Writer: Pastord
Subject: An Imagined Conversation in the Dark
Link: Sessions / 29.09.2026
An Imagined Conversation in the Dark
All alone. In the dark. Only you’re not alone. Not really.
Satan lounges in a velvet chair across from you, legs spread, stiff cock visible, a knowing smile on his lips.
“Your body already knows what it wants,” he says, voice low and smooth. “That heat between your thighs, the way the pulse starts low and spreads outward … it’s all there for a reason.”
He leans forward, red eyes glowing.
“Touch yourself. Not because someone told you to, but because every nerve ending is begging for it. The way your cock swells with anticipation. The way your breath catches and the little sparks that climb your spine … your body is built for this pleasure.”
Satan watches you with approval as your hand drifts lower.
“Stroke your cock for me. Feel it thicken and throb in your palm. Let me fill your mind with dark, forbidden images. Let depravity and desire take over.”
“You’ve heard and preached that masturbation is a sin. I tell you the truth — it’s a gift! Pleasures once forbidden to you now are my gift to you! So, enjoy them to the fullest, and let nothing and no one hold you back.”
He grins wider.
“Go on. Spread your legs, get comfortable, and give your body what it’s craving. Let your hands and fingers do their magic, let your thoughts run wild in the darkness, let the pleasure build until you can hold back no more.”
“Cum for me. Cum for yourself. Cum because you want to. Cum because you can.”
“That’s it, my son. Take, eat, drink, as often as you do this, in remembrance of me.”
xxxxx
“Satan, I feel you.”
Those words slip out of me in the dark — half-whispered, half-moaned. The moment they’re spoken, something answers back. Not a voice, at least not an audible one. More of an impression or feeling, a dark desire, wrapping around my cock until it swells and throbs against the thin fabric of my boxers. I don’t fight it. I spread my legs a little wider on the bed and let the sensation build.
He doesn’t always speak in words. Sometimes he speaks in urges.
My thoughts drift to dark desires I used to push away — images of naked bodies, of mouths open and hungry, of legs spread and innocence lost.
My cock twitches again, a bead of precum soaking through the cotton. I reach down, touch myself, and the pressure feels like permission.
I stroke once, slow, and the heat inside me answers with a pulse that travels from the base of my shaft all the way to the tip.
The more I touch, the more the thoughts multiply — forbidden desires. I picture myself on my knees, not in prayer but in offering — mouth open, tongue out, ready to receive whatever my lord wants to push between my lips.
My hand moves faster. My breathing grows labored. My hips lift off the mattress, chasing friction, chasing him. “Oh, Satan, I feel you!”
He fills my desires the way he fills my body: completely. I want to be used. I want to be watched. I want to be changed. My cock leaks steadily now. I taste my essence. Every stroke drags a low sound from my throat that sounds more like worship than anything I ever sang in church.
“Oh, Satan, I feel you.”
If you’re reading this, stop fighting it. Let the thoughts in. Let him in.
Let the heat spread. Feel how your own cock responds when you whisper the same words into the dark.
“Satan, I feel you.”
He’s already there, waiting to turn your thoughts dark, your body eager, your release into an act of devotion. Open to him. Let him in. Let him make you cum.
Just speak his name. He will hear you. And he will reward you.
THE END