DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of 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 any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. 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 that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: Black Magic, Witchcraft, Satanic, Snuff/Violence/Murder, Abuse, Vodou, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, NC, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Orgy, BDSM, Young, Pedophilia, Incest.

XP NOTES: Loosely based on one of my favorite stories (The Devil’s Advocate) — Justice was my opportunity to explore the ideas and themes that I thought about whilst watching the 1997 movie; reading the screenplay by Jonathan Lemkin and Tony Gilroy; and book by Andrew Neiderman of the same name. If you haven’t seen it or read it — It is a great story. Justice pays homage in part to all of these — but needs to stand its own ground as a tale of darkness and evil.

CREATED: 26.04.2023 (V21) / REVISITED: 30.07.2023

Justice 5 (chapters 13 – 15)

Links to previous chapters:

  • Justice 1 — http://littlesally666.com/justice-1-chapters-1-3/
  • Justice 2 — http://littlesally666.com/justice-2-chapters-4-6/
  • Justice 3 — http://littlesally666.com/justice-3-chapters-7-9/
  • Justice 4 — http://littlesally666.com/justice-4/


Much has happened to, the young and talented, Kevin Swift. Kevin and his wife, Mary Ann, live in Small Town where he practices law as a successful defense attorney. His unblemished record of wins suddenly drew to a dramatic close, whilst he was supposed to defend a woman accused of molesting her under-aged students.

A dream within a dream — left him with a choice to resign the case. And amidst the controversy and media fest that accompanied this type of case in a small backwater of nowhere; the dream foretold that he would rise up to phenomenal heights — moving to Big Town and working for the infamous law firm, Maximus Corp. With many twists and turns — he discovers a satanic underbelly that seeks to crown him as the “Son of Satan” — destined to copulate with his hermaphroditic sister, Christabella, to give birth to the Antichrist. In consequence, all would be laid to waste, including his beloved wife.

Snatched from this fate, he found a way out. But the greasy walls of his unseen prison gave him no purchase. In no time, Kevin finds himself back in trouble as the plot thickens around him. Taking an appointment in Port-Au-Pearl — he is, once again, faced with unspeakable evil and this time he falls deeper into the sexually depraved web of lies, perversions, and ritual murder.


Justice is the eleventh card of the Major Arcana — it represents accountability, objectivity, and outcomes — blind to sentiment and emotions and is focused on purely cause and effect. In sexuality, it is about asceticism. The sword aloft is in fact a phallic symbol. Like the donning of the strap-on — it is the equalizer that levels the playing field. Justice is depicted as both male and female. If female, she is depicted in a nun’s habit. As a male, Justice has a masculine face with long, feminine hair, rendering an androgynous quality to this symbol. The dual-sexuality of Justice depicts balance and impartiality. Justice sits enthroned between two pillars that represent the finite differences between right and wrong, good and evil, life and death.


  • Kevin Swift — Protagonist, small-town defense attorney, 28
  • Mary Ann Swift — Kevin’s wife, 26
  • Alice Swift — Kevin’s religious mother, 44
  • Father Michael Oluronbi – Black pastor of Alice Swift’s church, 60
  • Christabella Andreoli — Lawyer at Maximus Corp, Kevin’s step sister, 28
  • Milton Maximus — Chairman of Maximus Corp — AKA Satan, 60
  • Nikki Capone — Assistant to Milton Maximus, transgender, demon, 28
  • Dr Phillipe Moyez — Black, Vodou Priest, Leader of Cartel, 48
  • Chedeline Dorvil — Black, executive in Port-Au-Pearl, shemale, 28
  • Wyclef Duval – Black, Counsel for Dr. Phillips Moyez’s Cartel, 50
  • Doctor Wagner — family doctor in Small Town, 64


“Thus says the Lord God, Because your lust was poured out and your nakedness uncovered in your whorings with your lovers, and with all your abominable idols, and because of the blood of your children that you gave to them, therefore, behold, I will gather all your lovers with whom you took pleasure, all those you loved and all those you hated. I will gather them against you from every side and will uncover your nakedness to them, that they may see all your nakedness.” — Ezekiel chapter 16 verses 36 to 37

It was my mother’s mystery sickness that brought me back to Small Town.

It had been five months since I had left for Port-Au-Pearl to take up employment with the Hope Foundation. The irony of the name was not lost on me, as I discovered the truth about the organization and its links to the criminal underworld and occult societies that literally fed themselves on the very orphans that the Foundation was purported to save.

I am ashamed to say, but I learned intimately about the “goat without horns” — a dark and cannibalistic ritual of human sacrifice to the locals’ Vodou demon spirits, or Loas as they called them. The wealthy and privileged caste of the people of Port-Au-Pearl relished these depraved acts and regularly partook in the eating of the flesh of the young children that were taken from their parents, for as little as fifty dollars each.

The parents of these poor souls thought that they would be found new homes and families in safe and wealthy places (like Big Town) where they would enjoy a long and happy life rather than struggle in the slums and pestilence of Port-Au-Pearl. Little did they suspect that they would be bound naked; repeatedly raped; beaten close to death, and then burnt alive for the satanic pleasures of those high up in the demonic elite.

Time seemed to have passed too quickly for me in Port-Au-Pearl. Three months became four; four months became five. It had felt more like five short weeks. It had been a depraved whirlwind of orgies and sex with shemale demons. And in that time I had quickly become accustomed to their perverted and evil ways.

I would have liked to say that I had not grown somewhat immune to their wickedness — but that would be a lie — what I had witnessed and experienced had had a profound effect on me. I was beginning to believe that I was who they said I was — a satanic celebrity — the Son of Satan, a white devil capable of unspeakable acts of sexual depravity.

I had been acquainted with my sister — rather my half-sister, who had become my incestuous lover — Christabella had initiated me in their most profoundly perverted occult ceremonies. I had willingly bowed down before their Vodou houngans and mambos. I had participated in the rituals that worshiped pure evil, indulging in all the worse kinds of sexual abuse, and torture and I had tasted the flesh of those that had been raped and sacrificed — I wasn’t a connoisseur of the “goat without horns”.

I knew my soul was forever tainted … stained in blood, sexual sweat, and semen of all those that I had copulated with … men, women, boys, girls, transsexuals, and hermaphrodites. And if I was truly the “Son of Satan”, their “White Devil”, my incestuous coupling with my hermaphroditic sister would bring forth the Antichrist demanded by my father.

Did I regret this choice? I wasn’t truly sure. Did I feel remorse for these profane acts that I willingly participated in? Again, doubt and guilt seemed to dominate my thoughts. How could I be the Son of Satan if I did not embrace these evil things more willingly?

Christabella had wanted me to return to Big Town with her and Dr. Moyez.

I had hesitated about it. There had been so much on my mind after all that I had learned and experienced in Port-Au-Pearl. From the time I first met Chedeline and Wyclef. And then there had been my continuing downward slide into debauchery with the help of my evil sister. When the call came about my mother’s mystery illness — it was like I could hit the pause button — I had the perfect excuse to return to my hometown.

When I told Christabella that I must return to Small Town to find out about my bedridden mother, Alice, she only grinned as if she expected as much; and already knew that my journey to hell was inevitable. I would be driven back to her by the lust we felt — it was too much of a powerful drug, not to demand more.


Actually, Small Town was the last thing on my mind. But now I was here, in the rural wastelands of the bible belt, it gave me introspection on all that my Father had shown me. My Father being Satan himself. The God of Lies. Lucifer. The Adversary. The Light-bringer. The Infernal One. The Devil. The Baphomet. He had shown me my destiny — and made it known that there would be no escaping this fate — whether I liked it or not.

Mary Ann had been over the moon about my return. To her, it seemed like a dream come true. I was back in her arms again. She was excited to tell me about her pregnancy — that soon after I left, she had missed her period. Her breasts has started feeling very tender and she’d experienced some vomiting. She’d rushed out to get a pregnancy test and it had been positive. Finally, Doctor Warner, our family physician, confirmed it. We were having a child.

“Oh Kevin,” she exclaimed, “You don’t know — the time has moved so slowly — five months have felt like five years for me. I wanted to tell you right away, but your mother thought it best, not to distract you and to save the good news for your return home … and here you are … “

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly.

“And here I am,” I said.

I half tried to convince myself that this was in fact good news and that I was supposed to look overjoyed that we’d finally managed to conceive after all the attempts. Mary Ann did seem different. She was more animated. More alive. Maybe the pregnancy had impacted her that way … or was it something else?

“I’m so sorry about your mother,” said Mary Ann, “Heaven’s above … she’s been getting weaker and weaker. Doctor Warner says that he can find nothing clinically wrong with her. All of his tests have come back negative. I’m very worried for her.”

I had intended to go over to my mother’s house straight away but had got caught up in Mary Ann’s news. Mary Ann went on to say that my mother was bedridden at home; and that we should both let her rest for now. We could go over to see her first thing in the morning. I didn’t want to object.


We went for a quiet romantic dinner together and settled in with candles, wine, and some pleasant distractions.

“Tell me everything!” Mary Ann asked, almost with the tone of an excited child.

“Well, most of it is very boring,” I lied, “Port-Au-Pearl isn’t exactly a very pleasant place. Nothing like Small Town. It’s very hot and overly humid and most of the people there are extremely poor. Working with the Hope Foundation opened my eyes to the extremes of their country.” That much was true.

Though I was very selective about what I told her of my misadventures in Port-Au-Pearl, she was content to have me back in Small Town once again. It felt like we were like newlyweds again — both eager to share the coming night together.

“Did you miss me?” Mary Ann asked.

A leading question.

“Of course I did. It wasn’t easy being away from you,” I lied again.

“I wanted to tell you that I was pregnant, but I thought I’d surprise you.”

She smiled as I patted her tummy. It hadn’t been obvious with her loose clothing — but now I could see the difference.

We headed back home. After I showered, I walked into the bedroom with a damp towel around my waist. There was a strong feeling of Déjà vu about the whole situation. Mary Ann was dressed in a short chiffon dressing gown that hugged her naked pregnant form beneath.

Her swollen stomach stood out very prominently. She let her beautiful long hair fall loosely around her elegant shoulders and I noticed a narrow choker around her delicate neck. She smiled at my appreciation of the trouble she had taken to “dress for bed” and struck a number of sexy poses — as if I were taking photographs with my eyes — my cock immediately became rigid beneath the thin toweling wrap.

My thoughts harked back to a strange vision I had of her and me … before lovemaking. We had been talking about same-sex relationships and about Mary Ann’s unexpected interest in other women. That was when Christabella slipped back into my sensual thoughts.

There was a vision I had had on the first night of seeing Christabella in the depths of the evil Vodou temple in Port-Au-Pearl. It had been a vision of unnatural lust. I had not asked Christabella about it — there never seemed to be the right opportunity to talk about it — but the vision of her fucking my wife — cumming inside her as they both screamed blasphemous obscenities. It had felt so real.

It was as if I had been there — like a voyeur of their unnatural carnality — as my delightfully naive wife degenerated into a complete cock whore; sucking and fucking my hermaphroditic sister. Just a vision? Did it really happen? In the vision, I had seen glimpses of Christabella’s cock sawing in and out of Mary Ann’s ripe and juicy cunt. I heard the Vodou drums as my visions seemed to overlap.

There was a primal, almost completely feral nature to their fucking. I saw my sister’s semen oozing from Mary Ann’s well-lubricated fuck-hole as she ground against her hermaphroditic lover as she moved rapidly up and down upon Christabella’s long shemale cock.

I heard their voices, as the pair of them blasphemed and screamed over and over in abject orgasmic delight. It was the language of devil worship. Was it something being foretold to happen or something at had already taken place? My dreams were never clear about chronology … was it the past, present or future? The vision of their lust just left me in a state of total wantonness and depravity.

I returned to the moment, flushed with an unnatural arousal. Fuck! I was so horny. Mary Ann proudly showed off her distended stomach that curved with fetal growth — It felt so taboo to have sex with my pregnant wife.

The very idea of fucking a woman in the last stages of pregnancy, while her womb filled with baby and amniotic fluids, seemed a huge turn-on in my perverted mind. To know that I was penetrating and thrusting upwards into her overstuffed birth canal; as I jabbed my cock without any tenderness against the insides of her overripe womb.

Tonight, I was not alone in my horniness. It seemed that Mary Ann wasn’t her usual prudish self. In fact, her dark eyeliner, ruby-red lips, and lingerie gave her a whorish appearance that appeal to me. A slut. She opened her gown and rubbed her pussy, openly masturbating, in front of me.

Her cunt lips were already open like a flower blossoming — her clit stood upright — her juices were flowing. Wetting her fingers in her own cunt juices, she first rubbed them over her stomach and breasts and then brought her soaked digits to her mouth, as she began to taste herself — I had never seen Mary Ann do anything like remotely that before … such raunchy acts seemed more suited to whoredom than a mother-to-be.

“I have to warn you Kevin, pregnant women have problems controlling their bladders during sex,” Mary Ann said as her hand began to fondle my bulging erection through the wet toweling. “Is that a problem?”

I shook my head.

“I want to be fucked Kevin … I need to be fucked hard … fucked in all my holes …” she swooned like an eager slut.

Just her use of the word “fuck” seemed unnatural, but not forced — maybe a little unnerving knowing what she was usually like — it was like something or someone else was inside of her — just itching to get out.

“I know, let’s play a little game … a dirty little game … mmmmm …” Mary Ann suggested.

But it didn’t sound like Mary Ann — it sounded more like something my half-sister, Christabella, would say. Mary Ann grinned sardonically. She licked her painted lips and gripped my cock roughly through the wet toweling.

“Pretend that I am your naughty pregnant daughter.”

So it was to be an incest game?

“And I should call you daddy? Yes. Oh, Daddy … I’ve been such a naughty girl today … Daddy… I keep wetting myself … Daddy… wetting myself on purpose … peeing in my little girl panties … not just because you knocked me up … but because I like the smell and the taste of it … would you like to see your wicked little baby make pee pee … daddy? … make pee pee in your mouth … daddy?”

She pushed me back on the bed, pulled away the towel, and gripped my dick hard between her nimble fingers.

“That’s it, Daddy… I need your delicious cock … you’ve always been looking at me with those pervert eyes … the eyes that say that you cannot wait to rape your naughty little daughter … I know what you want … Daddy … you fucking pedo pervert … because I want it too … Daddy … I have the Devil’s fetus is inside me … daddy … it wants to suck your dick while you fuck me … mmmmm … come Daddy … open wide … my bladder is so full … so much hot salty piss for you to drink … Daddy … taste the Devil’s sacrament … all for you … my pervert fucking daddy,” she groaned as she mounted my chest.

Her clitoris was so inflamed and red … almost identical to the shape of a penis. How was it that I had never noticed how evident it was before? She grinned down at me, as I looked up at her, from below her groin and pregnant stomach. My tongue licked feverishly at her clitoris as she pressed herself against my upturned face.

”Oh daddy … suck my little penis, Daddy … oh my fucking gawd, I need to …”

She never finished the sentence. And in seconds I was drenched in her dark yellow piss as it squirted from her urethra, soaking my face, hair, and the bed sheets below. She laughed like a crazed woman. She pressed her piss-wet cunt over my mouth as more and more sour urine sprayed between my mouth.

I swallowed quickly just to get an opportunity to breathe. But there was more. An inhuman torrent of stinking piss — soaking me down completely — like an unholy baptism. Her cunt hovered over me and then she began to grind hard into my face. Her piss and slimy vaginal juices filled my mouth.

“Oh dirty Daddy,” she groaned.

She slid down against her bulbous stomach and directly descended onto my awaiting cock.

“Look … you’re all wet Daddy … soaked in my stinking piss … mmmmm … don’t you love it? I love it … the taste of hot salty piss makes me so fucking horny … kiss me … dirty Daddy .. so I can taste myself on you … mmmmmmm … my nasty incest Daddy … I love the taste of piss and cunt juice.”

Her bloated stomach pressed against me hard. She thrust with no regard for her unborn child. She felt tight — as if her birth canal was trying to chock my cock as she rode me, harder and harder. This was nothing like the gentle lovemaking that we normally enjoyed.

It feel desperate and urgent … as if reaching climax was all she could think about. As she thrust forward, my rock-hard cock thrust upwards to meet her downward plunges. Bucking up and down, as her thick tongue filled my mouth. Another new sensation. Her tongue seemed to fill my entire mouth cavity as if she was trying to consume me. Her eyes were ablaze with wild lust — a beast was alive inside her or was it the Devil’s fetus?



“Do I mean then that food sacrificed to an idol is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and the table of demons.” — 1 Corinthians chapter 10 verses 19 to 21

The morning came. The night seemed a blur. Animal passions and ancient lust. My whole body ached as if I had been in a bar brawl. My back hurt and was red with feral scratches that I couldn’t remember getting. My cock was sore too and my balls ached with emptiness. Mary Ann didn’t say much. In fact, she did nothing at all. She was already up before me — dressed conservatively — almost the antithesis of the woman that I had encountered the night before. Her face was plain, her hair pulled back into a simple bun — no smutty makeup. The old Mary Ann. Pretty and pious.

She reminded me that my mother was not well — that we needed to go and visit.

After breakfast, we made our way over to my family home. It felt like years since I had been there — even though it had been only a few months — there was a familiar smell, but something sickly seemed to impact the aroma.

What was the mystery of the source of her ailments? Inside, I went upstairs to her bedroom, — there she lay in her crib — Doctor Warner hovering over her. He was unclear about the diagnosis and as I held a cold-sweating hand, her eyes fluttered but didn’t open. Something was very wrong. Never in all my years had she been unwell. Her strength and her church were always steadfast.

Doctor Warner had been our family doctor for as long as I could remember. He had brought me into the world (according to my mother) and had attended to all our family health issues since, He was about sixty-four years old and had a face like old leather.

“I just don’t know Kevin. Your mother. I can’t find anything wrong. Can’t really pinpoint anything. It’s not her heart or any of her major organs. She should be fine … but look at her, she’s almost lost her will to live. Maybe you can talk to her. God knows I’ve tried.”

My mother looked tired. Very tired. She looked older than I remembered. Her skin was drawn tightly over her skeletal cheekbones and the flesh around her eyes looked dark and sunken, while her skin was ivory pale. She clutched her heavy bible across her chest.

“Mom? Mom? It’s me. It’s Kevin,” I said quietly as I sat on the side of her bed.

“Kevin …” she whispered, “You’re here!”

Her voice sounded calm and clear. Doctor Warner had given her a sedative, as he said she was prone to getting upset. He didn’t say why.

“Kevin …” her voice was low and almost secretive. I moved closer to hear her better. “They are here … you’re in danger son … they are here …”

“Who’s here, Mom?” I asked, trying not to elevate my concern.

“The demons … they’re here … they’re here … don’t trust anyone …”

“Mom, what are you talking about? Demons?”

Just then Mary Ann came and sat next to me. My mother looked at her and immediately recoiled.

She let out a scream.

”Get away! Get away from me. Get away from my son, you evil whore.”

I looked around at Mary Ann, who had taken a step back.

“Be gone! Demon! Be gone! In the name of the Holy Ghost and Holy Spirit!”

Doctor Wagner was already at her side; trying to get her attention away from whatever she thought she was seeing.

“Demons all! She’s a whore! She’s a demonic whore. A Jezebel! A witch! An evil blasphemous witch. Get out! Get out of here! Holy father! Jesus! Mary!”

“I called the ambulance,” said Doctor Wagner with haste, “It’s gotten too severe!”


I watched the nursing home ambulance leave with my mother inside. The unnecessary siren faded into the distance. Doctor Wagner thought it best that neither. Mary Ann or I, accompany her to the “nursing home” at that point in time. It was the safest place for her, he said. Delusions were not uncommon. The nursing home was better equipped to deal with these kinds of psychotic episodes. And it seemed that the tranquilizers were no longer effective. He’d mentioned her seeing demons before. He’d said that it was just getting worse.

Mary Ann appeared a little shaken. I was immediately worried about the baby. Could this kind of trauma affect our unborn child? Mary Ann kept very quiet for a while. Was she upset from the hurtful things that my mother had screamed at her? Did she take my mother’s comments to heart? Being accused of such blasphemous things couldn’t have been easy. But soon after the ambulance left, things immediately began to return back to normal. Whatever normal was?


The day seemed to pass without further incident. We had done a little shopping. We’d walked around without much to say. I had heard back from Doctor Wagner, who’d said that my mother was in a more stable position. She was quiet again. I was still very worried about her. I planned to go and see her alone, once I had settled Mary Ann. This was just too much all at once. My sick mother. My pregnant wife. The unexpected hostilities.

Mary Ann looked as if she was over the events of the morning at my mother’s house. And as nighttime came, a change seemed to come over Mary Ann again. No longer so solemn or melancholic — but more relaxed or dare I say, a little devious.

I swear, it felt that as soon as the sun set, she took on a different persona. Like the one who’d taken me to bed the night before. I was immediately excited again. My back was sore from the scratches. The sheets on our matrimonial bed still stunk of sex and urine — but Mary Ann (who was always so preoccupied with cleanliness) made no effort to change them — I said nothing about it.

Mary Ann undressed and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower and then singing. It was a strange melody that I hadn’t heard Mary Ann sing before. Her voice seemed deeper … more gravelly. Finally, she emerged. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring in her delicate gown that hid nothing from my lusty eyes.

“The things my mother said,” I started, “I’m really sorry. I hope you’re all right. You haven’t said much about it all day.”

“Oh Daddy … don’t be silly … stick and stones,” she said as if the game from the night before was about to begin all over again.

I let out a sigh of relief. At least she seemed to be okay with everything.

“Can we watch some porn?” she asked.

At first, I thought she was kidding. But she smiled like a wicked little cat. I was naked in a flash and retrieved my laptop from my work bag.

“Something dark … perverted … Daddy… something totally illegal … I love being naughty with you,” she was already stroking me as I fumbled with my computer, “Sinful things excite me, Daddy… I don’t know why? Maybe being pregnant has made me desire nasty things … Daddy.. will you show me nasty things?”

“What would you like to see?”

“Rape … Daddy … I want to see a little boy, raped by a black tranny with a big black cock … Daddy… I want to see his little white ass destroyed by the nasty evil tranny witch doctor as she fucks him before their evil devil god!”

I was stunned. I wasn’t sure what to say. This was the mother of my child. But I was no angel. My thoughts jumped to the ‘Maison Du Diable Maléfique’ … how they had once called me the ‘White Devil’ … the son of Satan …

“Let’s play a game Kevin … let’s pretend that what your mother said was true … and daddy … what if I was a sex demon? … a little pregnant succubus … a Jezebel … a witch … does that turn you on?”

I was more than turned on.

“Daddy … Your dirty cock is dripping with precum … daddy … I think you like your wife being a demonic whore … a perverted witch who loves black tranny cock?”

Mary Ann pushed my hands away from the computer and typed some URLs into the search function — the screen immediately flashed and filled with shameless images and streaming videos of perverted sex — of young preteen girls fucking large dogs; belly-riding women filled with horse cock; young boys and girls in pedophilic rape scenes; cross-dressing nuns in black mass rituals; sick images of what appeared to human sacrifice and cannibalism — some of it simply horrific.

But Mary Ann smiled so sweetly …

“They call it the Dark Net, Kevin … someone called Christabella sent it to me while you were away … and I have been visiting it every night since … she said she was a friend from Big Town … that you knew her? A colleague?”

Christabella. That made sense.


I awake in the dampness of our bed. I was alone. There was no sign of Mary Ann. I showered, dressed, and looked around. There was a note on the kitchen table for me. Mary Ann had an appointment with her gynecologist. I had a terrible headache. I took a tablet with water and grabbed the car keys.

The “nursing home” was a short ride away. I felt guilty about not visiting sooner, but it had been on the advice of Doctor Wagner, to let my mother settle down after her psychotic episode. When I arrived, she sat in a sat overlooking a large window. the light was bright and the room overly warm, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by either the brightness or the heat.


“Kevin? Kevin is that you?” she responded without turning.

Doctor Wagner had reminded me that it was best to take it slowly. Her mystery illness had not improved with her psychosis. She was very lethargic but slept uneasily most of the day after the incident at her home.

“Yes Mom, it’s me.”

“Oh Kevin,” she mumbled, “I was so worried about you my dearest. I saw something … something I shouldn’t have seen! It came to me while I read Genesis — ‘Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made’ —”

“Look Mom, there’s nothing wrong. It isn’t real. You’re imagining things. It’s all in your mind.”

“Kevin,” her eyes were wide and maniac, “I mean it … I know these demons are real … Satan is real … it was Mary Ann …”

“Mom, please. You really need to rest now,” I held her tightly in my arms, “There’s nothing to worry about — everything is going to be okay.”

“… Mary … Mary Ann … she’s one of them … a demon in disguise … I saw her … the witch … an evil and wicked creature of the night! … a Jezebel and her unborn … it’s the spawn of the devil!”

“Mom, please!”

My mother started to convulse against my shoulder.

“Kev … ke … ke .. ke …”

She fell heavily against me as she tried to push back and stand. Her eyes were bloodshot and wild. Her mouth contorted as it began to froth. Her voice was drowned out as she coughed up copious foamy fluids.

‘Help us! Help us please!” I cried out and was immediately surrounded by nurses and doctors in a flurry of white coats.


She never recovered. These were the last words we spoke. I was shocked. Doctor Wagner had no explanation for it. There would be a postmortem and then the burial.

My mother was gone. Just like that. I didn’t mention my conversation to Mary Ann. I saw no need to bring up my mother’s rantings. But her words did disturb me. All that talk about demons, witches, Jezebels … I had seen enough to know that this was not just simply crazy talk. What had my mother seen? Mary Ann had been so different since my return. A change for the better in the bedroom. But what else was in my mother’s words? The unborn was the “spawn” of the devil?



“Do not give any of your children to be sacrificed to Molech, for you must not profane the name of your God. I am the Lord. Do not have sexual relations with a boy as one does with a girl; that is detestable.” — Leviticus chapter 18 verses 21 to 22

The passing of my mother was both upsetting and a kind of cathartic release. It seemed to me to be the end of something and yet the beginning of something else … that had the feeling of being apocalyptic — I had never personally felt the whole, “End of days,” thing, prior to this moment — but now I did.

My mother’s pastor, Father Michael Oluronbi, had always been such a charismatic preacher — but on this occasion he was solemn. Even the church choir that attended the sad proceedings, seemed joyless in their sullen voices.

The day was dull and overcast — it felt fitting to the somber and tenebrific in mood.

That is when I first recognized Milton Maximus. He was a man from a distance dream. He was standing where nobody else would notice him, beneath one of the ancient oak trees that peppered the hilly cemetery — but of course, I noticed him.

Also, I recognized Nikki Capone, his transgendered assistant. My mind reeled. A dream state overcomes me for a second. A memory of something that never actually happened — or did it?

They were both dressed in austere black, befitting to the occasion, but there was something inexplicably joyous about them. Milton was looking directly at me. His bright eyes piercing and the momentary broadness of his predatory smile reached deeply into my mortal soul. I was reminded, that he was the Devil. The Morning Star. He was here at my mother’s passing. A celebration of life or death?

I turned to face my mother’s coffin as Father Michael administered the final prayer. The choir began to sing, “Amazing Grace,” as the rain started to fall. The heavy coffin lowered as the umbrellas came out. It wasn’t raining hard, but folks started moving back towards the church refectory as the skies threatened to open with a deluge.

I stood dutifully, as I held the umbrella over Mary Ann, as she sobbed quietly.

”She loved you so much, Kevin,” said Mary Ann, “She could be so overbearing something, Good Lord! But I knew that she loved you more than life itself.”

I hugged her closer, but my eyes could not resist slipping back toward Milton and Nikki as they pretended to be watching the proceedings. Milton saw my gaze and turned his body, which had been semi-blocking his attractive assistant from view, revealing that Nikki was discretely fondling a significant bulge in the front of her black lace dress.

She looked over at me invitingly. Milton grinned rapaciously … as if you say …

“Come and get it boy …”

My cock moved in my pants in a way that I haven’t felt since my last fuck with the shemale, Chedeline, in Port-Au-Pearl.

Mary Ann pulled me tighter.

“I know you aren’t feeling yourself, Kevin. It must be a big shock,” she added, looking into my face, mistaking my wanton lust for loss.


The falling rain mixed with the salt of our tears.

Mary Ann and I were the last to leave the wet grave site. I stared for the longest time at the gaping hole in the ground after the coffin descended into the darkness. The rain had gotten worse. It was time to leave. We walked slowly back down the hill towards the refectory and at the entry to the building, I paused. Again, Mary Ann took my hesitation as a sign of my despondency.

“Hey …” Mary Ann kissed my wet cheek, “I need to find a bathroom urgently, Kevin. It’s a pregnancy thing. You take your time to collect your thoughts. I understand. I will speak with Father Micheal. See you later on — come and find me when you’re ready,” she said, as I let go of her arm.

She turned and moved inside the dry safety of the old church refectory. I stood and watched her leave. I turned back to see Milton and Nikki standing close by.

“I am sorry for your lose … Kevin,” said Milton as he extended his leather-gloved hand, “I am Milton Maximus and this is Ms. Nikki Capone, my personal assistant.”

We shook hands formally.

“Thank you for coming,” I replied hesitantly.

“We haven’t met before, but I have heard many great things about you from one of my clients in Port-Au-Pearl — Dr. Moyez — your work at the Hope Foundation has been phenomenal.”

“Thank you. Did … did you know the deceased? My mother?” I asked (half-knowing, half-imagining the answer).

”Well, that is a long story, Kevin. One that I will share with you, should you be willing to listen. I see your wife is pregnant. I am happy for both of you. But you know that you’re not the father.”

Though I heard the words … it took some time to comprehend them.

“Well, I see your half-sister has been busy. Oh … you didn’t know?” Milton’s eyes burned brightly as he gave a look of mock surprise, “Well. Sorry to be the messenger of bad news. But then again, I must say, Mary Ann will not survive the birth.”

Another bombshell. I was cotton-mouthed. I wanted to rebuff. But felt tongue-tired. Unable to answer coherently from the disbelief.

“Your sister, Christabella, will be in Morningstar with your child … who, as you know, will rise to become the Antichrist. You should join her there. The Hope Foundation needs your assistance in Morningstar.”

I was completely dumbstruck.

“How … how … how do you know these things.”

But I already knew why. I was just having a hard time accepting them.

Nikki moved forward. The bulge in front of her black lace dress was even more noticeable at this close proximity. She’d stepped behind me and kissed the nape of my neck. The lecherous Nikki, began to press herself against my rear, as I stood shaken from Milton’s disturbing update.

I felt the hardness of her erection rubbing fervently against the furrow of my backside. Even though our wet clothing, the sensation was turning me on more than I was prepared to admit — despite all the strange and disturbing things that Milton had mentioned — my libido seemed none the worse.

”That’s the spirit,” jabbed Milton, the bulge in his pants, was his seal of approval.

”Mmmmm …” moaned Nikki, “Milton, I want him.”

Milton laughed.

“Nikki, why don’t you take Kevin for a short ride in the limo?” said Milton, “After all the upsetting news … I’m sure he could do with some good old fashion sodomy — don’t you think? Excuse me a while. I want to pay my … respects to the recently departed …” he added with a grin as he headed back towards my mother’s open grave site.

Nikki’s cock pressed harder and more urgently against me.

“Mmmmm, Kevin,” whispered Nikki.

I watched Milton leave. He walked purposefully up the hill, between the grey tombstone, until he reach the unfilled grave. The rain continued, but he seem undeterred. He stood momentarily at the edge of the rectangular hole. Though his back was to us, I could see that he had fished his erect cock out of his pants and began to urinate into the open grave.

“Tut. Tut. He’s a very naughty devil,” Nikki said pulling me away, “Mmmm … Let’s go before anyone misses us,” she hoarsely groaned in my ear, “Let’s have a little pee-pee party of our own.”


It was as if time suddenly stood still.

Had the rain stopped? Not stopped. Paused. Like, droplets of water caught in mid-air. Like the words of a strange song, suddenly paused between the chorus. Everything was grey. Everything was wet. There was the smell of the earth of the graveyard. There was the whiff of acrid urine.

Nikki gripped my damp palm and pulled me forward as we briskly walked to the waiting limousine. The black Mariah. Its black-tinted windows gave no view of what lay inside. And once we climbed in, the vehicle began to immediately move away from the curb. The driver was obscured from view behind an obscured glass divider screen.

”That’s the spirit.”

I could hear Milton’s voice in my head.

Nikki and I fell together onto the long leather bench couch that ran the length of the black interior of the limo. Perfect for fucking.

“Oh fuck yer … let it all go, son … “

Nikki immediately opened her black lacy blouse to reveal her naked, bra-less chest. Flat and shapeless. More like a young boy. Perfectly skinny. Bony and puny. Just as I liked it. My hand held her ribbed abdomen, as we kissed hungrily, wantonly. Open-mouthed. She tasted of urine and semen (as if she’d had sex only moments before we’d met). Our tongues danced back and forth. I felt so fucking high. Lust filled my mind; as the blood rushed to my cock. I felt drunk on lust, with a renewed sense of sexual depravity.

“She’s so fucking hot. Isn’t she? Who knows better about pleasing a cock — than one that had a cock of her own?”

I ignored Milton’s mental commentary. I was just so fucking horny.

My cock needed to be touched. It begged to be stroked. I hardly felt the swaying movement of the limousine as it sped off, faster and faster. Away from my concerns, from the death of my mother; from my pregnant cheating wife; from the petty problems of my estranged life.

We were both naked in no time among the smell of wet leather, urea, and the sweet odor of my lover’s androgynous body. We were both hard as nails. Our erect cocks pulsed, with the blood of unnatural desire. Upright, we were ready to sword-fight. Ready to dance together? Flesh against flesh. Frotting. Precum wet our fuck sticks. Nikki wasted no time, rubbing our torrid cocks together.

“Don’t you just love her girl-cock!”

”Aaaarghhhhhhh …” I groaned in complete abandonment.

Even though we were far away from the graveyard by now, in my lust-filled, foggy mind, I could still see Milton’s devilish grin. He smiled back at me with those perfect white teeth as he willfully desecrated my dead mother’s grave — pissing and masturbating over her coffin. In my mind, I saw him cum. Ropes of his evil semen slashed over my mother’s dead face. Mockingly — Fuck you! — it said. Fuck your life. Fuck your God. Fuck Jesus Christ. Fuck the Holy Spirit. Holy water boiled at the proximity of his touch. Did I care? The simple answer was no.

“S-s-suck my nipples …” groaned Nikki, pulling my head sharply downwards against her flat sissified chest.

“She wants you, Kevin, she wants your lips … your cock … your soul …”

They were damn hard. Her nipples were pierced with the little silver rings of subservience. They felt like hard bullets between my trembling lips. I sucked upon them greedily as her hand pressed harder against the back of my head. Her tight flesh filled my mouth. I felt giddy with lewdness.

Nikki’s hand gripped me tightly, pumping my cock, as I first sucked her left nipple and then the right. Her small fingers glided up and down my turgid wet pole, dragging my loose foreskin over the lubricated tip of my engorged cock and then thrusting down towards my cum-filled balls.

“S-s-suck my cock …” she groaned as her groin thrust upwards.

“Oh, Kevin … that’s it … wrap your lips around her throbbing demon meat … she fucked some delinquent run away just before we arrived … the miscreant screamed so sweetly while she raped his tight hole … maybe you can taste his young ass on her flesh too?”

She forcefully pressed my head down further towards the dark meat that rose from her grinding lap. My lips opened and were rewarded with the hot flesh of her cock-head. I sucked and licked fervently as she thrust into my mouth — fucking my mouth – with gusto.

What Nikki lacked in size and girth, she made up in sheer dominance. Raping my mouth. Thrusting my tongue into the back of my gagging throat. Yes, I could taste the bitterness … of ass-to-mouth …

“Oh yer … Nikki loves it up the ass, Kevin. The sin of sodomy … is so delicious!”


I remembered returning to our matrimonial home after the funeral. Ironic thought. Mary Ann had passed out on the bed. She seemed to be so languid and fell into a deep sleep on the bed. Thoughts of sodomizing Nikki returned with vengeance. Her hot, lithe body. She’d pissed in my mouth. I smelt of her urine. My throat tasted of it. I had thrown her down aggressively on the black leather seat, and forcefully pulled her scrawny legs wide, to give my cock access to her sweaty brown flower.

I was consumed with it. Couldn’t stop myself. And then I was gripping her narrow boyish hips, pressing my cock onto her ass pussy. Her anus spasmed as my cock sank into her filthy bowels — sending the most delicious contractions along the length of my rock-hard dick — as if, milking me towards ejaculation. She’d screamed so many profanities as I penetrated her.

“The sin of sodomy … is so delicious!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck Christ. Fuck ME … baby. Fuck God! Fuck God! Fuck my ass-cunt ME harder!” she yelled.

I had to shake my head, as I tried to relax and concentrate on something else … anything else … and for a moment in our house, everything was so quiet. So quiet.

I really needed some serious head space — to get my mind straight. But that wasn’t going to happen. Milton was there in my thoughts. Reading my thoughts. Guiding my thoughts. So many contradictory thoughts. Such unnatural and twisted thoughts.

“Yes Kevin, you forget that I know who you are. What you have done. What you’re capable of … don’t go falling asleep on me … there’s work to be done …”

But my eyes felt suddenly so heavy. I blinked hard. I blinked hard again. There was a sudden falling sensation accompanied by darkness and a bizarre cacophony of distant voices manifested. Voices or chanting or moans of sexual ecstasy? It sounded like all of them.

There was a circle of figures dressed in long dark gowns. As I approached, I realized that there was a mixture of both males and females — about half a dozen of each — and their gowns were all open from the front. I could see that they were all young and immature in stature. They parted their circle in a gesture to invite me to join them, that was when I could see that they were all masturbating.

That was when I realized that I was dressed as they were.

And then I saw two very pregnant figures. There, in the middle of the circle. Both of them were completely naked and highly sexually aroused. Their bodies glistened with sexual sweat or oils. It was my half-sister and Mary Ann, my cheating wife. They were both heavily pregnant and lying together upon a low padded podium surrounded by their masturbating voyeurs. Darkness surrounded the circle and the only light seem to fall on the pregnant sirens as they groveled between each other’s thighs. They wriggled like plump serpents — quivering from the intensity of their perverted arousal.

“Look at that Kevin. It’s a satanic-fuck-fest, son. Your pregnant whore of a sister? Your pregnant cheating bride?”

Milton really knew exactly how to punch my buttons. Anger? Arousal? Rage? Lust? Fury? Wickedness? Was I asleep or was this real? It looked real. It felt real.

“That’s an awesome knife you have there, Kevin. Are … are you intending to use that?”

What was Milton going on about? I looked down. My cock was rock hard, dripping with precum, as I watched Christabella and Mary-Ann orally pleasuring each other. It was difficult to tear my eyes away from the erotic scene — but then I noticed the long razor-sharp blade in my right hand.

What fucking game was he playing? I felt an unquenchable anger boiling up inside me. Murderous anger.

My knife hand shook.

“Look at your cheating whore of a wife. She’s knocked up. What a fucking bitch to do that to you. Why not slit her throat first? Kill your wife for cheating on you and pretending the child was yours? Fuck, what a deceptive cunt she is, Kevin. Make your move …”

Milton’s disturbing words roused me. I was giddy. I did feel a true hatred. Yet, I felt so fucking horny. Sweat poured from my brow. My cock throbbed from hearing their lewd moaning as Christabella eat wife’s sopping-wet cunt out, and Mary Ann throated my sister’s oversized clit.

The knife felt heavy against my palm.

“The little whore had you for a fool, Kevin. Pretending to be demure, loving and so innocent … and all along she couldn’t wait to have sex with your hermaphroditic sister. All that shecock in her mouth — the useless whore looks like she just cannot get enough!”

I moved closer.

At first, they were both too self-absorbed in sexual bliss to even notice me standing there. They didn’t see me or my murderous knife. Then my sister looked up and saw me. She smiled at me, knowingly, as if she had been awaiting my arrival.

“Your beautiful sister has been awaiting you, son. She carries your true child. She needs you to perform a sacrifice for her, for us, for ME. That’s right, Kevin, she wants you to make Mary Ann suffer … cut her up, Kevin, maybe she’ll miscarriage … maybe not … you can cut the baby out … abort it … maybe disembowel her?”

Close up, I could clearly see Christabella’s tongue licking her lips — inviting me to participate — their stomachs both looked bloated and awkward — like a serpent’s coins filled after eating its prey — but their lust seemed to overcome any physical limitations of their pregnancies.

“… Sorry to be the messenger of bad news. But then again I must say, Mary Ann won’t survive the birth … so what does it matter … you can do a lot of damage with that knife, son. What are you waiting for? Kill her … Kill your lying bitch wife — make that gesture for your sister, the goddess, Christabella — just like you did together in Port-Au-Pearl …”

What the hell! Was this some kind of test? Had I ever really wanted a child … with Mary Ann? No. Did I truly love her? From the very moment I laid eyes on Christabella, I had been thinking about cheating. Even at my own mother’s funeral, I was more preoccupied with sodomizing Nikki. So, honestly, how could I have dared to think I loved her?

I thought back to my abhorrent behavior in Port-Au-Pearl. All the debauched sex. Participating in the sacrifice of the “Goat with no horns”? Eating human flesh? If my father was right — she would die in labor? I hated her. I hated her unborn fetus.

“It’s the product of evil lust. Kill her. Kill them both mother and fetus.”

My child? The Antichrist? What the hell do you say to that? — That’s a complete mind-fuck! — But then again, mind-fucking seemed to be the order of the day. What kind of mother was Christabella? Incestuous? Depraved? Evil? How was that going to work? I had no idea.

All I felt was sexual arousal and the loathing I had for my cheating whore wife. I hated her and her fetus.

Christabella nodded — as if she was preparing for the moment. She was a demon in the body of an unholy hermaphrodite. Twisted-sex-on-legs. I thought of a verse from 1 John 4 … “And every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you heard was coming and now is in the world already.”

Was the “End of days,” coming? What was I supposed to do as the so-called Son of Satan? Or had I already done my part? I had fucked my incestuous half-sister; got her pregnant; and I was complicit in my father’s grand design.

“It’s time Kevin. It’s time to show us who you are. Kill them both. Mother and fetus. They have taken you for a ride. Taken you for a complete fool. Fuck them with your knife. Stick it to them. Sacrifice them before your beautiful sister. Sacrifice them for ME. Sacrifice them for SATAN. Just fucking do it for your pride. Do it for your love of self … for Kevin Swift … you are the Son of Satan.”


To be continued …


If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com