’t smell. Come on, you’re going outside.”

You toss him backwards and begin kicking the shit out of him to get him moving towards the back door.
“Stop your fucking coughing and complaining, my little Pig-Dog! You’re not going to die, though The Devil knows you deserve to. Come on, move it!”
He crawls as fast as he can, still hacking from the water inhalation.
“Shut up,” you warn.
The sharp points of your divine high heel shoes; the even sharper points of the heels themselves against his body. You move ahead of him to open the back door and he looks up at your exquisite form.
“Don’t you eyeball me, Pig-Dog!” You smack him hard with the paper, and then give him a punishing bare backhand across the face. Your face, sinfully gorgeous as he falls to the floor, cracking his head open on the doorjamb.

Your back yard is small and completely open. An alley runs behind it and there is a small empty lot before you get to the concrete wall around the neighbor’s yard on one side. On the other neighbor’s side a row of small trees is all that stands between your space and theirs. There is no place to hide here.
“You know good and well that I had no plans for bringing a dog home today, so I don’t have a proper leash for you. But you sit right here on the step while I look for something.”
You shut the door in his face. He sits there naked on your tiny back step. He sits curled up with his arms locked around his shins hoping maybe no one will notice. Just then some kids come into view from down the alley. They eye Jamie curiously, but can’t really see that he’s naked. They’re busy playing with each other and, thankfully, they move on. All around he hears doors opening and closing, screen doors slamming shut, cars starting, people talking; activity everywhere. He grips his folded legs even tighter, begging Satan to make them all go away.

That’s when you came back to the door. You remember, Shauna. You said that all you could find was this old pair of handcuffs, which you wore as part of your Punk attire from time to time. “But, guess what?” you say. “They’re regulation. These fuckers’ll hold you tight for sure. Now I’m going to go ahead and go back to work for the afternoon. There’s no point in sitting around here with your sorry ass. I don’t know what I was thinking. But first, come inside. I have something for you.”

Obediently, Jamie crawls back into the kitchen. “I wanted to leave you with something to remember me by until I get home,” you say. Then you lifted a hard knee into his mid-section, which doubled him over and sent him crashing straight to the floor. His face jammed into the linoleum with his full body weight behind it, almost snapping his neck in the whiplash. As he flips over onto his back, you drop down with your full weight, ramming your knee hard into his throat. As his body begins to flail, you snatch his head between your strong, sexy legs and apply a vicious scissor-hold with his face planted squarely up your ass. The whole time, you laugh like the wicked demoness you’ve suddenly become. Jamie’s esophagus has been crushed, and now he is being cruelly smothered, his head buried in your fragrant womanhood. He tastes the delectable brine of your cunt even as his nose eagerly glories in the coveted, musky scent between your ass cheeks as you hold him tightly, helplessly in place.

Your legs are powerful beyond his wildest imaginings and you proceed to crush his skull; nonchalantly, effortlessly, a childlike cackle ushering from your rusted throat as he suffers further. Shaking, convulsing, clutching at your giantess legs, he tries helplessly and hopelessly to free himself. Inside his poor head, he can hear his skull cracking under the pressure. You must hear it too because your laughter increases. He continues bucking and kicking for another moment or so before the pain is too much and he falls out of consciousness. As you stand up over him, you kick him repeatedly, pricking him all over with the points of those high heels until he stirs ever-so-slightly. “Get up!” you yell. The back door is open wide. “Get your ass out of here!”
He can’t manage, so you drag him by the hair out to the step where you snap the handcuffs on his wrist, locking the other end onto the piping that goes to the utility meter.
“If you break this, or in any way fuck it up before I get home, you’ll no longer be a fucking dog, you’ll be a dead duck!”
With that, you slap the piss out of him and go back inside. He watches your intense, glorious body shimmy and sway on your way in and feels like the luckiest demon in the world to be right here at this moment in time. A few people noticed Jamie during the course of the long afternoon, but not one asked if he needed help or what was going on or anything like that. The most attention they paid to him came in the form of snickering, laughing and joking. You came home from work with wet and dry dog food. You mixed it so nicely into a new pet store bowl set, which also had a receptacle for water. You never spoke to him or played with him except when you felt pissed off and wanted something to beat up and punish. He took a great deal of precious abuse from you. He remained your faithful, naked, little dog; eating his dog food, sleeping in the dirt next to that utility meter and getting his ass kicked by you on a regular basis. Your brand of humiliation was unique indeed, and he shall always treasure you for it. Eventually, of course, I was compelled to return to Jamie and it was time to move on. There are always more young women desperately in need of conversion, and more delightful and diverse situations for me to experience with them. I’ll think of you fondly, Shauna, in the eternal Darkness of The Shadows, and I'll remember how it all started, staring at your delightful calves and that hot tattoo. You may once have been Mommy & Daddy’s Girl, but from this day forward, you shall have only one Father; Satan himself. May your era be one of joy and boundless experience. Eternally yours, Marduk.

How It All Began (Conclusion)

DESTINATION: UNKNOWN


The two women laughed together and suddenly whatever this was, this thing inside him began causing him great internal pain. It seemed to be ripping at his musculature, attacking his organs, especially his stomach. He felt sure he was going to throw up as he fell to his knees. The women's laughter grew louder and they walked over to him, their high heels clacking sharply on the marble floor. Even through the intense pain, that sound caused him another extraordinary feeling of arousal. They clopped right over in front of him and stood over his now prostrate form. He clutched his stomach from a more or less fetal position and looked up at the mind-boggling forms of the women's ungodly legs towering up above him. Somehow, he actually whimpered. It was unthinkable that he was becoming excited again with this force, this energy, this excruciating pain basically shredding his guts from within. Then Mistress Sharona stepped over his body and stood with her legs on either side of his head and glared down at him with her beaming, black, jeweled eyes. As he looked helplessly up at those huge towers of leg, the stockings leading so far upward to those plump, milky thighs and then the black lace panties knifing between them and spreading onto the vast expanse of her glorious ass, the feelings within him began to change abruptly. The pain seemed to be easing as quickly and evenly as it had come upon him. His cock was now standing again at rapt attention, leaking light streams of his precious fluid in synch with his heartbeat.

Mistress Sharona smiled down upon him, those black eyes now hypnotizing him, or so it seemed. The feeling inside was now turning from what he was sure was death to something completely other; something powerful, something dark and mysterious...something infinitely desirable.
‘Go ahead,' said Mistress Sharona. With that, Mistress Monica dropped down on his stiffened cock and began to fuck him hard. Smooth; Rhythmical. Her own black demon's eyes bored in upon him. He kept looking up at Mistress Sharona's crotch as she fucked him and was quickly on the verge of another explosion. Then Mistress Monica jumped off and crawled back to admire his throbbing manhood up close. She watched gleefully as the pre-cum oozed out, helping it along by rubbing it up and down on the shaft, careful not to let him blow just yet. Then, she took him into her mouth, joyfully slurping down his fluid and expertly bringing him to climax.
‘Oh God, Oh God!' he screamed. ‘Shit! Somebody help me!'
The women both got a good laugh at that as the cum that Mistress Monica hadn't swallowed dripped down off her lower lip onto his stomach. She then returned to a standing position over the boy and the two seemed to be observing him anxiously. Meanwhile, as the intensity of the second orgasm began to recede, the strange feeling inside the boy continued to intensify. The women smiled, looked at each other approvingly, and then turned to go toward the doorway. Even at this moment, the boy continued to ogle Mistress Sharona's ass as she walked away, exhilarated as ever at the sight of it.

He sat up and looked around the room again. He looked down at his body, trying to see if it looked any different with regard to how different he felt. As the women reached the doorway, the strange man in black had returned and stood with them, and the three began talking in low tones to one another. He went to stand up but before he could make the effort he rose to his feet as if lifted by some invisible power. He felt changed; strong and confident, as if he were a completely new person. Was it just the sex? No. That didn't explain the mystical transformations of the women. Whatever had happened here, the three of them had caused it and he intended now to find out what it was.
As he approached the doorway, his cock still only semi-limp, the three smiled at him. The boy noticed then that the man did not have the black eyes, but looked like a normal, if quite intense, man of 50-something.
‘Take him to the guest room and get him some clothes,' he said softly.
The women each took an arm and led him down the hallway of what was an enormous and beautiful mansion. He kept asking what was happening, where he was, etc, but Mistress Sharona told him to shut up and that he would know all soon enough.

They took him into an elegant bedroom, styled in a surprisingly modern motif considering the more Victorian feel of the hallway area. From a large walk-in closet Mistress Monica brought out a hanger that held a black shirt with red trim and a pair of shiny black pants.
‘Put these on,' she said.
Next, Mistress Sharona brought out a pair of black leather knee-high boots. He continued asking questions, but the women simply would not acknowledge them. ‘You're about to find out,' Mistress Sharona said. ‘Now for the last time, shut your fucking trap!' When he had donned the shirt and pants, Mistress Sharona knelt down and laced up the boots for him. He felt amazing, like some young super hero. He felt empowered, strong, ready in some fashion to take his rightful place in the world.
‘Come on,' said Mistress Sharona. ‘They're waiting for us.'

The women led him down the stairs, across a large sitting room, and down another long hallway until they arrived at a room that was similar in style to the first room with the altar, but considerably larger and better lit. At the far side was an impressive dais, again adorned with all manner of ritual objects. At center stage was a silver throne of quite modern design; simple geometric shapes and angled lines. Behind the dais hung a massive and beautiful pentacle with an exceptionally rendered satanic goat's head in the center. It was an image of such power that you would have sworn the devil himself was looking through the star upon the proceedings. The boy was taken on stage and was seated on the silver throne. As Mistresses Sharona and Monica stood at his sides, the strange man entered from behind the dais and stood facing the boy, smiling eerily. He recited some sort of invocation in that strange language, then bowed submissively and backed away as another beautiful woman made her way to the dais from the opposite side wing. She was a big woman, and gorgeous beyond compare. Her long, jet-black hair was adorned with a crown from which protruded two sharp horns. She was bedecked in all manner of ostentatious jewelry; multiple necklaces, armbands, rings, bracelets and earrings. She wore no top and her breasts were gigantic but perfectly firm. Around her waist was a black garter belt and below that a delicious black thong bottom and the obligatory black nylons with 5-inch black high heels, pencil-thin and tapered to sharp points. The boy was becoming horny all over again as he stared in awe at this extraordinary woman.

As it turned out, the woman was the High Priestess of a Satanic coven of witches. Mistress Sharona, his very own ‘Mrs. Cooper' was a Minor Priestess as was Mistress Monica and their ongoing missions in life were to continue bringing young people into the fold. The boy's continual staring at Mrs. Cooper's legs, of which she was fully aware from the beginning, was the sign of an incorrigible fleshly appetite and orientation and Mrs. Cooper had already brought a few such lads into the group in just this way. More than one had had his cherry popped in the same way as well. The boy sat in amazement as the High Priestess led an elaborate ceremony in which he became a full-fledged initiate in the Realm of Satan, a soul possessed. She said that he would live forever after in the realization that he was legitimately inhabited by an underworld spirit. She explained that the spirit called himself ‘Marduk' and went on to give a considerably detailed account of Marduk's origins and his mission in the world today. When she had finished speaking, the High Priestess ordered the boy to her private chambers where she, too, fucked him until his brains ran out his ears. Quite a day in the life of the young novice.

Further details regarding Marduk's earthly adventures shall be related to you progressively in upcoming entries in this wicked and perverse little sex diary. For yes, it may now be revealed at last that it is indeed I, your faithful narrator, whose story has been told here. My parents named me Jamie Brett, and while I will continue on with that name and in that body, in many ways still living that life, I have also been transformed into an entirely 'other' being. From now until eternity I shall experience the world as a demigod, both human and divine. For you see, during my very first orgasm, Mistress Sharona channeled the ancient spirit of Marduk into my soul, and so it may rightly be said that he and I are the same. We are as one. Marduk is a very old demon, from the early Babylonian Empire and has been at the left hand of Satan himself for thousands of years now. He--that is, I--am the most sensual of entities, and am considered a Bon Vivant Extraordinaire in worldly circles; that is, I will be after a bit more maturation. I shall have an endless appetite for sex as well as for all the other good things in life, and have chosen this forum to relate my delightfully lustful experiences to the world at large. Now that you know ‘How it all Began,' I hope you will stay with me as I regale you with the accounts of my larger-than-life exploits. Rest assured they are, without exception, deliciously sinful! Yours Forever, Marduk

How It All Began (Part III)

THE SEX CULT AND MRS. COOPER

The boy awakened in a strange, dark room to the flickering of candlelight and a peculiar burning smell that seemed at once oddly pleasant and discomforting. He looked around him, back and forth, this way and that, having no idea how he got here nor where he was. He didn't feel the least bit groggy and his mind began racing wildly trying to figure out just what was going on. He couldn't remember anything. He was a blank as to all that came before this moment, and this disturbing fact pressed him with the same intensity as the question of where the hell he was at the moment. Though he was laying on what felt like a smooth marble slab, for some reason he felt sure he hadn't actually been asleep. No, this was not like waking up from a dream. It was not like waking up at all. It was as if he had simply always been in this place. Panicked, he sat up on the slab and took in his surroundings.

It was clear that this room was some sort of ritual chamber. In addition to the slab he had been resting upon, there was also what looked like a marble altar of some kind along the far wall of the room, and long tables along two other walls on which he could see various chalices, bowls, candles, candelabra, and other shiny objects which he couldn't clearly make out. The door was open, and outside it he could see what looked like a normal hallway, most likely upstairs as he could see a banister rail running horizontally a few feet further out. He got up and had to catch himself as his knees almost buckled when he tried to stand.
'What the fuck...?' he exclaimed under his breath. He held onto the slab for a moment or two until at last he could feel the strength returning to his legs and was able to stand comfortably. 'That's a relief,' he thought, starting now toward the hallway. Still a little wobbly, he stepped outside the doorway to see Mrs. Cooper, another woman, and a man approaching from just down the hall.
'Ahh, this must be your young man,' said the man with Mrs. Cooper. They were all wearing black, except that the man's attire consisted of slacks and a dress shirt, while both women wore the hottest, sexiest, most revealing lingerie sets the boy had ever seen.
'That's him,' said Mrs. Cooper.
'Splendid,' said the man. As they reached the door, the man ushered the boy back into the room with a regal wave of his hand and the women followed closely behind.
'Mrs. Cooper,' said the boy, 'where are we? What's going on?'
'Shut up!' she snapped. 'Get your ass over there and sit down on the altar.'
Altar? He wasn't even totally sure what an altar was. Not yet 14 years old and now all of this... Was it really happening? Again, he was struck by the clarity of his experience; no dreamy fuzziness, no disconnect from his body, no. The hard certainty of the whole thing continued to impress itself upon him in a most unusual way.
'Put him into place,' the man said. The two gorgeous women ushered him to the altar and stood on either side of him as he sat down upon the slab. The altar was much the same as the slab upon which he had awakened, except that it was surrounded by all the requisite ritual objects, and a pale, eerie beam of light shone down upon it from what appeared to be a small skylight in the unusually high ceiling. Then the strange man addressed him.
'Young man, I want you to know that I understand full well your feelings and apprehensions at this moment. They are perfectly natural. In the coming moments you are going to receive a gift, the most precious gift any young man can be given. It is the gift of self-knowledge. From this moment on, you will know something most people die without having ever discovered. You will know who you are; with certainty, with clarity, without fear of equivocation. You shall belong the a grand tradition, something infinite, and infinitely larger than yourself. Something that will empower you all the days of your life, which, by the way, shall be long...longer than you imagine. In any case, I've told you all you need to know at the moment. The ladies will fill you in on further details, especially your esteemed mentor, Mistress Sharona.'
With that he turned toward the door. 'Ladies, do check back with me when you have finished.'
'Yes, Magus,' they answered. 'We will. Hail Satan.'
'Hail Satan,' the man replied.
Satan? The young man's mind spun in time with his palpitating heartbeat. What was going on? Got to get out of--- But before he could think one further thought, Mrs. Cooper had clasped his face in her hands, pulling him close to hers. She stared deeply into his eyes, smiling that same wicked smile she had displayed in the classroom. Her hot, sweet breath poured over his features, into his helpless nostrils, and paralyzed his fears. Her eyes were so piercing as she glared into his soul. They actually seemed to shine from within, illuminated by some dark and delicious power. As she stood slightly bent, hovering over him as he sat on the edge of the altar, her breasts swelled magnificently out of her minimal black-lace bra and he was treated to extended glimpses of them as she directed his head slightly upward and downward, her lips coming closer to his with each pass. The other woman seemed content to watch, standing quite close and causing the boy added arousal as she flaunted her own gorgeous body in the skimpy black lingerie.

Then, Mrs. Cooper backed up a step and commanded the boy to kneel before her. In just these brief moments in her presence, his mind had been given over. He was hers. He complied instantly, dropping to his knees and shuddering at the sight of her creamy thighs now inches in front of his face. Her sexy, black stockings seemed unable to contain her big, beautiful legs, which appeared to explode from their bonds just above the rims where those delicious clasps on the delicious garter straps held them in place.
'Smell me,' she said. He breathed deeply, ecstatically, ingesting every nuance of her fragrance; the mind-altering smell of her skin, her perfume, and her ripe womanhood, which seemed to mesh at perfect levels with the other olfactory delights.
'Closer,' she said sternly. He moved his face right up into the magic pyramid. ‘All the way,' she said. ‘Touch me.' Fearfully exhilarated, he pressed his face inward. He felt her warm cunt against his nose through those delicate lace panties and on each cheek, the heavenly thigh-flesh. He whimpered helplessly and began to tremble. The trembling quickly became more like a seizure.
'Hold onto me,' she commanded. Oh God. Falling, falling. And these feelings. What were they? What to do with such feelings? All of this something never before felt. Imagined, yes, but nothing like this. Ripping him apart inside. Sublime, Evil, The Beginning, and The End. He reached around her, clutching the backs of her thighs.
'Oh no,' he said, now sobbing openly.
'What's wrong?' she asked, hard as nails.
'Oh God,' he cried, the tears spilling onto her thighs. He rubbed the backs of her legs sensually, the ecstasy coursing through him like electrical charges, surging harder with every pounding beat of his heart.
'I asked you a question, goddammit! What's wrong?'
'N-nothing,' he mumbled. ‘I love you.'
With that, Mrs. Cooper began to laugh. It was a cruel, humiliating, witch's laugh. It confirmed his lowly status in her eyes, informing him in no uncertain terms that whatever this whole thing was about, it most certainly was NOT about love.
'Grab my ass,' she laughed. ‘Hurry up!'
Something happening. Indescribable. His hands slid up from her thighs and began to clutch an ass so sinfully extraordinary that he felt unequipped to even process the feeling of it. Now the convulsions increased and he began to cry out.
'Oh God, Please! Please! Please!' His voice was muffled by her plump, warm thighs.
'Hold on,' she laughed.
He continued to cling to her ass cheeks, his face buried within the entryway to her cunt.
'Let go,' she suddenly barked. He was slow to release. ‘I said, Let go!' With that she reared back and slapped the shit out of him, spinning his head nearly all the way around. He whelped, and crumbled to the floor.
'Get up,' she said, ‘and get your ass back onto this altar.'
He struggled to get up, now completely incredulous as to what was happening to him. Down below, Revelations. He saw it now. His cock, huge and hard. A rock, a board, a granite tower. But what else? Something coming. Wet, sticky, slow. Urine? Don't let me be pissing now. Not in this situation. Oh God. He studied it momentarily. He looked up at Mrs. Cooper, confused...helpless.
'Come on,' she urged, ‘get up here.'
He clumsily rose up, clinging to the altar, his massive young cock dripping pre-cum in concentrated bursts.
'Well,' laughed Mrs. Cooper. Look what we have here! The other woman joined in the mirth and reached down to examine it.
'Nice,' she said. ‘Hard as nails.'
She took some pre-cum in her hand and rubbed it up and down his cock, gently. The boy moaned and clutched at the altar.
'No! Don't!' said Mrs. Cooper. ‘He's all mine!'
The other woman smiled and let go of him. Mrs. Cooper hopped up onto the altar and had the boy sit next to her. ‘I'm so glad to see you're ready,' she said. "You will have learned two lessons today. One; Explosion! That's the easy one. Two; Pleasing a woman. That's a little more involved. We'll have to work on that one first.'
With that, she swung around on the altar, leaned back on her elbows, and spread her legs.
'Come here,' she said, firmly slapping the inside of her thigh. He watched in disbelief as her leg flesh jiggled enticingly above those smokin' hot nylons. Then she slipped her panties off in one smooth, polished motion, smiling wickedly. As he maneuvered to accommodate her, the enormity of what was happening began to hit home with the lad. Why had he been so distraught? His most extraordinary fantasy was actually happening to him in real life. Or at least this seemed like real life. Whatever it was, he knew enough to realize that what was rising up within him was his first orgasm. He was going to cum for the first time in his life, and that was indeed some momentous occasion. Certainly an occasion for celebrating, not for abject paranoia. As he crawled toward her glorious femininity he resolved to get into this and to stop worrying. It wouldn't be long before he'd know where he was, how he got here, and who this crazed and beautiful vixen who masqueraded as his teacher REALLY was. When he reached her cunt, she motioned for him to kiss her thighs first. As he did, the jolts from the touch of her sublime flesh ripped through him again and again like tidal waves of ecstasy. Then she guided him back to her cunt where she schooled him quickly in anatomy and technique. The boy, not yet 14, attacked her clit with the perfect mixture of aggression and tenderness. Mrs. Cooper began to moan, alternately cooing like a dove, purring like a cat, and screaming like a banshee. She snatched the boy hard by the hair, forcing him this way and that, using his head and tongue like her own personal dildo. Her moans grew wilder and more ominous.
'Eat me, you motherfucker!' she shrieked. 'Oh God Dammit, Fuck me! Fuck me with that tongue, you fucking bastard!'
As he worked her harder, the other woman had crawled up next to him and now took his cock between her voluptuous lips, lapping up his pre-cum and humming up and down until he began to moan and pulled away from Mrs. Cooper.
'No, Monica! God Dammit, No!' she yelled. He'll blow any second! He's mine, I said. All mine.
With that, Mrs. Cooper rolled him over onto his back and climbed on top of him. She looked down at his face, watching him pant and gyrate, writhing in ecstasy. She reveled in the dazed intensity looming behind his searching eyes; eyes filled with excitement, fear, anticipation, desire, and above all, joy. The only true joy. The realization that one is going to transcend his earthly bonds for the first time; a moment he will never relive again. She teased him now with her stunning breasts, dangling them over his face, then pulling away just as he tries to take the nipple between his lips. After a few times of this, he is out of control. She fears he will blow now, and so reaches down to slip his burning, throbbing cock into port, her hungry cunt dripping wet and proud to receive him.

As he slides into her, he gasps uncontrollably, his desperate hands clutching wildly at her body; her back, her legs, her ass. Everything he touches sends him further into oblivion and, laughing arrogantly at her conquest, she lowers her breasts down over his face, locks her arms around his neck and takes him apart. Smothered between her incredibly delicious tits, and helpless to slow the high-speed ride she is taking on his stone-like shaft he surrenders and explodes violently into her. His screams are completely muffled by her breasts, pressed implacably over his face, but his body is a mad Brahma, convulsing like a raging hurricane looking for a landing place beneath her ample, gorgeous body. For her part, she rejoices with an oh-so-feminine mixture of laughs and groans, pulling him more tightly to her body like an anaconda squeezing out the last gasping breath of its victim. At length, he finally simmers and then falls limp. His final ounce of strength is used to push against her shoulders as she is now smothering him with those breasts. She sits up again on top of him, looking arrogantly down on that completely spent countenance, and admires her handiwork.

The boy opens his eyes and gazes up at Mrs. Cooper with the expression he will have worn only once in his life. Of course, few will have a first orgasm the likes of this one, and few will reveal such a look of ultimate discovery as a result.
'Oh...Oh God, Mrs. Cooper,' he mutters.
'No,' she says. 'From now on, only at school will you address me by that name. Here, I am Mistress Sharona.'
'Mistress Sharona?'
'That's right.'
He is filled now with a sense of perfection. The ultimate experience with the ultimate woman. He has only one word for it; Love. He tries to reach up now to embrace her, but she takes his hands and and places them upon her breasts, exulting in the fondling motions.
'Well', she said, how does it feel?'
He can't speak. Finally; 'I love you.'
Mistress Sharona cackles and hops off of him in a swift motion. 'Don't start that shit,' she laughs. 'Understand right now that this has nothing to do with love, and it will be much easier for you.'
She stood there before him, still wearing the garter belt, stockings, and high heels. A vision of sexual power. She picked up her black bra and panties and put them on. The other woman, Mistress Monica, who had left the room earlier, now returned and sat down in a chair at the end of the altar.
'But didn't we just...'make love?' the boy asked.
'No. We just fucked. Or rather, I fucked. I fucked your brains out. I fucked. You GOT fucked! And now it is time for you to know why.'

Now while it is true that losing ones virginity does not always happen in the name of love, it is also true that it is one experience that is never forgotten. The boy lay there, a strange mix of exhilaration and confusion, in love with Mrs. Cooper--Mistress Sharona--heart and soul, but now beginning to comprehend her capacity for cruelty and the unthinkable reality that all her sexual advances toward him were done for reasons entirely other than he had imagined. As he lifted himself slowly up from the altar, he noticed that the two women were huddled close together, apparently praying. He could hear the low murmur of their voices and a strange monotone of chanting in some language he didn't recognize. He sat on the edge of the altar, wishing now more than anything else that he had some clothes to put on, trying to get some sense of what he should do next. Just jump up and make a break for the door? Sit and wait? And for what? Just hang tight and hope that his teacher was at least going to do whatever was necessary at the moment to return him to his regular existence? Bolting for the door sounded like the better plan to him, but the fact that he was naked posed a huge problem. Suppose he could find no clothes anywhere? He had NO clue where he was, so the prospect of hitting the streets in his present state was definitely a bad idea. His dilemma was resolved as the women turned to face him. Mistress Sharona glared at him now with a pair of eyes that had completely changed. They had turned into a demon's eyes--onyx black; piercing, radiant, and spraying the glinted shards of reflected candlelight around the room like laser beams in some hi-tech sci-fi movie. The boy shuddered at the sight of her and would have opted to run away at that moment, but something stopped him. Not only were his feet strangely unable to follow direction from his brain, but there an unsettling feeling shooting up within him now; something frightening and totally unfamiliar.
Mistress Sharona cracked an evil smile as the boy tried again to run away.
‘Don't fight it,' she said. ‘What's done is done.' (Jump to Conclusion)

How It All Began (Part II)

MRS. COOPER: A STRICT DISCIPLINARIAN

He felt something inside him freeze, probably his very soul, and shuddered noticeably as her devilish smile widened.
'I think you're lying,' she said. 'Would you like to try it one more time? I'll make it easy on you by framing my question a little more directly. Were you or were you not staring at my legs in class today?'
As he sat there shaking, it suddenly occured to the boy that he was in the midst of an extraordinary situation here. He might certainly be in deep shit, trouble-wise, for leering at his teacher. But if he simply went with the flow here, he might also have a life-changing experience in the process.
'Yes, Mrs. Cooper,' he mumbled, 'I was. But I didn't really mean to. I mean, I was just sitting here and my desk--'
'You didn't MEAN to?' she snapped. She sat down in her chair, again allowing the skirt to ride all the way up, and haughtily flashing her unreal legs at him. 'I'm disappointed to hear you say such a thing. I had hoped there might be more to it than that.' She stroked a pencil she was holding as if it were a thin, stiff cock. 'But I don't think I believe you. I think you did it on purpose. And I think you liked it.'
Again, she looked right through him. 'Did you?'
The boy looked down sheepishly and said, 'Yes, ma'am, I did. But I still couldn't really help it.'
'Why not?'
'Because...'
'Because...?'
'Because...I think...'
'You think...?'
She uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them the other way, another stunning upskirt in between.
'I think...you're beautiful.'
'Beautiful?'
'Y-Yes.'
'My legs?'
'Yes...and the r-rest of you, too.'
Mrs. Cooper's smile segued into a restrained but demonic laugh and she worked her leg show again.
'Well, if that's the case, I think maybe you should get your ass over here and have a closer look.'
Again, the lad's inner being spun out of control into parallel universes. What did she have in mind? 'Wh-Where?' he asked.
'H-H-Here,' she mocked. 'Right here.'
She pointed toward her feet, motioning him to kneel down by her chair. It all suddenly seemed like a dream. Things even seemed to be moving in semi-slow motion as he began to contemplate following her orders. Was this Heaven? Was it Hell? Did it matter? Whichever it was, there was a feeling that he belonged. He looked nervously over a the classroom door, which though locked, still had a window in it. Anyone who walked by could see in.
'Really?' he asked. Mrs. Cooper only nodded. She was serious. The boy moved slowly, anxiously out of his desk and crawled up next to her chair where he knelt down, his face just inches from her beautiful, perfect thighs. The smell drove him wild. Such a sweet floral fragrance; so feminine, so intoxicating. He never imagined a fantasy like this could actually come true.
'Get under the desk,' she said.
He scooted over, beneath the big, pinewood desk and she shifted in her chair so that he was now looking straight up her skirt, between her legs at her shimmering white panties.
'Now no one can see you. So, tell me what you think.'
He tried to mumble something about her being beautiful, maybe even that he loved her...who knew? He certainly didn't. His mind was absolute transcendent chaos. Incoherent.
'What was that?' she laughed. He couldn't get it out clearly. He trembled as she shifted her legs this way and that; gently, sensually stroking along those shapely contours with her expressive feminine fingers. He didn't know now what to do. He continued to look; desperate, infatuated, even terrified. Having not reached puberty, he was unable to experience any release and yet the desire rose up inside him to a fever pitch. Crescendo after crescendo.
'What would you like to do?' she asked.
'Could I touch you?' he asked shakily.
'Mmmm, I don't know. Are you going to be good?'
'Y-Yes.'
'O-OK, then. Run your fingers up my stockings until you get to my bare thigh.'
He obeyed, becoming delerious at the exquisite feeling of that perfect flesh below the sexy nylon. Uncontrollable feelings were flooding his mind and body. He felt sure he was going to begin to weep. Just then his fingers reached her thigh and he stopped there, getting his first glorious contact with the plump, overpowering thigh flesh of a beautiful woman. He burst into tears, and make no mistake about it, they were tears of joy. But they were also tears of delight and tears of gratitude.
'Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,' he whimpered.'
'Now kiss it,' she commanded.
He fought back the deluge of tears. How would he stand this? Slipping, shifting. Going fast, but unsure of anything. He pushed forward in a strange cloud.
As his lips approached their appointed destiny, things began to scramble and as they made contact with the silken tissue of her luscious upper thigh, something broke and he began to go into spasm. He fell back slightly as all sounds and sensations began to shatter into some kind of metaphysical fragments. Where was this place? Then, all he could hear was her voice; Evil and demanding. And utterly uncaring.
'Oh no you don't!' he heard her say. Then, those powerful thighs were crushing his skull like two gorgeous pythons. He grabbed onto them, pulling at them frantically to no avail. Much too strong. Much too much woman. Then everything went black. (Jump to Part III)

How It All Began

A YOUNG BOY DISCOVERS WOMEN

A young boy sitting in front of a Zenith black n white TV watching the Lady Wrestlers. Old school, long before chains of fitness clubs and tanning salons. The true female gladiators. He watches, entranced, as the Ring Goddesses demonstrate their power. Hypnotized by their forms, their faces, their long, disheveled tresses. And their legs. Always their big, bare, powerful, shapely, exotic, esoteric, incomprehensible legs. Especially the thighs. He watches with rapt concentration, studying every nuance of movement and attitude. He fantasizes, knowing somehow exactly how the flesh would feel. Against his face, around his head, his poor, inadequate, vulnerable, water-balloon of a head ready to be popped open between the press of such formidable weaponry...in the glorious, scented crush of thigh-flesh. Magnificent, violent creatures. Conduits of Lust. Vessels of Truth. Keyholders to the Chamber of Love. He spent his days in blissful confusion, knowing that somehow the world around him chose to worship other gods. His love, his whole-hearted submission to his goddesses soon began to take on a subterranean character. His life's very purpose, those pillars of flesh, those life-giving legs, asses, and---more and more lately---those comely faces, soft, full lips, haunting eyes...the sweet scent of hot breath from divine mouths and the deadly fragrance of perfumed bodies... All this and more that he imagined so perfectly was also perfectly absent from the rest of his world. In HIS world, these things were deemed to be useless anomalies, or worse, insanities. He knew that such a beautiful, magical reality was the Cosmos' gift to him. But he had no idea yet what was to be done with it.

A DREAM...
Sex is a dark entity
Sex is the way, the truth, and the life
Masters, Mistresses, Gods, Goddesses, God
Extending sway over ordinary mortals
Exalting them into pure consciousness
Smiles dripping with Sin
A gathering of blackened hosts
Each bearing the Evil unique to their purpose
Each wearing the rabid heat of their lust
On tattooed sleeves

The women appeared first
Steeped in their elegant primes
Bouyant with Power
Control Queens built for the execution
Of sacred duties in shadowy rooms
They wore familiar faces
Taken from pale offices and musky classrooms
They encouraged my most delicious desires
And mentored me during the deluge of waiting
Always, there was the waiting
For my time...and for the young girls to come.

There were many such dreams. The boy pondered their cryptic symbolism, trying to wrap his young brain around all the things the women said in all the dark corners of those lavish dream-rooms. During waking hours, his interests were many, but only the goddess could command the fulness of his soul on the slightest whim. In whatever guise she called, he was capable of dropping anything to devote himself to her service. By now she was coming in different forms; sexy teachers, older girls that went to school with him, big sisters of friends, and especially on TV. He discovered many a powerful sexual influence from the careful study of available television programming. Though most of the TV sex symbols were of more or less benign character, our youngster quickly converted them into powerful warrior goddesses with short tempers, impossible demands, and violent souls. Endlessly and mercilessly was he beaten, crushed, and humiliated by the beautiful, imperious thighs of his female captors. So all-consuming were his fantasies that he often feigned illness in order to remain in his room all day, dreaming of unconditional subjugation to his dark mistresses.

The day came when the boy would enter middle school; Jr. High, as it was called at the time, and it has to be said that by then he was in his own little world. Day and night, his head was filled with visons of women, girls, legs and asses. Oh, and faces and lips, as well. Though he was an only child, he often fantasized having a hot older sister and even went to the trouble of inventing her by way of fanciful story-telling to some of his closest friends. At any rate, 7th grade was to be the most influential year of his life. After a couple of days of shuffling class schedules he ended up in an experimental program called a 'fused' class, which simply meant that instead of having individual classes in history, geography, and social studies, they lumped them all together in one class with one teacher and you spent 3 periods there instead of the customary 1 period. It was here that SHE came into his life.

SHE was Mrs. Cooper, and the first time he saw her she seemed more or less like just another teacher---perhaps prettier than most but nothing that made him really take notice. But on his second or third day in the class she came in wearing a tight skirt, a little shorter than usual and he noticed for the first time how thick and powerful her lower body was. Then he noticed how fascinating the movements of that lower body were, and finally how shapely and alluring her big, sturdy calves were in those shiny black high-heels and how they made him feel inexplicable things---stirrings of unknown origin down somewhere where they REALLY counted! He discussed her legs with his best friend who happened to be in the class, and they both agreed that her legs were exceptional; large, shapely, sexy, and powerful. They were exceedingly glad to be AWARE of such feminine traits and their inherent goodness and perfection. They were growing, approaching puberty, and filling up to overflowing with more or less constant revelations of an awesome and limitless universe of sexual reality.

But our young hero, happy as he was to be feeling the real shit when it came to women, knew also that he was experiencing a great deal more; something serious. After a few reprimands by Mrs. Cooper for his bad behavior, he was at last made to sit in one of the very front desks in the classroom so as to be separated from his trouble-making cronies. Instead of the traditional aisles of desks, the classroom was divided down the center with short rows on each side facing toward each other. This meant that the boy's desk--closest to Mrs. Cooper---faced her desk from the side, giving him a perfect profile view of his glorious teacher-goddess. He interpreted this extraordinary stroke of good fortune as a kind of spiritual gift, murky as that concept still was to him, and vowed to do whatever was necessary to remain there for the rest of the long school year ahead.

The next couple of months were among the most memorable of his life. No more playing hookie now. No more faking that cough or those phony sniffles in order to stay home. No indeed. He understood now what things were really about and what his purpose was among those things. He sat in his desk in a perennial state of agitation, enraptured as Mrs. Cooper seemed to wear tighter and shorter dresses with each passing day. She would no sooner be seated in her heavy wooden desk chair than her skirt would ride half-way up her legs, giving the boy extended viewings of a sight he'd previously only imagined actually existed. Her legs were stunning. So big and shapely, and obviously strong. She crossed them this way and that, seemingly unaware of the mind-blowing leg show she was putting on for his benefit. He inspected the grip of her lovely tight nylons as they encased those fabulous thighs. Often, on the shorter skirt days, that hemline would ride up almost to her ass and not once on such days would she be wearing panty hose. Always, it was sheer nylons held up by the delicious, delicate straps of a black or white garter belt, and revealing what, for him, was a vision of Paradise; the sumptuous, plump white flesh of her upper thighs...a sight that drove him to the brink of insanity, and between which he longed intensely to explore.

Then one day, when Mrs. Cooper wore a tight, wool skirt--the kind that rode all the way up--the boy found himself in a state of unusually hypnotic rapture. He had gotten quite accomplished at shifting his eyes from her legs to his schoolwork whenever she glanced over at him, but this time he didn't make it. Though entranced at the vision of her, he still managed to turn away, but not before she made solid eye contact. He was sure she knew everything at that moment; his gaze, his delight, his burning desire. The incident passed as she rose from her seat and launched into a lecture on climates in various parts of the world and the various farm products common to each area. It wasn't until the students were all collecting up their belongings at the end of class that she walked toward her bookshelf and informed him that she needed to see him after class. This was sure to be trouble.

When all the kids had gone, she closed the door behind them and turned to the boy. At first she said nothing, but merely stared him down as she walked slowly, languidly, and sooo alluringly back toward him. She passed closely in front of him, then circled his desk tightly, all the while looking sternly upon him, but saying nothin. She circled a second time as if to force the sight, smell, and feeling of her ass and legs upon his delicate psyche. The smell, omigod, that deliciously unnatural, inhuman, perfumed fragrance, lilting off her body, dancing dreamily into his nostrils, filling his sould with an apprehension, an anxiety, an intense longing, with LOVE. God, how he loved her at that moment, still unsure as to what was about to transpire. She bounced up onto the edge of her desk, crossing her exposed legs, which not dangled deliciously, ,her feet a few inches off the floor and staring deeply into his eyes.
'What, may I ask, were you staring at in class today? she asked evenly. The boy was in totally uncharted territory here and tried to think of something good before answering.
'Uhhh, nothing,' he answered shakily. 'Whaddya mean?'
Mrs. Cooper cracked a sinister smile and shook her head slightly as she looked down at her legs. She rubbed the top of her thigh sensually from mid-thigh down to the knee, and then pulled the skirt back just slightly as her hand returned toward her lap. As she fingered her hemline she looked down approvingly at her legs from each side as if to remind herself how gorgeous they were.
'Hmm', she murmered. She stroked the area just above the knee again with an elegantly manicured, long-nailed index finger. 'and are you SURE about that? You didn't see AnYTHING that caused you to lose concentration on your schoolwork? Something else that commanded your attention?
'Uhhh...' He tried to think. Mrs. Cooper mischievously hiked her hemline a little higher, cracking a wicked smile and just the hint of a maddening, feminine giggle. He simply couldn't bring himself to admit anything, because he didn't know what she was doing. Maybe she was only baiting him in order to get him in real trouble with the principal or something. (Jump to Part II)