Date: Wed, 21 Dec 2016 18:17:49 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Temple Street

Temple Street

This story and its characters are fiction. It is a personal fantasy which I
am sharing with you. If any character resembles you or someone you know, I
WANT DETAILS, you lucky fucker, preferably with photos! It is, of course,
copyrighted by the author with all rights reserved and very, very
negotiable. Also, Keep the cum coming -- Donate to Nifty **TODAY**! I'm an
old guy (>30). I know what it was like when you had to BUY porn. Five miles
uphill both ways in the snow just to GET to the XXX store. You
whippersnapper don't know how good you've got it.

This involves sex between consenting adult males; if that is illegal for
who/where you may be right now, fuck off and get thee to a monastery (where
you might just find scenes similar to some below). Also, please note that
all my stories exist in a world where STDs are neither common nor
deadly. Don't be a fucking idiot; use protection. 'To die for' sex should
never lead to your actual death.

I like hearing from people but I'm terrible at responding. I promise to try
harder. I also hate spam. Put "NIFTY" (all caps) in the subject line
or I will never, ever see your mail. If you get off on flaming people,
please know that you will HATE the results. I will read your missive and
weave it into my next story to the point that you cry like a little
girl. Bullies get as bullies give.

One important note for this story only: A shocking number places on your
planet punish real or perceived **BLASPHEMY**. This story is not only
purposefully blasphemous, it is quite, um, explicitly so. If that is not
kosher or halal (puns intended) in your location, it's not worth the risk
of reading further. Just quietly back-button away from this story and go
about your life.

M/M(M); Domination; Voyeurism; Blasphemy

*****

There are times when it just doesn't pay to wake up in the morning. Then
there are times when oversleeping pays huge dividends. This was one of
those days. I had set my alarm, and apparently snoozed it so often (or
ignored it) until it plum gave up. I was supposed to be at work before
9:00. A highly-inconsiderate sunbeam blasted my eyeballs around 9:45. With
a choice variety of curses, I condemned the concepts of clocks, time, work,
alarms and daylight in no particular order. I knew that (a) my boss was on
the warpath for tardiness and (b) a wicked flu was going around. I called
in with my best 'too miserable to talk or even live' voice and got the old
fussbudget to actually TELL me to stay home.

I went to the window of my flat and pulled aside the obviously-useless
blackout shades, luckily leaving the scrims in place. Directly across
Temple Street and one floor down was a sight that took my breath away. So,
just so you know I am a voyeur of the first water. I am neither bragging
nor apologising for the fact; it's just who I am. I grabbed my hunting
scope and targeted what appeared to be a museum-worthy sculpture of male
perfection framed in the window. That flat had cheap blinds and, like many
a naïve Londoner, the occupant had angled the blinds so that people on the
street fifty feet below couldn't see in (as if they could have anyway) but
pervs like me above them had a completely unobstructed view! What I
saw... Oh my.

You certainly wouldn't find that physique in a museum; classical artists
went for either underdeveloped twinks or older, toned "men of a certain
age", the latter for the gods and the former for their victims. Below me at
the window was a modern god; slightly-less-than-grotesque muscles over a
tall, broad frame that would be equally at home on the prow of a Viking
ship or a wielding a massive saw in the northwoods of America. All of it,
and I mean ALL of it, coated with a pelt of sleek fur that split the
difference between dark-blonde and auburn. I saw him in silhouette, one
ass-cheek and the shadow of the cleft, but also one pectoral with its
bullseye aureole. Only the cock was hidden.

I was stunningly disappointed when this breath-taking creature twitched
slightly and moved out of frame. I guessed (correctly) that a supplicant
had rung his buzzer and the demigod had moved to refuse or grant the
audience. Based in my embarrassingly-complete knowledge of the flats across
Temple Street, I knew that I could see about half of the parlour through
the just-vacated window and two-thirds of the bedroom from the adjacent
one. Both had identical blind-tilts.

The decor was clean to the point of severity, with what could have been raw
stone or rough tile tight-fitted across the floors, white walls and
fixtures of silver or black-iron throughout. What furniture and trim I
could see was rich wood polished to a deep glow. Art in ornate frames was
just visible, all with a look of age and spiritual fervour atypical of
modern decoration.

When the stud returned to frame, I could see him accompanied by a
fully-dressed and fully-intimidated younger man; not youthful, perhaps mid-
to late-twenties but young against the metric of the stud leading him in. I
could see the tremble of the supplicant's lips (I have a truly-impressive
scope) as he stared at the giant of a man before him. With an imperious
gesture and a sweep of his arm, the demigod demanded that the other move
before him; another such gesture and the youth was on his knees, eyes
locked to the dominant male above him. Such power! Such instant control!
Vision alone was simply not enough.

I lunged across the room and grabbed the parabolic laser mic (did I mention
I was a *highly-accomplished* voyeur?) and edged it between my scrim and
window. Some quick adjustments and the speakers crackled with a low,
commanding voice. "Wh {scratch scritch} r y {scritch whine) ere? LOOK AT ME
you little wisp of nothing." The kneeling man's eyes had started to scan
down the sculpted body -- wide shoulders, broad chest, abundant fur -- but
his head jerked up at the man's commanding tone, "I asked why you're here,
and you had fucking well better answer me!"

There was a stuttering mumble that not even my Bourne-level equipment could
capture. "SPEAK UP!" I scrambled to lower the volume. This guy was gruff,
butch, commanding and LOUD.

The smaller guy gawped like a koi for a minute then got out, "I am here to,
to, um, to serve you?" His eyes dropped to the floor again and he slumped a
little. The giant stood, arms and legs akimbo, his chiselled and
unrelentingly-perfect back to the window, two stunning orbs of ass on full
display as he sneered down on this intruder into his temple.

"TALK LIKE THE MAN that you will never be, you little shit! Why are you in
my hall in the middle of a work morning?"

"I came. I came to serve you. Please, sir, what can I do?"

"Who told *you* to come here?" Even over the audio hook-up I could hear the
scorn in that basso voice. "Who was stupid enough to send *me* such a
pathetic little WORM? Why should I waste my time?"

Worm whimpered and responded, "Marcus, sir! Marcus said, well, he said that
I might, um, meet with, with your ap- approval."

"Marcus? Really? Hmm. Marcus has a very good eye. I am not particular
impressed, however, and might have to have a 'chat' with young Marcus. WHY
ARE YOU STILL DRESSED?" The switch from musing to ROAR was daunting even
from across the way.

The guy literally leapt at that outburst, ending up back on his knees but
nearly a foot back from the giant. Perhaps one second of shock preceded a
frankly-amazing display of clothes-dispersal. I never saw the awestruck
supplicant bend to his shoes, touch the buttons on his coat or pants, or
even raise his arms to remove his shirt, but it was a matter of moments
before he wore the same costume as when he had snuck out of him mum's quim.

And while it might not have met with the god's approval, the newly-revealed
flesh certainly got MY attention. Had the supplicant been standing, he
probably would have been about my own 180 cm (5' 10"?) and maybe a
slightly-lighter 10+ stone (140-150 lbs? I was 11 stone in my online
profile but closer to 12 when I'd forgot to avoid the pasta). His muscles
were not ripped, but smooth and pliant. Hanging between his
not-overly-impressive thighs was a very reasonable cock, at least average
if not more and with a foreskin that literally touched the giant's stone
tiles after snuggling the fared head of his well-appointed prick. He was
smooth, unnaturally-so. He certain shaved below the neck, giving his
package the slick and enticing look of a whore or a young boy.

"Yesssss, Worm is as good a name for you as any." A quick frown from Worm
and a start of an objection, possibly even including his now-obsolete
"real" name, earned him a ringing slap across the face. The man delivered
it with a cupped hand, guaranteeing maximum noise and profound shock with a
reasonable amount of pain and little potential for damage. "What is your
name? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?" The force and dominance in that voice was not to
be denied, reasoned with or deterred.

"Worm! Worm, s's'sir. I am, I, I am Worm." There were certainly tears in
Worms eye.

"And who am I Worm?" With the Nordic deity's hand reared back for a slap or
punch, it was obvious that any answer from Worm that was less than perfect
would be punished. Worm's eyes boggled and his Adam's apple bobbled as he
tried to work out this unbreakable riddle.

"You, you, um, sir, you are, you are? I am worm and you are..." Worm broke,
then sobbing and begging and trying to reach the man's feet. "I am so
sorry, sir. I am so, so sorry. I don't deserve to know your name! Please,
sir, please just tell me what this Worm can call you!"

Okay, now that was pretty impressive. Worm was certainly no amateur. The
slap, less in force than the first, came anyway. "Not a bad answer,
Worm. Not good, but not as bad as I expected from such a pathetic little
streak of nothing as you. Every sentence, every reply, every utterance from
you will be addressed to me as Sir, and you can call me Lord. For I AM your
Lord, aren't I Worm?"

"Yes, sir! Yes, Lord! You are everything I ever wanted, sir, and s'so much
more than I deserve! You are my Lord! You are THE Lord! Thank you,
sir. Thank you for letting me serve you!" Worm fell forward and began
laving Lord's feet with his tongue, murmuring thanks, adoration and pleas
for forgiveness or mercy between licks.

Lord leaned forward and delivered a shockingly loud slap to worm's butt. No
cupped-hand mercy here! I could SEE the glass of the window ripple even
before the speakers crackled into overload. Worm arched his back so hard
that he almost toppled backwards and Lord simply... laughed.

A hand to the forehead and worm had gone fully into what is likely a yoga
pose called 'backward-stretching victim', feet in the small of his back,
knees akimbo and shoulders on the stone floor. All worm's naughty bits were
on full and forward display, now-engorged cockle pouring dogwater onto his
hairless tummy. Lord reached down and with one massive paw around worm's
sac, yanked forward, eliciting a scream from worm as he bolted to his knees
and another laugh from Lord. Fuck, I hoped the sound-absorption was a hell
of a lot better in his flat than mine! Lord shifted his grip to the
relatively-short hair of the worm's head. A quick back-forth slap and Worm
was sobbing softly. "Better."

Two more slaps, back then forth, across the increasingly-red face left Worm
drooling and obviously lust-dazed. "Thank me, Worm." The trembling guy
shook his head and furrowed his brow, trying to understand what the Lord
was demanding. It was beyond him. A truly impressive forehand, cupped-palm
wallop brought him more into focus. "Thank me, you little shit. Thank me,
you worthless little Worm!"

"Th'thank you, L'lord! Th'tha'thank you! Please, Lord, anything."

"Kiss it," flat, emotionless, inflectionless. A simple, unadorned
command. A bleary-eyed worm took a moment. Just as Lord started to move his
hand back, Worm lunged and kissed the hand that had just delivered the
blow. "Thank you, Lord." Another kiss on the warm palm accompanied with a
surge of pre-cum from Worms prick, " Thank you, Lord's hand for teaching me
what I deserve." Okay, this guy was TRAINED. I think even Lord smiled a
bit. That didn't soften him, though. That rough paw returned to the sac
below him and yanked Worm upright. The high-pitched whine, not quite a
scream, someplace between agony and paradise, nearly made me cum.

Lord dragged the staggering, sobbing, worshipful Worm into the bedroom,
briefly exiting my field of view. I anticipated the move and leapt to
reposition sight and mic. I next saw the worm flying across the room to
land, back-down on the white and surgically-tight bedspread. He
bounced. The amount of power and dominance it took to lift Worm and toss
him unnerved me; it awed Worm who stared in slack-jawed adoration at Lord
as his new master slunk into the room.

Slunk. Not quite right. What is the term for a great cat, a tiger or a
leopard, moving with unmatched confidence across his undisputed territory?
What is the term for a saturation of masculine power coupled with ineffable
grace, earned arrogance, utter dominion? That was Lord as he stalked --
yes! stalked, that's the word! -- into the room. Now it was my turn to gasp
as his crotch at last flowed into view.

The thick skin of his scrotum should have held any normal balls up, but the
weight of the heavy, egg-sized orbs distended the sac down several inches
below his fork. A wide, veined, uncut cock rested to the right between the
ball sack and rippling adductors of the thigh. The foreskin easily draped
past the head, even though the prick was at least half-hard. The raw, feral
masculinity of that dick was nearly more than I could bear.

He turned again with his back to the new window as I frantically scrambled
to refine the position of the laser microphone. Lord resumed his testicular
grip and repeated, lower and more guttural this time, his original query,
"Why are you here, insignificant little worm?"

"I, I am h'here to learn, master, Lord. I am here for you to teach me what
I, who I, who I should be. Teach, teach me what, what you want me to
learn." The next words burbled like a brook, "Please, Lord, please sir,
please teach me. Please don't throw me away. I can I will I need to be what
you want. Please, sir, please. Make me yours and teach me!"

A swift and frankly astounding backhand ended the flood of pleas. A low and
vicious growl, "I am not here to teach! I am not here to tell! I am not
here for YOU AT ALL! You, you little worm, YOU ARE HERE FOR ME!" A forehand
slap brought a moan from Worm, and a backhand slap made him groan. "WHY ARE
YOU HERE?"

"I, I, I am here to satisfy you in any, any, any way that I can! Please,
Lord, please use me! Please, please, L-L-Lord! I am here to WORSHIP you! To
worship you, Lord!" Worm panted and writhed in a mixuture of pain, desire,
lust and ecstasy. "I am here to become yours, to become your servant and
acolyte. To worship my Lord! To worship YOU! To be YOURS! Please, make me
YOURS! Uhn, uhn, uhn!" Worm had actually cum. Considering the ball-crushing
grip Lord had, I was frankly amazed that he could ejaculate at all, but the
shear thrill of Lord's words and his own intense supplication sent Worm
into a crescendo of orgasm. Lord was not impressed.

"Who the FUCK told YOU, you fucking useless little shit, that you had the
RIGHT to cum? The PERMISSION to get your pitiful rocks off before ME!?!"
The last was roared, like an echo of the primitive savannah. A rumble like
thunder that promised either salvation or death, but never both. And the
rumble seemed to linger past the actual words. Slap, slap, slap. Back and
forth.

Mere moments after the worm's explosion, that scene brought my own
shuddering climax. My idly stroking hand had set me on the brink for
minutes before, but the rhythmic blows delivered across Temple Street and
transmitted by laser mic and hunting sight yanked rope after rope of thick
cum from my balls and onto the wall in front of me. My shaking aftershocks
made it hard to focus the sight, but nothing short of Armageddon would have
ripped my attention away from that window.

Still with a vice-grip on the worm's nuts, Lord pulled him forward until he
dropped off the edge of the bed. Worm would have been kneeling if Lord had
not suspended the creature so that his knees did not quite reach the stone
tiles. Lord released his grip and I could hear the worm's knees crack as he
dropped those few inches, and his head sank to Lord's feet. He immediately
started to kiss and stopped abruptly, looking up, up, up the towering man's
body.

"May I, um, May I worship at your feet sir? May I touch, touch you?"

"Put those filthy hands behind you. I don't want My body tainted with
whatever you've been touching. For now, you can use your lips and tongue on
my feet. We'll see from there. There will be no need for you to speak."

Worm returned with a fervour. "Thank you, Lord! Than--" WHACK!
Whack-whack-whack! Quick, forceful blows fell on Worm's upturned ass
eliciting a squeal from the supplicant.

"I said not to speak, you pathetic little shit. When I want to hear your
snivelling and whinging cunt-lipped voice, I will instruct you! Is that
clear?"

The little worm came THIS close to fucking it up. With eyes glued to Lord's
glowering face, I could see his lips and Adam's apple move as he almost
replied. He saved himself with a gulp and quick series of obsequious nods
and fell back to his task. Lord waited a moment. Half-turned to the window,
I could see a genuine if venomous smile grace his magnificent and cruel
face. Lord turned and walked slowly to the rich wood chest serving as a
nightstand to the bed. With zero hesitation, Worm crawled after him in an
awkward knee-shuffle, arms still clasped behind him but never allowing his
tongue and lips to leave contact with his Lord's shuffling feet.

Lifting the lid of the square chest, Lord began sorting through the
contents. He shifted his weight to his left and bent the other leg,
presenting the sole of his right foot to Worm's ministrations. I could hear
the slavering and slurping as the pathetic worshipper rushed to cleanse
every surface. Lord shifted again and the process repeated to the
left. Lord straightened with something in his hands, simultaneously using
the sole of the foot his supplicant was licking to push the worm rolling
back onto the stone floor.

Lord rounded and looked down at the trembling (was it fear, lust, adoration
or all three?) body in front of him. Hairless, lightly-muscled, well-hung
and sporting a face that could only be called pretty -- never handsome or
rugged -- Lord considered, head tilting to one side, then the other. Worm
simply stared, transfixed. Lord shook his head slightly and I could see
tears begin to drop from the worm's shattering countenance. He was
desperate to say something, anything, to make this god of a man accept him,
but knew that a single word would lose him the only chance he had. Lord
finally nodded, once.

"I will accept your adoration, at least for now. Thank me."

Blubbering with emotion, the worm spilled out a string of near-nonsense:
garbled thanks, praise and grovelling need sharded with sobs and
moans. "ENOUGH!" One word and the supplicant came to shivering immobility
as if a switch had been thrown preventing any voluntary movement. Even
thirty metres across Temple Street and through several panes of glass, it
did the same to my cock, again rock hard and quivering.

"Stand." Worm almost levitated into position. No matter how servile and
pathetic, the guy had superb muscular control to the point of true athletic
grace. Olympic gymnast? Football forward? Martial arts master? I fleetingly
wondered as I looked at this obvious stud, 'What could possibly have
brought him to this state of abjection? How did he get from Alpha to
Omega?'

Lord reached down and ignored the worm's rippling gasp as he gathered the
supplicant's cock and balls in one giant paw and pulled them gently buy
inexorably away from the body. Moving a container to the crook of his arm,
the other hand whipped a cord -- cloth? leather? silk? -- around the
shaved-smooth skin, knotting it twice, once to the left and one right of
the overall package. It was not tight enough to act as a cock-ring or
restraint, but was clearly not going to go anywhere, regardless of how hard
(he couldn't have gotten much harder anyway) or soft the worm's
considerable endowment got.

Lord turned, quarter-away from the window giving me an amazing view of that
incomparable ass, plus the side of his face and hip. "Kneel." Instantly
obeyed. "Right hand, cupped." Again, no hesitation. Lord took the jar he'd
been holding whilst he tied the cord and unstoppered it. He poured a
generous dollop of whatever was inside into the cupped hand. "You will
start at my feet and anoint me. No drop will hit the stones. None will go
anywhere other than my flesh and that of your hands. You will kneel and
hold your hand out again when you need more elixir. Nod that you
understand."

Worm nodded shakily, eyes intent on Lord until he barked, "NOW!" and the
worm's attention fell to the liquid in his palm. With the care of an NRA
terrorist handling nitro-glycerine, he kept the liquid at perfect level and
he lowered it toward the left foot of Lord. Worm dipped two fingers into
the cupped palm and lovingly spread it across the instep of the giant in
front of him. He worked slowly until the left foot was glistening and moved
to the right. With identical care, that foot was also shining and
smooth. Worm unfolded to the kneeling position and held his cupped palm
up. Lord stared at him, furrow-browed for a moment and made sure that the
worm's eyes were fixed an unblinking on his own before pouring more
"elixir" into the younger's palm.

Worm continued his worshipful anointment of Lord calves, then knees, then
lower thighs. The fur covering the sculpted body became increasingly thick
as he moved north, and the liquid he rubbed into the skin covered less and
less area as the fur absorbed it, darkening toward full auburn and flashing
rich highlights to the deeply burnished skin beneath. He needed even more
as he reached the mid-thigh; Lord had a LOT of thigh, the muscles thick and
bunched beneath the skin. I noticed that with each return to kneeling, his
right palm shook more and more. Mesmerised like prey before a cobra, Worm
found it harder and harder to focus on the task instead of the waving snake
dependant from Lord's fork. As the huge man refilled his palm for the fifth
time, just before Worm would have reached his personal promised land, a
single word brought him up short: "Back."

Worm faced a dilemma and kept his eyes locked to Lord's a moment whilst he
worked out the right response. I could tell that Lord approved as the worm
knee-walked, attention tightly focused on the rippling surface of the
liquid in his palm, behind Lord. His shuttering gasp, almost like an
involuntary orgasm, erupted from Worm when he was in position and raised
his eyes to the stunning ass facing him. I can't blame him. Perfect globes
of solid muscle covered in a thick, deep fur. Each side with a deep
indention that in a prettier man might be called dimples, but here could
only be called valleys. He sounded almost like he would hyperventilate
until Lord shifted slightly, a move that Worm interpreted as impatience.

Trembling so much that I thought he was sure to slop the liquid to the
floor, the worm continued his two-finger scoop and whole-hand application
of the anointing elixir. He finished both outside globes and knee-walked
back to Lord's front, palm shivering but upright. When he returned aft, I
could see him shudder in what I expect was an incipient orgasm that he
fought with everything he had to control. Two fingers in the oil, he raised
them to the top of his Lord's crack and began to work it between the
mounds. Each return for fingers-full of oil brought him deeper and deeper
toward the man's most sacred of places. Lord was immobile and
imperturbable, even as the worm shook like autumn leaves. He acted like he
received an electric shock when he finally anointed the rosebud buried in
that luscious vale. His nearly-empty palm jerked involuntarily and a single
drop seeped between his fingers.

It was like a slow-motion scene as that drop thickened, pearled, stretched
and finally snapped away and fell to the stone floor. There is no human way
that Lord could have known about that drop, nor the precise instant it
struck the rough tiles but with a supernatural simultaneity, his hand
impacted the side of the worm's face, backed by the full force of a
balletic spin. Worm flew into the side of the bed, clearly too shocked and
mortified to make a sound. Crumpled and sobbing silently, he gazed in
horror at Lord, the sound of that blow seeming to echo like the purring
voice of Lord, merging into it.

"What did I tell you! You piece of filth. You cannot desecrate that
elixir. I told you! I said not one drop! KNEEL!" Worm leapt to obey only to
be met with a forehand from the opposite side snapping his head again, this
time toward the window where his own momentum could not be checked. He
sprawled again, obviously weeping now as he scrambled back to his place. He
was prepared better this time and the next ringing slap did not prevent him
from sticking to the point his knees needed to be. Five more strikes
snapped his head left then right and back, but now Worm kept his gaze
locked on his Lord's eyes, tears adding a wet sting to each slap, but
completely ignored by both master and prey. At no point did the worm
attempt to deflect or turn away from any blow.

When the last ringing slap stopped, Worm lunged for the hand that had
delivered it. "Thank you, Lord's hand! Thank you for punishing my
inexcusable transgression. I was wrong! I failed! I am sorry! Thank you,"
followed by kiss after kiss on the reddened palm. When Lord wrenched his
hand back, Worm turned to the other and repeated the thanks and pleas for
forgiveness. Without a word, Lord turned to his original position and the
worm rushed around on his (certainly by now agonized knees) to present his
right, cupped palm for more of the precious fluid. "Stand!" Keeping the
palm cupped in the precise attitude and spot, Worm rose around it to stand,
cringing, before his Lord. Refilling the hand, Lord rumbled,
"Continue. Back now, then shoulders. Do not disappoint me again."

Worm continued, with constant trips back to his Lord's front to receive
more elixir, until he had reached the man's hairline. Lord now
turned. "Continue." Worm stood transfixed, coating each muscle, each
crease, each finger, each strand of hair until his Lord gleamed in the sun
that poured through the window and glowed from the red-glassed candles on
the bedstead. He finally reached the rippling abdominals and paused. Lord
stepped backwards and barked, "Kneel." Worm, needless to say, dropped so
quickly there was an audible crack and he fell to kneeling attention.

"Who am I?" The basso rumble of his voce seemed to echo in my speakers,
throbbing as if creating a subtle rhythm long after each word ended.

"You are my Lord. I worship you!"

"Yes. I am your Lord. Now it is time to meet your GOD." He grabbed the
younger man's chin and pointed it straight into his crotch. "From this
moment forward, THIS is your Holy Trinity." He lifted his pendulous cock
and said, "This is where your life essence comes from," indicating the
churning balls, "and this is the fount of everything you need and want."
There was no doubt now. That growling voice created a cadence that did not
fade; each word, distinct and complete, reinforced a pulsing beat that
build even in Lord's pauses and silences.

"This is your God. 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 once," Worm paled and
trembled. "Will you promise that you will not fail again? 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?"

It was truly pathetic how quickly Worm -- utterly entranced by that voice,
that offer, that commitment, that calling, that blood-music --
assented. "Hands!" Like a child at communion, Worm raised both hands in
front of him, awaiting benediction. Lord tipped more of the elixir into
each palm, "Worship your God. Make him ready for your sacrifice."

Worm moved his palms together and allowed a soft stream of the elixir to
coat the massive slab of meat which was slowly filling. Transferring as
much as possible into one hand, the worm used the other to coat the shaft
and balls until they glowed in the soft light. He rubbed his hands together
to coat the oil evenly, then reverently stroked it up the shaft to the head
to the beat of that unearthly background music, always sounding as if Lord
had just spoken and still echoed from an unimaginable distance. He rolled
the incredibly long foreskin back and oiled the glans, then both the inner
and outer surface of the loose skin as it crawled back to cover the
plum-coloured head. He continued to reverentially caress the oil into the
scrotum, shaft and pubis of Lord, mesmerised and drippingly-excited.

"Kiss the root of your God, little one. Kiss the burning bush from which
springs your one true God." Worm breathlessly leant forward and placed a
loving kiss where the shaft met the matted, oiled hair surrounding it,
first to onw side, then the other, finally above the erecting rod. "Now
kiss the head. Show your devotion, your respect, your love." Again the
utter, silent and unreserved reverence. This kiss lasted longer, with the
worm obviously nursing for some slight nectar to come forth. "Good. Now are
you ready to do sacrifice to your God, and to your Lord?"

No pause or hesitation before an unconditional consent. Lord settled back
onto the side of the pristine bed. Worm leant forward as far as possible,
knees firmly rooted to the spot, but hand magnetically coupled to his God,
one below the head and the other caressing the balls. Both finally escaped
him and he almost fell prostrate; Lord smiled. "Stand and get your God
ready to accept your sacrifice."

Worm stood and approached the bed, unsure how to accomplish this
instruction. Lord grasped his hands and brought them back together, tipping
a bit more elixir into the palms. "Anoint your God so your Lord can accept
your sacrifice in His name." Worm remained entranced with the blood-music's
rhythm, massaging the oil deeper and deeper into the veiny skin along with
that pulsing, incessant beat, replenished at times (unnoticed by the
hypnotised worm) from Lord's spouted pot. The rumbling beat slowly mounted,
as if gaining in heat and power, as that huge prick finished reaching its
peak of hardness and girth. It pulsed with a rhythm of its own as blood
engorged it, bringing it fully 10 inches up from those pendulous
balls. This was a firm and angry God, pulsating with the heartbeat that
drove blood upon blood into the iron-hard weapon. Suddenly, the syncopation
of the mighty prick's throbs and that of the blood music snapped into a
single irresistible summons.

Lord said nothing, but I could see his eyes flash red-gold in the
candlelight from the bedstead. Worm moved like a sleepwalker, hands falling
to his sides as he turned. I could now see his heavy-lidded eyes an
engorged lips. The aureoles were a milk-chocolate circle of gooseflesh
surrounding a pricklet of utterly-erect nipples. Small surges of dogwater
wept forth with each blood-music beat and I could tell that his breath, his
heartbeat, his very soul vibrated in rhythm with that inexorable beat. His
balls were barely visible as mumps alongside the base of the shaft, tucked
in firing position and awaiting the missile codes.

Lord shifted his hips forward to the very edge of the bed, spread his knees
wide and stretched his elbows back to give an obscene amount of access to
the enraptured acolyte. Worm moved back and reached between his legs to
caress and position the piston of his God at his nether opening.

Now I am neither a theologian nor physician, but I knew for fuck that there
was no way THAT monster was going up any unprepared chute. I don't care how
mesmerised, how devoted or how needy, no one takes roughly ten inches of
thick, veined dick without seriously preparation and foreplay, not ithout
unimaginable pain and damage. As if reading my mind, Lord asked, "Have you
been fucked before, little one?" Again, his voice's echoes merged into the
blood music surging around the scene.

Worm barely registered and his voice murmured to the rhythm. "Yes, Lord,
yes."

"Have you been fucked today, little one?"

"No, Lord, no."

"Have you or anyone else defiled your ass today, with finger, dick or
tongue?"

"No, Lord, no." Still the rhythmic murmur.

"Proceed, little one. Show your Lord your devotion and accept your God."

Worm used one hand to line up the monster with his back door and the other
to steady himself against Lord's knee. The blood music surged, incessant,
demanding, expectant.

And I'll be damned if Worm didn't settle down, beat by beat, huff by chuff,
welcoming that log into his ass. He paused and rocked, once, twice, thrice
whilst the head knocked at his first ring. "GOD!" A cry of triumph, head
thrown back and neck-cords taut, the worm sank another inch. Gulping air in
time to that music, Worm readied himself for the next part. Again the
rhythmic rocking, a bounce, a second a third and, "OH, GOD! YES!" another
primordial cry of victory as the monster dick penetrated the second ring.

Whilst his eyes were still lidded as if drugged, his face now bore a
near-rictus smile of pure ecstasy. Worm was not only fulfilling his own
deepest desire, he was propitiating his Lord an offering his innermost self
to his God. No nun in divine ecstasy or Dionysian satyr claiming a faun
could have held a candle to the glory I saw in Worm's face as he sank by
degrees on Lord's prick. Each Beat. Brought an inch. Each pulse. And Worm
dropped again. Each heartbeat. Drove him a step closer to paradise.

Finally, Lord had nothing left to give, Worm's God was deep within, probing
and validating and sanctifying his very soul. Still in sync with the
pounding of the blood music, Worm began to cry out in something between a
plea for mercy and a declaration of faith, each pulse accompanied by a
thrust, a gyration, a lunge. Lord laid there and accepted the offering,
stern but quite obviously pleased.

"Oh God! Oh Lord. Take me! Take me, God! Take m-Me, Lord. Make me yours!
Make me yours! God! Lord! Oh. Oh. Lord, may I cum? God, let me cum! Please,
please, please! My God is making me cum! God is driving the seed from my
body! Lord, please tell me! Please tell me that I can let God take me over
the edge!"

"Little one," the sub-bass rumble crooned, "You will never cum again
WITHOUT your God in your heart. Yes, little one. Yes. Let your God make you
cum. Do it..." a pause as the blood music reached crescendo, "NOW!" The
roar caused the worm to erupt like a volcano, each rope flying across the
stone nearly to the wall a dozen feet away. His guttural screams merged
with the music, a tenor counterpoint to the primal growls of Lord's orgasm,
all part of the orchestration of divine release. Never to be one to deny a
party, my own dick blew cock-snot nearly six feet up the wall. All three of
us, Lord, Worm and Voyeur in sync with that insidious music, that pounding,
insistent, incessant beat. Thrust/growl after eruption/cry after
pulse/moan, the three of us released our innermost selves in an orgasmic
flourish.

Several lifetimes, years, minutes later (I didn't know and so very much did
not care), all of us faded to insensate flaccidity. I could hear the rude
plunger-plop of Worm collapsing off that godlike (or even God incarnate?)
prick, falling forward onto the stone into the ropes of cum he's spent
there moments before. Lord had fallen back to the bed, no less
awe-inspiring for the convulsive aftershocks of his epic orgasm. I found
that I was now sitting cross-legged, only just able to keep the scope above
the windowsill and trained on the incomparable rite I had just witnessed.

I slumped back and allowed the scope (gently; I was not so cum-wasted as to
risk injury to my voyeuristic gear) to roll to the side, still immersed in
the sound from the laser microphone. The blood music had faded to a minor
background pulsation, seeping away with the orgasmic rush, but Lord's
cave-deep bass rumble reignited it in my soul. "You have taken your God,
and dedicated yourself to your Lord. Do you still accept this, or are you
as weak as you seem, sated and now ready to wriggle back to your depraved
existence?"

Some of the mesmerism remained, but steel now reinforced Worm's voice. "I
gave myself, my soul, my everything to my God. I will never retract that
willing sacrifice. I have delivered myself wholly into your hands, my Lord,
to do with as you see fit. But never again, I beg you, imagine that I have
given less than my entire self to you and to my God. His seed may seep out,
but he, and through him you, Lord, have branded me in my deepest
self. Accept me or reject me, my Lord, but never again doubt me. I have
earned that, and my God knows it to be true." Wow, all zoological knowledge
to the contrary, this worm had teeth!

"Well spoken. Here is your charge. Today is your Sabbath. Every Tuesday you
will dedicate yourself to the direct and immediate service of your God. You
will serve him at all times and in all things for the rest of this life,
but your Sabbath is holy and sacrosanct. If you have family commitments,
change them. If you have job commitments, seek new employment. If you have
friends that expect things of you on this day, either bring them into the
fold or find more worthy acquaintances. Can you do these things?"

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

"In the next week, you will find and service five men. All must be
strangers, and none must be paid or induced. Bring them to fulfilment and
swallow their seed. But remember this. None but your God will ever again
enter your inner temple. None may ever penetrate the sacred portal of your
anus again, except for your God. Service them; bring them joy; deliver them
to paradise. But do it without defiling the ass that belongs, now and
forever, to your God. To allow, even unwillingly, anyone other than your
God to penetrate that part of you is a sin nearly beyond redemption. Can
you do these things?"

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

"You will never cum again without your God lodged deep within your soul by
way of your nether portal. 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
will give pleasure to any who seek it, but you will never accept it, either
in return or as a gift. Can you do these things?"

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

"Lastly, you will keep your personal Sabbath, from sunset Monday to sunrise
Wednesday, holy for your Lord and your God. Before bed, you will cleanse
your bowels. You will do so again, and once again on your Sabbath morn
before returning hither. You will be clean and ready for your God and for
your Lord when you arrive each Tuesday, each Sabbath. Can you do these
things?"

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

"You in your soul know more rules than these. From these simple strictures,
you can extrapolate what your God demands and what your Lord will
expect. I, your Lord, will punish transgressions but you must never, ever
expect boons for nothing more than a failure to 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 this time, and present yourself, your deeds and your soul for
examination. I have no doubt that you will prove worthy. But you entered
this place today a piece of filth, a nothing, a worm. You have accepted,
embraced and dedicated yourself to your God and to me, your Lord. You are
no longer a worm, and you are worthy of another name. Your acquiescence and
acceptance of your Lord and your God have earned you a new name, a name of
truth and power known to none but the chosen. You are Adsensus among the
faithful-to-God. Adsensus, stand, stand proud. Adensus, go forth and do
your God's, and your Lord's bidding."

An involuntary movement of my leg knocked the laser-mic aside and static
poured forth. It didn't matter as I had recovered enough to begin
recompiling those parts of my mind that had shattered in the incomparable
orgasms that had wracked me from across Temple Street. I rolled to my side
just as some fucking useless sod-all motherfucker began pounding at my
door. I hate humans. I decided to ignore it as the first round of pounding
ceased. I wrenched myself upright and saw the streaks of two (three?) cum
explosions dripping slowly down the already-stained wallpaper. I sighed. I
never expected to get my earnest money back from this bitch of a landlady,
but still. I sighed deeply.

I jumped like I'd been goosed as a deep voice chuckled. The
locked-and-barred door was still sealed, but a glistening giant of a man
leant against my door jamb. Penetrating green eyes (but did I see a flash
of golden-red? no, not possible) drilled into my soul as I struggled to get
myself upright. It could not be the same man. No one could get from there
to here so quickly, and certainly not in the nuddie!

That familiar, deep, irresistible and soul-stabbing rumble came next, "You
enjoyed that, didn't you, Jeffrey?" No one, not even my parent called me
Jeffrey. I was always Cory, for my middle name, Cormac. I despised and
rejected Jeffrey as an homage to my useless and despised absentee
father. "You need that, don't you? You need to be more than Jeffrey? More
than the weak and pale Cormac or 'Cory'? You need what you saw, don't you?"
I'd not taken breath since the pounding on my door, and I goggled (sorry,
no other word for it) at the godlike man inside my door. "You need a Lord,
a God, a purpose in your life?"

I laid mute, immobile, no more capable of movement than a tree. Something
inside me shattered, like the capsule containing the ammonia that awoke the
swooning woman in Victorian stories. And my soul reacted. "How, um, how do
I start, my Lord?"

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