Contributor: Rob Bliss
- -
We created ourselves a god of lust because the religion of our fathers and grandfathers repressed our sexuality since birth. Before our births, for eons. That religion forbade too much – what to eat, how to dress, how to think – it should’ve known some of its adherents would rebel.
We prayed to every pagan god whose name we knew. Chanted and sacrificed to all of them. Then we picked up the girl, drunk and self-drugged, from a night club. Wandering in the parking lot, puking, pissing, wanting to be a whore.
We took her to the cabin. She slept for the ride, awoke on our altar. The gods granted our wish. Transformed her. Vaginas and penises and mouths and milking breasts sprouted across her bloated body. She was sixteen feet tall, fat, couldn’t move off the altar.
We fucked her and were fucked by her. Our members were male and female, gay and straight and bi-sexual. Our god brought us together in her hosted orgies, flesh snaking across flesh in a writhing mass. Her lust was more insatiable than ours. We grew tired; she never did. She was a beautiful carnal demon. We had made her what she was. We had given her purpose to her worthless life. She thanked us. But every god demands more and more.
Now we hunt the city and the small towns for her. She tells us what to get. Sometimes she wants only girls, so we get her girls. Sometimes grandfathers. Other times only black, then Asian, then only men with cocks ten inches or more. A difficult task, but our god must be appeased. And, naturally, for weeks she wants only virgins, of any age.
We satisfy her whims. We grow tired, exhausted. Satisfying a god of lust consumes the mortal body and soul. We should’ve known. Like every human being, sacred or profane, we created our own demon, and spend our lives satiating her demands.
- - -
I have a degree in English and Writing. My stories have been, or will be, published in Pulp Metal Magazine, Schlock Webzine, microhorror, 69 Flavours of Paranoia, and Blood Moon Rising Magazine.
Read more »
- -
We created ourselves a god of lust because the religion of our fathers and grandfathers repressed our sexuality since birth. Before our births, for eons. That religion forbade too much – what to eat, how to dress, how to think – it should’ve known some of its adherents would rebel.
We prayed to every pagan god whose name we knew. Chanted and sacrificed to all of them. Then we picked up the girl, drunk and self-drugged, from a night club. Wandering in the parking lot, puking, pissing, wanting to be a whore.
We took her to the cabin. She slept for the ride, awoke on our altar. The gods granted our wish. Transformed her. Vaginas and penises and mouths and milking breasts sprouted across her bloated body. She was sixteen feet tall, fat, couldn’t move off the altar.
We fucked her and were fucked by her. Our members were male and female, gay and straight and bi-sexual. Our god brought us together in her hosted orgies, flesh snaking across flesh in a writhing mass. Her lust was more insatiable than ours. We grew tired; she never did. She was a beautiful carnal demon. We had made her what she was. We had given her purpose to her worthless life. She thanked us. But every god demands more and more.
Now we hunt the city and the small towns for her. She tells us what to get. Sometimes she wants only girls, so we get her girls. Sometimes grandfathers. Other times only black, then Asian, then only men with cocks ten inches or more. A difficult task, but our god must be appeased. And, naturally, for weeks she wants only virgins, of any age.
We satisfy her whims. We grow tired, exhausted. Satisfying a god of lust consumes the mortal body and soul. We should’ve known. Like every human being, sacred or profane, we created our own demon, and spend our lives satiating her demands.
- - -
I have a degree in English and Writing. My stories have been, or will be, published in Pulp Metal Magazine, Schlock Webzine, microhorror, 69 Flavours of Paranoia, and Blood Moon Rising Magazine.
0 Comments
Author:
Rob Bliss
