Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as the story describes. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Writer: Oral Slave 666
Subject: SATAN’S VILLAGE 15
Link: LS666 Email / 21.01.2025
Satan’s Village 15 — Not Exactly Hallmark
“Everybody knows that Tinkerbell was once a full sized faerie and a total slut. She tried some dust to make her stretched out pussy and anus tight again and used too much.”
As the head of Mythological History, Ichabod Cahill loved explaining things and correcting misconceptions.
“Oh, wow!” Bill Dike was blushing, surprised at the vulgar conversational tangent.
“And now all she can do is rub her micro-snatch up against things to get off,” Ichabod continued.
“Incredible.”
Bill hoped he didn’t get started on Pan and Naiads.
“You boys care for some decaf Arnold Palmers?” Mrs Betsy Cahill asked, stepping into the living room and providing Bill with some relief.
“Sure,” Ichabod replied, his Adam’s apple bouncing, “And you wanted to watch a Hallmark movie?”
He hated sappy movies but was trying to be a good husband in hopes of, someday, getting some.
“Not Hallmark. Facebook says it’s a little racier but still wholesome.”
“I love romances, especially the ones where no one dies or gets Alzheimer’s,” Bill said, showing his feminine side.
At twenty-eight, he was unmarried which prompted many rumors in Brigham City.
Betsy returned with lemonades/teas, chips, and French onion dip and set them nicely on coffee table. Opening the DVD case, itself an oddity, her heart quickened, her arms and legs tingled, and she blushed. She went to sit between the two men on the couch, but Ichabod motioned her to the right.
The movie was about a uptight, ladder-climbing accountant and a free-spirited red-headed artist who accidently swap phones, etc. The plot was painfully predictable, the acting was mediocre, and the cinematography was lame. Ichabod found himself staring out the windows at the dry mountains that flanked the city.
Betsy moaned softly, and he turned to see she had taken off her apron and was rubbing her hand up her inner thigh. Her face was red, and her breathing shallow. He looked at Bill to see if he’d noticed the change, but he was fixed on the screen as well and stroking his crotch. Betsy’s other hand reached over to Ichabod’s lap looking for treasure, then Bill’s hand joined hers there, both finding his cock at the same time. The movie had turned more R-rated with a brief glimpse of tight male ass and woman’s breasts.
“Woa!” he exclaimed, jumping up.
The couch vacuum he left was quickly filled by the two who came together kissing with tongue and fondling each other’s genitals. The credits were running now.
“Oh, yes! Fuck me, Bill.”
Betsy was pulling off her long cotton dress. She looked at the screen.
“Oh, honey, why don’t you put on another movie, take off your clothes, and get over here so we can suck your cock.”
“Whaa?” Ichabod ran out of the house as if chased by Tinkerbell with a HIV contaminated hypodermic.
Sure he was horny, but this was way strange. He headed straight for church.
Twenties stories below east Bountiful, Utah, unassailable by nuclear attack, biologic weapons, or bureaucratic stupidity, Stigmata headquarters lay hidden from public scrutiny or government regulation. Ichabod had descended in the elevator hidden behind the Temple organ after activating it with his hand print, facial recognition, voice command and ten digit code.
“It’s as if her, their, lust button had been pushed, and they were different people. Possessed.”
“Amazing,” commented Deacon Director Dexter, “And Brother Bill seemed attracted to your wife?”
“Oh, yes! He was on her like flies on excrement.”
“Very odd. We’ve long suspected Brother Bill’s orientation was um … deviant. We always tolerated him because he suppressed it. So this is a bit of a surprise.”
The phone rang and the Deacon answered at once.
“Hmmm, I see. Very good.”
He put down the phone and turned to Ichabod again.
“The Keepers are at your house now and found … well, I don’t think you want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do.”
Ichabod’s organ was stiffening, despite his shock. DD Dexter paused.
“Well. Brother Bill was lying on the floor naked, and your wife, Betsy was riding his very erect penis while your German Shepherd Buck sodomized her.”
“Billy, and Betsy, and Buck! Oh, my!”
Ichabod was getting really hard despite himself, and he liked it. He had been dropped into a whole new universe.
“And the movie was only PG-13.”
“The boys in Stealthy Arts found a bunch of 300 millisecond ‘Satan loves incest,’ ‘Surrender to Lust,’ “Sodomy is best,” etc., sexy Satanic subliminals, in that movie (we were in the process of removing it) but nothing new to account for this.”
“Would it be okay to take a look at those?”
The discussion was making him drip, and he wanted more.
“Sure. We’re bringing Betsy and Bill in for questioning and running some tests and should be finished in a couple of hours.”
The hi-def photos that were associated with the messages were already stamped: “Highly Depraved” and would be destroyed after the analysis was completed. Ichabod’s jaw dropped when he saw pictures of dads with huge penises penetrating daughters, family orgies, horses and dogs and rams violating women and men in all their holes, and moaning men with two shafts in their anus.
“The depths of Satan’s depravity,” said the tech, shaking his head. Ichabod was shaking his head as well, thinking he never knew dicks could go so deep.
He hid his cock under the desk, wishing he could stroke it.
Betsy’s minimal makeup was smeared, her hair frazzled, and her white cotton dress askew revealing a bare shoulder. When she hugged him, crying, he could smell sex. Without a word, he led her to their white Corolla and tucked her in. She was dazed, staring at nothing, staring at the road. He had expected her to be full of pleas for forgiveness, but nothing.
“I think I let Buck fuck my ass (a word she had never used before). I never realized German Shepherds were so big.”
She was confused, but not contrite, and not a bit ashamed. Her hand drifted to his thigh as he drove, stroking, a tentative touch. He reached down and placed it firmly on his hard cock. She smiled. A mischievous smile? A wicked smile? Definitely not a “I love how you spent quality time with me” smile.
She unzipped his slacks and pulled out his cock which glistened with precum, then licked her lips and lowered her head to engulf it. This wasn’t his wife, but he didn’t care. She licked and sucked, stopping whenever his balls would tighten as if to empty. Luckily, there was little traffic on the freeway since his speed varied between 46 and 88 as her head bobbed up and down on his straining prick.
They fucked in the entry way with the front door wide open. It was their usually missionary position, but hard and fast. She moaned while his balls slapped against her ass and screamed as she came again and again. After he filled her cunt with a month’s worth of cum, she rolled him over and sat on his face, ordering him to lick her clean.
On the kitchen tiles, he rammed his prick home in her ass, while Buck watched, and she cried in pleasure before taking the dog’s cock in her mouth again. She sucked Ichabod off twice while Buck knotted her on the back porch, then ordered her husband to clean her again. They collapsed on the back porch covered in cum, sweat, and piss. Buck sleep on their bed for the first time in a long time.
“Honey,” Betsy made a sleepy purr, almost passed out, “I know where to get more movies. Maybe we can have a party, invite a bunch of people over.”
“Yes. That would be so much fun.”
He was getting hard again and couldn’t believe it was possible.
THE END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN