Feature Writer: Pueros / pueros@hotmail.com
Feature Title: LUCIFER’S DISCIPLES
Published: 2006 / copyright 2006 by Pueros, all rights reserved
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: This is the first part of a story about a boy who becomes entrapped in the evil rituals of a wicked satanic cult.
Lucifer’s Disciples
(Owner’s residence of a remote farm, Midwestern USA, 1-1/2 years ago)
The Grand Master of the major but highly secretive and exclusively male and homosexual satanic cult, which had chapters all over the USA and beyond, was sitting at his desk in the main house of the large isolated farm that he owned. The extensive property had been bought with significant help from member subscriptions.
The Grand Master was looking at some files. The dossiers were fronted and backed by brown covers, with information documents of white paper and photographs stapled inside.
The Grand Master’s study possessed a long broad window, which gave him a panoramic view of part of his property. He momentarily glanced up from what he was examining to look at the local agricultural scenery once more.
This view was generally pleasant but was rather spoilt by the presence nearby in a local field of an ugly white windowless building, from which protruded a narrow but tall chimney of silvery metal, currently glistening in the morning sunlight. The construction contained the farm’s highly effective incinerator, on which the Grand Master’s eyes now momentarily focused.
The Grand Master, who was currently dressed normally in a colorful checkered shirt, blue jeans and brown leather boots, was attended by his secretary, who was masculine, as no females were present on the farm, and similarly attired. The latter man asked of his boss “Have you decided yet, Sir?”
“Yes,” the Grand Master answered, after giving all of the files due consideration and handing one of them to his secretary, “and this is my choice!” The assistant accepted the dossier and opened the covers to look at the documents inside.
The first item seen by the secretary inside the file was the photograph of an extremely handsome 13 year-old boy, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Scrutiny of the child’s printed life-profile revealed his first name to be Stephen.
The secretary smirked, which was a reaction noticed by his boss. “Why are you so happy?” the Grand Master therefore inquired.
The secretary, still smirking, replied “Because I’ve won a wager, Sir. I bet the member who submitted this candidate for your consideration that you would choose this boy. The proposer was much less confident, and that lack of belief has just cost him five hundred dollars!”
“Why were you so sure that I’d choose this boy,” the intrigued Grand Master next asked, “out of all the many candidates that our members from all over the world have put forward for my consideration?” “There were fours factors, Sir,” the secretary happily responded, “that encouraged me.”
“First,” the secretary continued, “I know that you, Sir, particularly like blue-eyed blondes, although I appreciate that for variety you do also select candidates with different features. The second, third and fourth reasons, though, really clinched the argument for me, and these are that the boy’s the son of a Deacon of the Anglican Church, he appears religiously devout himself and he’s named after the first Christian martyr. I didn’t think that you could resist such a combination!”
“Am I that easy to read?” the Grand Master enquired in response, whilst now displaying his own grin. “Only by those who really know you, Sir,” the secretary answered.
“Perhaps therefore I should receive some commission from your winnings,” the Grand Master suggested. “No chance, Sir,” the secretary retorted jokingly, “as I need such windfalls to supplement my poor salary!” In fact, given that he was a live-in employee with no domestic overheads to pay at all, the assistant’s remuneration was excellent.
“I think, though, that I provide good job benefits to make up for my parsimony over salary,” the Grand Master also jested. His secretary fully appreciated that his boss was not referring to the receipt of free accommodation, food, car and healthcare, or decent pension provision, but rather to another very pleasant perk of the job. Thinking of the sexual pleasures that he enjoyed as a result of his position, he therefore replied “You certainly do, Sir!”
“Well, if you want to continue to receive such benefits,” the Grand Master suggested, “please arrange for poor Stephen to be abducted and brought here as soon as possible.” “I certainly shall, Sir,” the still smirking secretary responded, whilst leaving the study with the boy’s file in his hand.
(California, USA, a few days later)
Stephen was sitting in a front pew of the main church of the Anglican parish of which his father was the Deacon. The large building was currently devoid of worshipers apart from the boy and a man who was praying quietly a few rows behind him.
Stephen had recently chosen to come to the church regularly at such quiet times after school because he liked to pray in solitude for the welfare of his recently deceased beloved paternal grandfather, to whom he had been very close. The boy’s eyes were therefore closed, as he expressed relevant wishes to God, when a strongly pungently smelling cloth engulfed his mouth.
Despite early desperate struggles, Stephen was soon unconscious.
(Owner’s residence of a remote farm, Midwestern USA, 6 months later)
The Grand Master was again in his study, with his eyes focused on the building housing his incinerator, where white smoke was billowing from the narrow but tall chimney of silvery metal. The once more attendant secretary suggested to his boss, whilst referring to the external scene, “Don’t you think, Sir, that it’s a bit like the signal in the Vatican that confirms that a new Pope has been chosen by the Roman Catholic College of Cardinals?”
“You’re right,” the Grand Master answered, “but I don’t think that a Pope or his College of Cardinals would like what that white smoke portends!” The secretary laughed in response to his boss’ humor.
“Well, let’s get down to business,” the Grand Master subsequently more seriously suggested. “First,” he then asked, “has everything been cleared up after last night?”
“Yes, Sir,” the secretary replied, “as our members who run the bars and barbecue again not only performed magnificently last night but also have dismantled their stalls and cleaned up, leaving virtually no evidence of their presence. Those who provided the closed circuit television equipment, including the big video screens in the arena and outside catering area, have done the same.”
“Both sets of important contributors to the event were, of course, Sir,” the secretary continued, “substantially helped as usual by our slaves and their own!” The assistant was referring to one of the cult’s sado-masochistic practices, whereby members were all BDSM ‘tops’ served by full-time volunteer ‘bottoms’, who were either their own or communal.
The Grand Master was no exception to such arrangements but rather the opposite. He had more slaves than anyone else in the cult. They assisted his farm operations and also helped him and, as a job perk, his carefully chosen employees, such as his secretary, to practice their sadistic sexual perversions.
Given the Grand Master’s senior position, he also ensured that he possessed the choicest slaves in line with his tastes. All specimens were particularly handsome, smooth and young, with some just sixteen years of age.
For formal occasions, such as the previous night’s event, all members wore their formal cult robes, which were somewhat akin to those sported by Ku-Klux-Klan members but more colourful and ornate. Different hues and embroidered satanic symbols denoted respectively the varying ranks and chapters.
Meanwhile, the slaves on such formal occasions only wore skimpy thongs and silver medallions in addition their uniform strong black leather collars, wristlets and anklets, with integral embedded bondage rings. They were also often decorated with brandmarks and the signs of recent beatings or other physical abuse.
The color of the slaves’ thongs was black if they were under communal proprietorship or matched the robes of their masters if they were assigned to only one person. The emblem of their silver medallions also differed according to the particular chapter to which they were affiliated.
“Many of the mobile homes, trailers and tents in which many of our members slept after the conclusion of the ceremony, plus associated vehicles,” the secretary went on to add, “have already left the fallow fields allocated for their use, Sir. As usual, the rest should be gone by midday.”
“That’s good,” the Grand Master commented, in respect of his secretary’s confirmation that the temporary amenities and debris from the previous evening were being quickly cleared and his farm returned to normality. “Where are my slaves now?” he subsequently asked.
“Their Major Domo had granted them some rest in their barracks, Sir,” the secretary answered, whilst referring to the muscular leather-clad mustached slave supervisor, “after flogging those who made mistakes last evening or in the later clean-up. It was a very long night for them and he thought that he’d secure better productivity from them in their menial chores later if he now allowed them such respite.”
“The Major Domo is being strangely considerate,” the Grand Master retorted, “as he normally secures the necessary productivity by wielding his whip. I suppose the real reason for his unusual generosity is that he’s as tired as the slaves and needed sleep too!”
“You’re always accurately perceptive, Sir,” the secretary responded to his boss’ correct assumption. “Well,” the Grand Master commented, “the event only takes place once a year so I suppose that I can be generous too. So, let them sleep for now but I want them all at work by early afternoon, as the fallow fields used by our recent guests will undoubtedly need some restoration!”
“I shall personally ensure that your command is carried out, Sir,” the secretary advised. “Thank you,” his boss politely replied.
“Now, what did you think of last night’s disappointing performance?” the Grand Master went on to ask. “All was going so well, Sir, until his nipple ornaments were applied,” the secretary answered, whilst recalling the end of the event, “which somehow caused Michael’s mindset to alter radically.”
“From being earlier thoroughly compliant,” the secretary continued, “and performing his dancing and even enduring his dildo, vibrating nipple-clamp and whipping tortures well, Michael suddenly froze in apparent fearful panic, creating the unfortunate need to drag him to his fate. The whole sad conclusion was made more disappointing by the fact the boy’s display of cowardice occurred so near the end of the ceremony. I had been beginning to believe that we would see only the second 14 year-old of nine to meet his destiny in honour of our lord, the great Lucifer, courageously right to the finale!”
“So was I!” the Grand Master ruefully advised. “The member,” he added, “who originally proposed the selection of Michael, came to me afterwards and was very apologetic. However, I told him not to blame himself because we obviously haven’t yet perfected the conditioning of the boys whom we abduct to honor our lord, the great Lucifer. This one appeared particularly right for his role and not just because he was named after an archangel. He had adapted so well for so long and so his failure at the very end was so surprising and disappointing!”
“Which part of the lengthy brainwashing and conditioning process,” the Grand Master asked, “do you think is letting us down? Is it the early interrogation of those we abduct to establish inherent outlooks or the subsequent continuing indoctrination, supported by sleep deprivation and other tortures, to change their perspectives to ones that conform to our beliefs? Alternatively, are the hallucinatory mind- bending drugs that we use to aid the whole process too ineffective or am I simply choosing incorrect candidates for the annual role or the wrong men to supervise the boys’ preparation, or am I to blame? Do I do anything during the year or so that I act as their personal master that I shouldn’t, particularly towards the end?”
Chinese scientists had originally developed the brainwashing and conditioning techniques and drugs, to which the Grand Master referred, for use on American prisoners captured in the Korean and Vietnam Wars in order to help turn their captives secretly towards their cause, in a ‘Manchurian Candidate’ way. The practices and narcotics concerned had been refined even more since.
The techniques and drugs now made subjects extremely docile, highly acquiescent and obedient, even in respect of totally strange and perverse out-of-character activities, and intensely susceptible to suggestions. Aphrodisiac additives had also been inserted into the narcotics at the satanic cult’s request to ensure that sexual stimulation was additionally considerably boosted.
The drugs were initially forcibly injected in great strength into the cult’s abducted boys. However, dosage was later reduced, supposedly without any loss of effectiveness because of the permanent proficiency of the earlier treatment, so that the narcotics could instead subsequently be furtively absorbed via food and drink.
“Well, Sir,” the secretary answered, “can I remind you of what the Chinese experts, whom we pay to provide the treatment, tell us? They say that the conditioning sadly isn’t entirely foolproof and that, after someone has apparently been thoroughly brainwashed into complying with everything you want him to do, some minor happening can unfortunately often still somehow trigger a regression, especially when the planned ultimate denouement is so close and serious. You can therefore only expect a low percentage to remain totally obedient without relapse to the very end.”
“I suppose they’re correct,” the Grand Master reflected, with disappointment evident in his voice. “We should probably therefore just be grateful,” he added, “that all candidates so far have at least reached as far as the final ceremony and then formally committing themselves to their fates before progressing through the ritual to varying degrees, even if just one has reached the end.”
“Don’t you think it strange, though,” the Grand Master queried, “given the later apparent change of mind of most, that all have missed the chance not to commit and thereby avoid their destiny, when they have the opportunity to do so at the beginning of the ceremony? Such a decision would be respected, as not to do so would be to show disdain for the ritual of our lord, the great Lucifer, and the boys would be returned safely to their former lives, with their memories of what had happened to them after their abductions erased.”
The Grand Master was referring to a rite at the beginning of the last ceremony in which the abducted boys were invited to be the starring performers. They had to commit themselves formally to the rest of the ritual, for which the great Lucifer apparently only wanted volunteers. The fact that the youngsters had been brainwashed into offering themselves was seemingly irrelevant to the ethics of the event.
“I believe that their early commitment in the ceremony to performance of subsequent ritual,” the secretary answered, ” is actually a testament to the effectiveness of their pre- conditioning, Sir. So is the fact that such preparation, aided by regular checking and refreshing of their brainwashing by our Chinese friends, has, without exception, already provided you with a completely compliant slaveboy for the previous twelve months or so!”
“It just seems that,” the secretary added, “as the ceremonial ritual progresses towards the ultimate denouement, all of the preparatory achievements of the past 1-1/2 years are lost when suddenly the stark reality of what is approaching can suddenly ruin all the previous careful psychological groundwork. Nevertheless, our lord, the great Lucifer, still receives in his honour a young ripe offering, who had originally formally voluntarily offered himself!”
“I suppose you’re right,” the Grand Master commented before requesting “Remind me, though, what was the name of the lovely brave boy who actually completed the ceremony?” “Peter, Sir,” the secretary replied, “who was from Arizona.”
“Ah, yes,” the Grand Master reminisced, “I recall now. He was an especially beautiful boy, named after the saint, the ‘rock of Jesus’, and first Pope. He was a particularly good fuck and suck too. I still occasionally watch the video of his remarkable ceremonial performance, which must have taken place about four years ago.”
“Five, Sir,” the secretary corrected, “as he was the fourth to offer himself in honour of our lord, the great Lucifer, and sadly the only one so far to have done so by completing all ritual.” “Of course,” the Grand Master remarked, “as I remember that that was the year when the barbecue was interrupted by an unseasonal rain storm.”
“That, Sir,” the secretary again corrected, “was the previous year, when the boy then only reached the attachment of the ceremonial loin-chains with vibrating butt-plug before attempting to flee. You suggested at the time that the rain storm was a display of the displeasure of our lord, the great Lucifer, on being presented with such a cowardly offering.”
The Grand Master grinned at his employee and announced “I wish I had a memory like yours!” “The role of a good secretary, Sir,” the assistant propounded in reply, “is to make such an attribute on the part of his boss unnecessary!”
“Ah, you’re a fount of great wisdom as well as a man with a good memory,” the Grand Master subsequently complimented. “Thank you for your kind words, Sir,” the secretary responded.
“Well, let’s hope that young Stephen proves to be another Peter and not another Michael,” the Grand Master subsequently commented before asking “By the way, how is his conditioning going?” “The Chinese experts,” the secretary answered, “who have held him for the last six months, not only have recently confirmed that the boy is ready to serve as your slave for the next year but also have just delivered him to the usual basement cell below us!”
“That’s excellent!” the Grand Master remarked before standing up from his desk chair. “Let’s therefore go,” he added with great eagerness, “to see how good a slaveboy young Stephen, son of an Anglican Deacon and named after the first Christian martyr, has become!”
Nevertheless, despite his eagerness to see his new freshly brainwashed and conditioned neophyte slave boy, the Grand Master paused before he reached his study door and turned to face the window again. Once more viewing the white smoke still flowing from the chimney of his incinerator, he then said “Goodbye Michael!”
THE END