Thursday, April 21, 2011


 The cramped space in the bathroom afforded him little space but he didn't mind.  The lock on the door gave him a sense of security unattainable in his own bedroom.  He figured his parents knew what he was doing but so what?  What do you expect from a teenage boy?  Stroking his cock was nothing new.  The sensory imput, the sense of purpose, that was new.  He held his sister's used tampon between his teeth.  Eyes closed, he was engulfed by the cloying scent of pussy.  The metallic taste of her menstrual blood laying across his tongue like a blanket.  Images flashed behind his eyelids.  Colors he had never imagined began to merge together, they mounted each other, feverishly writhing, creating new colors as they exploded.  As his desire became more urgent he tore the tampon from his mouth, wrapping it around the base of his erection.  His grip tightened as his body was screaming for release.  The blood lubricating, stroke, grasp faster and faster.  His heart pounding, he could feel it all, taste the blood, color bursting behind his eyes, lingering scent of pussy clinging to his lip, all of it crescendoing to explosion as the semen poured forth mixing with the virginal blood.  He collapsed, draping across the pedistal sink panting for breath.  He knew now the voices were right.  He had never felt anything as powerful as what he had just gone through.  

He stood up, careful to not spill one drop of the precious mixture he had created, his offering. He glanced around, making sure he had what he needed.  The matches, check.  The kindling, yes.  Burlap sack, still there.  He picked up the glass dish his mother used for burning fragrant oil and squeezed the tampon, filling the glass.  His kindling were pages torn from the book of Revelations.  The sulferous smell of the match was quickly overcome by the scent of boiling blood and semen.  He placed the blade of his knife into the orange flame and as the blade began to glow red he threw back his head, cried out, "I AM YOURS!  DO AS THOU WILT, MASTER!".  In his ecstasy he did not feel pain as the glowing blade melted the skin of his wrists, exposing the veins within.  The glass containing the offering shattered as an acknowledgement accepting his devotion.  He retrieved a fragment of glass still containing the scorched remains of human secretions.  He raked the jagged glass across his lips, searing the flesh as he licked the carbonized fluid away.  

The sound of shattering glass brought him back to the task at hand.  He glanced at the floor and saw the now clean glass powdered where it had fallen from his lips.  The burlap sack was wriggling toward the door as he snatched it back.  He withdrew the string holding the top closed and in the same motion pulled the rattlesnake out of it's cloth prison.  The four-foot long specimen was furious, rattling and coiling madly in the air.  He gripped the snake tightly below the head and drove the knife blade into the underside of it's jaw.  He slit the snake's underbelly down to the tip of the tail.  The snake was still writhing as he pressed the open underbelly to his own chest, smearing himself with the blood, embracing the macabre dance.  He could feel the cold-bloodedness, the venom, the soul of the snake

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