MISHA 2 (MISHA’S STORY)

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 © 2025 LITTLESALLY666

STORY CODES: Transgender, Young Ones, WS, Sacrilegious, Witchcraft, Occult, Magic, Supernatural, Shapeshifting, Implied Snuff.

CREATED: 01.11.2025 (V10 – FINAL)

ART: G. Nic

AUTHOR’S NOTE: More recently, I watched a movie called “The Last Duel” — what interested me in this was the story sequencing. The story involved three key characters and unfolded in three parts — it was essentially the same story but told from the perspective of each of the protagonists — for the audience to judge which was true or false. I loved the idea of delving deeper into the narrative from each point of view. Here, in Misha 2 (Misha’s Story), I wanted to explore how Misha saw things, what she felt, and how she prioritized the elements of her story.

Misha 2 (Misha’s Story)

SYNOPSIS OF “MISHA 2”  This is my story. Misha’s story. In my words. Let me tell you about my upbringing, my malicious mother, and her evil ways. Beyond depravity, she was grooming me to become her sissy lover. Yes, I seduced my friend from school — for the sole purpose of bringing him to our incestuous affair. But when my father found out about us, things changed.

MISHA — CHAPTER FOUR (2,397 WORDS)

“Beginnings are such delicate times!” I read that somewhere in a book. I think Frank Herbert wrote it. And I must say that it is true. My name is Misha, and as I look back at my tender years and my strange relationship with my mother, Kikimora. I realize that these were the things that shaped my journey into darkness.

I must have been young … very young, but I remember it all, as if it were yesterday. As if everything was crystal clear. The sights, the sounds, the tastes, the feelings, the sensations … all of it!

My Mommy was just pure evil. While I was being breast-fed, we were both completely naked, seated before her dark idol of the god of the witches — the Baphomet (though at the time I never knew its name). She’d smeared her nipples in the sour secretions from your oily cunt, before bringing her rock-hard nipple to my hungry, young lips. The words she spoke were neither English nor Russian. A curse. A spell. An enchantment. She’d rubbed the same oily substance over my tiny genitals, making them tingle in a way that, I am sure, was unnatural for my age.

As I sucked eagerly upon her milky teat, she groaned in perverted ecsatasy, and busied herself between her legs, thrusting her hips to meet the inverted crucifix, that she had buried between her dripping labia.

Where was my father? Nowhere. She never loved him. Quite the opposite. He was just a walking wallet and a sperm donor to give my witch-mother what she truly wanted. A son to sissify. She was my enabler. My tutor. My corruptor. Incest was her game. Perverion was her vice. She was grooming me to be her transgendered lover. And though initially, I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t help by fall into her velvet trap, becoming her co-conspirator in the worship of all things evil and dark.

She was a small woman. Her body seemed unnaturally underdeveloped. She had only little cones for breasts, a hairless, pale body that appeared almost pubescent. More like a young girl then a mother. Even though she wasn’t that young. Was it the power of her witchcraft? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I was to worship her sexually. I wanted to do perverse things to please her. I was hers to manipulate and control.

We lived in a huge, old, creepy Victorian house. My father was always traveling. So, it gave her ample opportunity to teach me, from an early age, how to pleasure myself and use me in her sexual wickedness. Initially, I was too young to ejaculate. But that didn’t seem to matter — my dry orgasms seemed to be enough. It was the illicit pleasure of serving my incestuous, witch-mother — her thirst for deviant lust seemed never-ending.

Her demonic temple was hidden in plain sight. She was an artist. A potter, a painter, a sculptor. She had crafted her own bronze version of the Baphomet with a life-size cock. It stood outwards from the statue — prone, erect. Its curved and veined length had its foreskin drawn back to expose its thick, mushroom crown. Her worship meant filling her cunt and bowels with it. When she was done, she encouraged me to clean the demon’s cock with my mouth. She also made me to take a few inches of it at a time — stretching my boy-pussy — as she chanted in her infernal, blasphemous language — the witch’s voice.

She had a collection of obscene magazines. Hidden from father, of course. They were all in Russian, so I was unable to read the words. I didn’t need to read the words to understand the truly depraved nature of the images. These magazines depicted an assortment of taboo delights that I would learn, over time, to appreciate.

It was the expicit images of transgendered male-to-females that captured my earliest interests. A girl with a cock. A baphometic demon. A phallic succubus. She encouraged my exploration, allowing me to grow my hair, wear make-up, and dress like a young girl. Instead of doing boy things, I persuaded girly-feminine things, as they seemed more natural to me.

Mommy loved me to dance in front of her evil idol. And I would dance to the Devil’s music, as she called it. She’d fix my make-up (black eyeliner and lipstick) and dress me, like a little whore, in her black lingerie, cupless bras, and crotchless panties that allowed my hard, little cock to stick out. She would video me, as I thrust my hips back and forth, masturbating with a full bladder.

“Piss, darling! Piss for Mommy! Make a delicious yellow fountain! Drink your piss for the Devil!” she would cry.

Mommy had taught me how to piss with a hard erection. It had taken a little practice using the hand-spray in the bathroom. At first, she’d direct the forceful flow onto my sensitive cock-head. I would instantly begin to piss wildly. And soon, I found I could do it without the assistance of the hand-spray. I would point my cock upwards, masturbating furiously, as I pissed over my chest and into my open mouth.

“Yes! Yes!” she’d say, “Drink the Devil’s sacrament! Hail Satan! Hail Satan!”

She’d make me drink lots of water. Sometimes, she’d make me drink it with one of those fizzy vitamin pills, as they made my piss turn almost bright yellow. Mommy loved that. The smell was stronger and it tasted bitter. It always made her cum hard. Once we were both completely soaked in urine, she’d suck my hard, little cock, as I continued to piss directly into her evil mouth.

xxxxx

There were other magazines showing young girls having sex with animals. Mostly dogs, but there were also horses with enormous penises. I wanted to try this. I loved watching them suck the dog’s knot, its purple and red veined organ pumping dog-cum into their mouths! There were more showing young lovers, not only pissing over each other, but smearing their shit over each other’s bodies. I found it all so fascinating.

Mommy, show me some very special magazines. These featured adults raping young boys and girls. These were her favorite. The pages were smeared in her cunt juices, as just looking at them, made her squirt. I couldn’t understand why the young ones weren’t delighted to participate in these orgies. Their faces all looked so forlorn, suffering in such agony. Their faces were wet with tears an d humiliation, as their devil-worshipping perpetrators penetrated them or forced them to perform oral copulation before their evil idols.

Mommy said that it was necessary to offer human sacrifices to the witch god. The Baphomet was not benevolent — it was a malicious and demanding god. She told me that back, where she was born, on special occasions that the witches would rape and consume their own babies, in elaborate rituals filled with sexual perversity for the pleasure of their demons.

Mommy said that one day, I would become a witch. I would be taught the way of sex magick. Yes, I thought, I wanted that more than anything.

As I grew a little older and developed the ability to ejaculate, Mommy taught me a whole new set of sexual games involving my semen. Mommy had a huge clit. She called it the Devil’s horn. I used to suck it, like a cock, whilst pushing my entire hand inside her vagina (sometimes, right up to the elbow). She loved it. In my father’s absence, I would always sleep with her in the secret temple where the bedding almost stank of stale urine, semen, other our sexual secretions. Night after night, she’d use me. Her Devil’s horn was as large as my young cock, and she’d press me onto her lap, so that it entered my tight, brown flower.

“Sodomy,” she’d say, “It’s the sex of demons!”

Another game she loved was to get me to self-suck. She’d masturbate whilst taking videos of me, lying on my back, with my legs over my head. Mommy would help press me forward, so that my tongue could reach the tip of my semen-spurting cock. I would stroke myself to orgasm — cumming over my own face. I loved the taste of my semen as much as she did. Soon, I learned to relax and, with my flexible, young back, found I could eventually suck myself, pumping my cum into my mouth, as she chanted wildly to her sex demons.

xxxxx

Starting secondary school ushered in a whole new era for me. After being home-schooled, I found myself among other young eleven-year-olds, both boys and girls. It was both an eye-opener and a trying time. I wasn’t like the other kids. That much was obvious. And kids can be cruel.

My effeminate ways brought instant ridicule, but also brought a new friendship. His name was Cole. He was a small, undeveloped boy, just like me. Cole was probably one of the youngest in the year. Ironically, we met in a human biology class. Not that I ever learned anything new, but we found ourselves seated together. He didn’t seem to be concerned about me being effeminate. In fact, he seemed … interested. Was it just curiosity or was he attracted to me? Whatever it was, there seemed to be magnetism between us both.

I tested this. As we sat next to each other, I pressed my vibrating legs against Cole’s, as we sat on the high stalls. Hidden from view, under the long laboratory tables, he didn’t flinch or move away. Instead, he seemed to press back against my legs, whilst we both pretended to listen to the human biology teacher. It was a small gesture, but from that moment on, we always sat next to one another in every class. Vibrating my leg against Cole’s make my cock so hard. At the time, I wondered if it made his cock hard, too? Of course it did. And I longed to put my hand down his pants so that I could rub his foreskin back and forth.

I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. It was obligatory for all the students to do some form of physical education. And the least troublesome of these activities seemed to be swimming. There were never enough changing cubicles for everyone, so I made sure that Cole and I got paired together. We shyly watched each other change into our skippy bathers, both fully erect, and both pretending not to notice.

After the swimming lesson finished, we quickly made it back to our shared change cubicle. By this time, neither of us tried to hide our little erections. In fact, i wilfully stood against the cubicle door with my cock pocking outwards, straining against the wet fabric.

I locked the cubicle door and stared openly at Cole’s erection as we both smiled knowingly at each other. He began to squirm on the spot (a sign that he desperately needed to take a pee, but I wasn’t about to let him leave).

“Do it,” I said to him in a hushed voice, “Do it in your swimming trunks!”

Cole just looked at me, unsure of what to do.

”Watch me,” I added, as I began to piss right through the thin material of my of wet briefs. My yellow urine ran down the inside of my legs with that distinctive smell that I loved so much.

“Touch me,” I moaned, taking Cole’s hand and placing it against my pissing cock, instantly soaking his fingers in my urine, “Lick your fingers,” I continued.

Cole’s mouth was shaped like an “O” … it was as if he’d never thought to play piss games before. He tentatively licked and sucked my urine from his fingers. I laughed and pressed him against the cubicle wall, kissing his sweet, urine-flavoured mouth.

”Piss for me. Do it,” I whispered, mischievously, into his ear.

And there it was, as we rubbed our wet boners together, I felt his piss begin to flow like a warm torrent between us as we tongue kissed each other, and frotted in our mutual urine flows.

xxxxx

Of course, I couldn’t wait to tell Mommy all about what happened at the swimming pool. She masturbated furiously, in front of me, as I recalled every detail of our first sexual encounter. She loved to hear how willing Cole was to rub our piss-wet cocks together.

”He sounds perfect! He’ll become our personal toilet!” she groaned, fingering her oily cunt-hole.

Mommy was more than delighted and suggested that I invite Cole for a sleepover. She said that my father was away, and it would be the perfect time for me to initiate my young lover into the dark ways. She said that at first, it would need to be just me — we don’t want to scare him away — but eventually, my young friend would serve both of us.

“Such a delicious, new toy. Satan be praised!”

Cole seemed very happy to accept my invitation. He lived, not far away, in the local council estate, near the train station. Maybe his family were not as wealthy as mine? He’d told me that his mother and father were both very religious. They were the kind who went to church every Sunday. Ask for forgiveness for their sins. Saying prayers to their Abrahamic god, to deliver them from evil. The fall would be even more exquisite. Well, I was one evil that Cole seemed unable to refuse.

Like my Mommy corrupted me, I wanted to corrupt Cole in the ways of sin. Shameless sissies. Bum boys. Satanic little-cock-suckers that loved to eat cum, and drink gallons of hot, salty piss together. I wanted to make him into a total pervert, just like me. Mommy said not to rush things. He would be ours, but I needed to break him in slowly.

She said that she’d pretend to go out for the evening, leaving us, supposedly, alone in the house. But secretly, she would return to watch over my seduction. Oh, Mommy was so cunning. I knew she’d be masturbating as she watched secretly. I wanted her to enjoy it as much as I knew I would. Her voyeurism only seemed to make it more devilishly twisted. My cock dripped at the thought of what was yet to come.

xxxxxx

MISHA — CHAPTER FIVE (3,057 WORDS)

”Your house is so big!” said little Cole, “Your Mother’s art is very …”

”Sexy,” I said, completing his sentence as he marvelled at how explicit my Mommy’s works of art pieces were.

Cole seemed captivated by the strange assortment of paintings and sculptures that all depicted dark, bizarre, and highly sexualized content. They were everywhere. In every room. Some of it was influenced by tribal roots, others were far more demonic in nature. In the living room, his eyes seemed to be drawn to a rather abstract image that showed an androgynous demon-like character. The demon was naked. It had small breasts, sharp vampiric teeth, coal-black eyes, with curved horns upon its goat-like head. Its hand seemed to be rubbing its erect penis.

At this point, my Mommy hadn’t left yet, as she’d been preparing our evening meal. We were now dressed in our flannel pyjamas. I stepped behind Cole and held his hips as he admired these perverted works of art. I playfully pressed my erection against his backside, frotting against him, as I kissed and sucked his earlobes. My naughty little hand had snaked around him. It slipped down inside the elasticated waist of his pyjama bottoms, grabbing hold of his hard, little cock.

“Will you worship the Devil with me tonight?” I hissed in his ear.

Just then, my Mommy cleared her throat and spoke.

”Come on, you two, dinner is ready,” she said, grinning broadly.

Obviously, she’d seen what I had been doing. Cole looked awkward for a moment. But as my mother seemed unfazed, he probably thought she hadn’t seen what we were up to. How wrong he was. Her cunt was probably wet and throbbing watching me rubbing his excited little boy-cock.

”Cole,” she said, in her strong, Russian accent, “Do you like my paintings?”

It was a leading question. He just nodded. Again, Cole looked a little awkward. My Mommy didn’t wait for any further comments; instead, she ushered us into the dining room, where she’d laid out our evening meal.

”Cole, it was nice to meet you,” she announced, her hand stroked his face, “I hope you come (cum) here … very often. I know that Misha is very fond of you. You must make yourself at home with us. Be part of our little family. Maybe you will pose for one of my paintings, one day soon?” she paused, “But for now, unfortunately, I have to go out for a while. I won’t be back until late.”

Posing for Mommy. Yes, I thought, that would be posing naked, erect, with my dick up his ass. I knew exactly what she’d want to paint.

“Give me a kiss, dear,” she said, turning to me.

I gave her a long, lingering kiss, directly on the mouth, whilst my eyes looked directly into Cole’s. Then, she turned to Cole. Her poise said that he was to do the same. He shyly kissed my Mommy’s lips. Maybe he thought it was just one of those strange Russian traditions. I touched myself as I watched. She would have wanted to shove her tongue in his immature mouth. Yes, I thought, Mommy and I will have him pissing over himself in our temple bed in no time.

“Do you think you can both … entertain yourselves … while I am away?”

It was rhetorical. She did expect an answer. And with that, she left us alone.

xxxxx

”Your Mother looks so young,” said Cole, looking embarrassed, as if talking about her was taboo.

Ah, I thought, he had been paying attention. Yes, it was true. My Mommy did look very young. Maybe it was something to do with her witchcraft. She never shared all her secrets.

”You think so?” I answered with a question.

”Yes, she’s … very … you know, pretty.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Mommy that Cole could be developing a crush on her. I knew instinctively to encourage this. That would make it so much easier to get him into her wet, filthy, piss-soaked bed.

“What … What …” he stuttered, “… Does your father think … of her paintings and stuff?”

Yes, my father had been very objectionable to the content of her explicit artwork, but had chosen not to say anything in view of his constant absenteeism. Maybe she enchanted him simply not to notice? I knew she could do that. Of course, he had no idea of what she was truly capable of, or what she did with her incestuous son, behind his back. For the times he was home, I knew she pretended to be the faithful wife, a bit eccentric maybe, but always good to him and very eager in their bedroom. It seemed to be all he needed to know.

”Well, he doesn’t say much. I don’t think he cares,” I answered, “Let’s go upstairs!” I added a change to the subject.

We clambered up the wooden staircase, with our bare feet, to the fourth floor, where my bedroom was. Cole seemed a little shocked not to find the usual kids’ toys and games. Like my Mommy, I had covered my walls with the macabre. Mostly horror movie posters and occult-themed art. I had hidden more pornographic images beneath my posters, which I uncovered while my father was not around. Mommy let me take some of the more provocative images from her magazine collection and stick them up on my wall.

Cole stood at the window. Below was the rear garden. It was already getting dark outside. As he stood there, I stepped behind him, as I had done in the living room. I pressed myself against him and plunged my hands down the front of his pyjamas. His cock was like steel. His breathing had become shallow, as I began to masturbate him with my thumb and forefinger, drawing his loose foreskin back and forth over the wet tip of his boy-cock.

”Your cock is so suckable,” I said, stroking him faster and faster.

It was obvious that he’d never been over the limit. He’d never actually brought himself to orgasm. This was all new to him. I, on the other hand, had experienced my orgasms even in my tender years — spraying my cum everywhere in our old, creepy house.

“Agghhhhh,” he groaned, deep in his own arousal.

”Let’s get naked,” I hissed into his ear.

I lay naked on the white bedsheets. I pulled his body across me until he lay directly on top of me. Our naked bodies wrapped around each other in a lovers’ embrace. Our wet-tipped cocks pressed against each other as we kissed. My tongue filled his mouth as my fingers gripped his ass-cheeks, pressing him harder against me.

Then, I pushed Cole onto his back, rolled over him, and kissed his neck. I kissed his nipples. I kissed his cock.

“Do you like what we did … you know … that day in the change room … at the swimming baths?” I whispered tentatively, “You know … when we peed over each other …”

”Yes,” Cole answered.

“If I ask you … would you piss in my mouth?” he whispered in my ear.

”I’d do anything for you.”

”Then, suck my cock, as I suck yours — so that we may both take the Devil’s communion. I want to drink your piss, Cole. And I want you to drink mine!”

My face was a devilish scowl at this proclamation that I fully intended to push to the extreme. My bladder ached to be emptied. Once again, I bend down between his open thighs. At the same time, pressing his head down between mine in a sixty-nine.

Soon, I felt Cole’s hot, little lips wrap around my quivering, pre-cum-coated cock. His fingers stroked my sensitive balls and even my dirty, little anus. Yes! I was loving every moment of his corruption. I pressed down hard against his bladder, forcing him to urinate into my mouth, as I eagerly began to piss into his. I was instantly rewarded with that hot, salty taste of urea. I swallowed a mouthful. And pressed again against his blotted belly and jammed my middle finger into his oily anus.

This was just too much for Cole. His body began to jerk and tremble uncontrollably as he shot his first-ever load into my waiting mouth. Spurt after spurt of watery, virgin-boy-spunk filled my mouth. So delicious!

Yes, I thought — it was truly the Devil’s communion!

”What! What … what just happened?” he gasped.

This was the first time he’d experienced an orgasm.

“It’s the devil’s reward!” I groaned.

“I like it … it felt kind of scary at first … you know, if God saw us doing it …”

“Do you care about what God thinks?”

“No … I love the devil for the way he makes me feel!”

I turned around to face him and began to kiss his mouth, spitting his cum juices and urine back into his own mouth. We kissed and held each other for a long while. The darkness wrapped around us. But my lust was only just beginning to take hold. I wanted his mind, body, and soul. Mommy would have seen it. She’d be videoing everything. I knew we’d share this moment over and over when he’d gone home.

“I want you to fuck me!” I said, urging him to kneel between my legs as he knelt on all fours.

He instinctively knew what I wanted. He was overly eager to do it, too. Sodomy was a grave sin — he knew it, too— I felt the tip of his hard, little boy-cock press up against my boy-cunt. Yes, I thought, Mother would be overjoyed at the sight of the two of us, joined in blasphemous sodomy.

xxxxx

This was just the first of many sleepovers. And the first of many orgasms. I was pleasantly surprised that his Bible-loving parents didn’t object. We had a cover story about a joint project, which was just some bullshit that I came up with. My Mommy was very eager to join the action. For far too long, she’d simply watched, videoed in secret, and masturbated whilst watching our filthy little games.

Mommy planned to ask Cole to model for and he’d even agreed. And we’d planned the sleepover for the coming weekend. We would have an entire weekend of depravity. It was to be a non-stop fuck-fest. My Mommy had everything ready for Cole’s seduction. She would fuck him with her huge clit, while I filled his throat with my dirty, little pissing cock.

Then the worst happened.

It was my father. He’d been drinking. He wasn’t supposed to return for another week. He just turned up while Mommy was naked, lying between my legs, sucking my cock. My father went absolutely ballistic. There was no time to cover ourselves. He pulled my naked Mommy aside. He slapped her violently, knocking her to the ground. He tried to kick me between my legs as I lay on the ground, but his lack of coordination made him lose his balance. Everyone was screaming. Mommy was furious, too. She swore at him in Russian.

”Idi na kher! Idi na kher, ublyudok! Ostav’ yego v pokoye! Ubiraysya!”

I only understood the “Fuck you!” part. The rest was lost on me. Mommy grabbed a heavy vase and hit him over the head. He faltered, fell, and lay unconscious.

”We have to leave,” my Mother said, “We have to leave, right now!”

xxxxx

With little more than the clothes on our backs and whatever we could quickly grab, we left immediately. I wasn’t sure where we were heading. I only knew that we had to be somewhere where my father couldn’t touch us. Mommy had her secret stash — her “fuck off” money, as she called it. We drove her car to the train station and just left it there. She’d made a few long-distance calls before we left by the night train. We caught the last train bound for a place called Cluj-Napoca, in Romania. Mommy said she knew people there. My mind was still in a muddle.

Mommy explained that we’d be safe there, once again, among our own kind. We’d be out of reach. Untraceable. I wondered what she meant by “our kind”. Were they all sex-witches like her? The thought was secretly arousing. The train would take us as far as Cluj-Napoca station. From there, it would begin the journey into the forest hills, to a village known as Valea Stinsă (“The Faded Valley”), and from there to our ultimate destination, Fântâna de Lumină (Monastery of the Spring of Light).

Somehow, the monastery and sex-witches sounded contrary. Wasn’t a monastery the house of the Abrahamic God? I was still very young and had no concept of either. I didn’t want to leave the comfort of the only home I had ever known, but, also knew for sure that if my father caught us, he’d probably try to kill us both.

xxxxx

Finally, we arrived at the place that my Mommy said would become our new home. All I could see were huge fur trees and yet more trees. It was cold and windy. But then, out of nowhere, there it was — a bizarre mixture of Neo-Byzantine mysticism, Brâncovenesc decadence, and Transylvanian motif. It was almost otherworldly in its aura, and I sensed something that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

The steps were steep that led up to the old monastery door. It appeared like a formidable gateway, combining thick, weathered wood with heavy, hand-forged iron fittings. The wood’s deep, dark colour and pitted texture tell a story of centuries of use and exposure to the elements, while the ironwork secures and reinforces it with rustic artistry.

We knocked loudly, but nobody answered. Pushing the door, we found the entrance was unlocked — as if we were expected. Mommy led us through the ancient seventeenth-century hallway. She seemed to know exactly where to go and led us down an illuminated path, lit with oil torches, until she announced, “We were here”.

Inside, the room was at least warm. The huge fireplace crackled and popped, and looked inviting. The floor was covered in thick animal furs, and the sparse furnishings were basic. To my surprise, the walls were covered in what appeared to be paintings just like my Mommy’s. We put our meagre bags down.

Then, out of nowhere, two young women appeared. In my young and impressionable mind, I immediately imagined them to be witches. Sex-witches. They looked almost identical. Like sisters or twins, dressed in simple black, armless vestments that were open at the sides, and ended just below the top of their thighs. Their feet were bare, and their long, black hair tied back in ponytails. There also seemed to be a family resemblance to my Mother. Could they be related to us? Could they be my Mommy’s younger sisters — my aunts, maybe?

They exchanged a few brief words with Mommy. They called her “Kikimora”. She called them “Mamuna” and “Morena”. But besides that, I had no idea what they said.

We hadn’t been in their company for more than a few minutes when the first one, Mamuna, grabbed the back of my head and forcefully kissed my mouth. Her thick, penal tongue invaded my lips, trying to fuck my face, while her hand plunged down the front of my pants to grope at my semi-erect cock.

The other, Morena, stood immediately behind me. She pulled my pants down around my ankles, giving Mamuna easier access to my cock and balls. Then, Morena turned me around, taking over from her sister, kissing my mouth equally as hard. Mamuna grabbed my hand and thrust it wantonly between her open legs. My fingers immediately sank into her wet labia. Neither wore underwear beneath their short vestments. That’s when I first felt her erect clitoris. Fuck, I thought, it must be at least as big as my Mommy’s. Morena now pulled my shirt over my head and forced my head down to suck her bullet-hard nipples.

Now, I was completely naked. My Mommy was naked too. We were all naked in the flames of the firelight. She just stood to one side and masturbated as she watched her kin molest me. She said nothing. And did nothing to intervene, while Mamuna and Morena forced me to my knees. They spoke coarsely in a language I did not understand — and I immediately found my face buried in Morena’s hairless cunt, lapping at her sore juices, as if my life depended upon it.

Their chests were both completely flat, and their hairless, pale bodies looked skinny and malnourished. Both had huge, penal clits that jutted outwards from the tip of their greasy, reddish cunts. Now, Mamura took over, dragging my face down between her thin thighs, forcing her clit-cock into my mouth. They both laughed —seemingly to enjoy my predicament and awkwardness — as they began to use and abuse me.

xxxxx

I wasn’t sure how long we’d been there. Maybe I had passed out? Mamuna and Morena had been joined by my Mommy. Their sexual games had just gone on and on for hours. Sex just filled my senses. They screamed in orgasm, over and over. But never sate. I stank of their foul cunts, stinking armpits, and dirty anuses. I had orgasmed several times. Though my balls had been drained, my cock remained rampant, as if under a lust spell. My immature, eleven-year-old body felt so tired. I was completely exhausted from it all — but still their perversity never ended.

Eventually, I awoke in the quiet darkness. The only illumination was the dying embers of the fireplace. My Mommy was fast asleep, as were Mamuna and Morena. The three of them lay in an embrace. Suddenly, I felt a great thirst. My breath stank of their cunts. My body felt bruised and sore from their infernal sexual abuse. I got up slowly. My head was spinning, so I held the cold stone wall for support.

Away from the fireplace, the insides of the monastery seemed cold and dark. There were several doors leading off to other parts of the monastery, but I wasn’t game to investigate. Not yet. If this were to become my new home, then I would need to learn their infernal language and find out more about my Mother’s family.

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MISHA — CHAPTER SIX (3,287 WORDS)

It was a few years later that word had gotten back to us of my father’s death. Evidently, he died from a mysterious illness that took him to a painful and agonising end. Not that I cared, but it meant that it would be safe to return, should we ever want to.

In the meantime, during my years in Cluj-Napoca, my witch-mother and two dozen nuns had taught me many things. Evil things. I wasn’t sure, but even my father’s unexplained death seemed connected to the power of her witchcraft. Maybe it had been a curse or a death spell?

I must admit, I was curious. I knew the evil powers of these sex-witches. My mother’s incestuous relationship with her twin sisters had been a source of inspiration for many perverted activities. I had seen their nefarious lust on many occasions. My experiences of their twisted rituals, bestiality, and even talk of the extremes of sexual cannibalism had shown me that there was a dark world beyond. The Devil was real. And we were his acolytes.

With my father gone, I considered a return visit. Just a short one. On many occasions, I had thought about my young friend, Cole. I wondered what he was up to. What was he like? What did he look like? What if I were to see him again? Would he still be interested in me?

I had, through the guidance of my mother and her perverted kin, been through my own form of transformation. No longer just a cute, feminine boy. Their spells and enchantments mixed with a concoction of hormones had changed me. They had softened my features, reduced any facial hair, smoothened my skin, enlarged my areolas, and given me small, but real tits. My witch-mother’s magickal contribution was to make sure that, through the process, I did not get erectile dysfunction; instead, I was constantly hard, throbbing, and my testicles were always full of copious amounts of semen that she craved.

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I had found out that Cole was attending an art school. It wasn’t anywhere close to his parents, so he lived away. How convenient for me, I thought. I really wanted to see him again. Could I tempt him? My mind considered all the possibilities. Maybe he’d grown away from his interests in cock sucking? Maybe he wouldn’t be interested in a transwoman as a lover? Maybe he no longer held an interest in the unholy and had turned away from the deviant sex that I simply couldn’t live without.

I think it was their registration day at his art college when I decided to make my move. The place was filled with arty types. All were busy with their own creative journeys. I was dressed to impress. With lots of bare skin on display. My make-up was flawless. Dark, goth, and alluring. I was so proud of my little breast buds. I had a small baphometic tattoo on my hip. Also, I wore an occult necklace — just to make it obvious. I wanted Cole to see me for who I had truly become.

As I strolled in among the young students, several pairs of eyes followed me closely. Lusty, horny, naughty eyes. My teachings told me that they were all thinking of sex. I was pleased to notice that Cole was definitely one of them. I wet my lips and smiled to myself. I was lust-on-legs. A tranny goddess. I whispered the lust spell under my breath and focused its ominous power on him. Heading out to the balcony, I waited for Cole to follow. Like a bee to the honey, it didn’t take long.

“Are you following me?” I asked him, cheekily.

“Er, no …” Cole lied unsuccessfully.

“That’s a shame. I hoped you were!”

I smiled, dipping my eyes and pretending to be shy.

“Do … do I know you?” he finally got the balls to ask.

I didn’t answer. His eyes betrayed him. He thought I was hot. Very hot. I could tell. Maybe his mind was a little confused. I wanted him to see the obvious bulge in the front of my crutch. I wanted his mind to say, “She’s got a cock! I want to suck it! I need to worship it!” He saw something familiar, yet something unexpected. He saw my shiny, satanic necklace. He noticed my intimate Baphomet tattoo. But still, he was struggling to connect the dots. I was enjoying his confused but deeply lustful stare. He wanted to fuck my tight, little ass.

“Like what you see?” I provoked, “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

Again, he hesitated. Thinking with his cock and not his mind. It had never dawned on him that he’d ever see me again. “Misha”, in his mind, had disappeared forever. And certainly wasn’t about to appear in the form of this devilish woman.

“Misha?” he finally ventured.

I smiled at his sexual awakening.

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“Kneel,” I commanded (like my mother), “Worship me as the Angel before the Fall! Your demon goddess!”

Naked and erect, Cole did exactly as I said. So meek and demure. He was putty in my hands. He would do anything I asked! ANYTHING!

“Worship me with your mouth! Feel by beautiful tits! Suck my rock-hard nipples!. Lick my filthy shit-flavored ass! Gobble my demon cock! Do it, darling! Mmmmmm … I desperately need to empty my bladder into your dirty little fucking mouth. Drink my hot-salty-piss! Worship me! Worship me!”

As Cole knelt before me, his hand eagerly gripped the root of my thick transexual cock, while his lips kissed its wet tip. Strands of pre-cum joined his mouth to my cock. It was longer and thicker than the cock of my boyhood. It throbbed with perversity. Now, the cock of an evil, twisted, tranny goddess. His goddess. I wasted no time as I pissed angrily into his eager potty-mouth.

“Drink my piss! Drink the sacrament of the devil!”

There was simply too much to swallow. As I emptied my bladder, my dark-yellow urine went everywhere. The stench of it was almost overwhelming. I began to laugh loudly as I grabbed his soaked hair. He was my personal piss-slave.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I demanded, “It’s been soooo long … I need to fuck you! I need to fuck you hard! I need to fuck you, right now!”

Cole obediently stayed on all fours as I knelt between his spread thighs. I gripped my ragging hjard-on and smeared some lubricant between his testicles and buttocks. My oily finger slipped effortlessly into his virgin rectum.

“Ahhhggg!” he moaned in response to my finger-fucking, as I stretched his impossibly tight anus, “Fuck me … fuck me, please …” he begged.

I pressed the head of my thick cock against his anal sphincter. A moment of glory. A moment of complete domination. He was mine. Mine to take.

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Over the weeks together, we fucked and sucked all night long. Never tiring of our sexual escapades. Every night, taking it to the next level of sexual perversity.

I had explained to Cole what had happened all those years ago. He seemed to understand that I had no choice but to leave and follow my wayward mother. I also told him about my strange relationship with her and how she’d used me as a child to satisfy her perverted sexual needs. I even told him about her dark magick and how I thought she was responsible for my father’s demise. I never expected Cole to believe it. I mean, if someone to me this story, I don’t think I would have believed it, either.

Whilst I was arousing him, we talked about the evil orphanage of my youth, hidden deep in the Apuseni Mountains — I hoped Cole wouldn’t reject me — but to my surprise, he more than accepted it … finding it profoundly exciting. He was a dark horse, too. He told me about how much he’d missed me, how much he missed our nasty games, and that he never wanted me to leave him.

So, when the time had come when I had to leave to return to Cluj-Napoca and the Fântâna de Lumină (Monastery of the Spring of Light), I asked Cole to follow me. I hoped he would. Could my lust-spell over him be broken, or would he find me too irresistible to disobey? I knew that he was supposed to return to his parents for the holidays. I wasn’t sure if it was just too much to expect.

He knew something of the background to the history of Cluj-Napoca. I had forewarned him about the history of nuns that became witches there, of their “Nunta din Umbra” (the Wedding of Shadows), and the witch-huntresses that had sent my kind into hiding … and that it was very much alive, even today.

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I had returned first. Cole had agreed to follow me to Cluj-Napoca after the end of the college term. He said that he would miss me and couldn’t wait to be reunited.

Transport had been organized for me to travel from Cluj-Napoca station to the village in the hills, and I was met by my aunt, Mamuna. She was one of the twins. Her sister was Morena, and it was difficult to tell them apart, except that Mamuna had a scar on her forehead. She was petite like my mother, but no less evil or perverted. We kissed, hugged, and were on our way immediately.

”Your father … he … not dead,” she said plainly in her broken English.

”But, how could that be?”

”It’s a sham. He hunts us. You, your mother, and my sisters at the monastery. He has the witch-huntress with him. He means to kill us all.”

“The witch-huntress?”

”They have pursued us … for centuries. They seek to wipe out all witchcraft … all the dark arts. They’re fanatics. The witch-huntress … she uses any means to capture us … torture us until we’re no more.”

“What can we do?”

“For now, we do nothing. There will be a great meeting of the sisterhood. There will be a ritual. The ritual of Salvete Lamia. A ritual in which you, Misha, will be part — your mother wants you to become one of us! Are you ready for that?”

“Yes! Of course!” I answered eagerly, “What … what is Salvete Lamia?”

Hidden from the driver’s view, we talked in hushed tones. We had already left the city limits and were now in the dark wooded area and the foothills of the mountains en route to Fântâna de Lumină.

“Ah, Salvete Lamia,” said Morena as her hand slipped inside my pants and began to fondle my hardening cock, “Some say … it’s the legacy of Lilith. Ancient as these hills. Much before Judaism and the Abrahamic religions. If the Baphomet is the Dark God of the witches, she is most certainly our Dark Goddess. She is all-powerful. And in our moment of need, Lilith will rise and help us fight the witch-huntress.”

Morena’s hand gripped my throbbing cock tightly, pumping it up and down as she spoke.

“Lilith is the Dark Goddess of all occult practices. From her loins sprang all the taboos of life that contradict everything moral and righteous. She is the unseen one. The one that is the amber fountain of our sex magick. The heart of sex witchcraft. She is the rebel, the wanton, and the lady of the beasts. She is the witch’s Goddess and is the exemplification of our personal powers.”

“Aarghhhh …” I groaned as she brought me close to orgasm — but didn’t allow me to ejaculate.

“Listen … You will learn … When you become one with us. With your mother. With your Coven. You will chant in unholy orgasm, Salvete Lamia, and know the true power of our people! — Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia, Salvete Lamia!”

With those words, she took me over the top; my body trembled with her incredibly strong sex magick. My mind was filled with a cacophony of perversity. My body jerked, and my cum spurted angrily through her fingers.

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I was very tired from the first leg of my journey, and as it continued, I must have drifted off. My mind must have been filled with the thoughts that Morena had provoked, combined with her sexual stimulus; I felt adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What did it mean? It seemed to be a powder cake. Was the witch-huntress, who was pursuing our coven endlessly and ruthlessly, an angel warrior? Was she strong, defiant, and majestic — or simply brutal, vile, and wretched? It secretly intrigued me. Would she succeed, or would we triumph, in the infernal battle of good over evil?

”Don’t worry,” said a disembodied voice of my mother, “Your family are close by. They will protect you. You have much to experience. Your ritual is yet to come. The Nunta din Umbra. You must take your vows as a witch. You must become one of us in mind, body, and soul.”

”Don’t believe her!” said another voice, the voice of the witch-huntress, “You will find only the edge of my blade. I will kill you. I will kill all of you. You are vermin to be exterminated. I will not rest until every one of you, vile witches, is put into the ground!”

Was it a premonition? As the voices battled in my mind as I dreamed, my sexual mind imagined an illicit liaison between myself and the witch-huntress — could she be seduced to the dark side — to make our greatest threat become a sexual ally? Of course, it couldn’t be. But that didn’t stop my dreamy mind from imagining the possibilities — her corruption would be so beautiful. Finding her sexual weakness and exploiting it for the coven’s gain. It was a delicious thought.

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It was the night of nights. All the sisterhood where gathered, and the ritual of Nunta din Umbra was about to begin.

It was a part of the monastery that I had never seen before, deep in its aching bowels. Like a yawning darkness filled with the sickly-sweet scent of smoky hallucinogens. As I was led into the inner chamber, I noticed the gathering of sisters was peculiar. There must have been twenty or so nuns. Dressed, not in their usual drab-grey habits, they wore animal masks, all with pointed or curved horns that extended over the top half of their faces, with angled, narrow eye-slits cut into them. Some were brazened with inverted crosses. These were beasts — the devil’s nuns — their bodies were naked, oiled, and their hands roamed freely over their exposed pert breasts. Below their waist, their groins were barely covered with a waistband that extended into a narrow, knee-length drape across their front and back, hardly covering their genitals.

”Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia,” I heard them quietly whispering.

My escort consisted of two male acolytes. Both young orphans, trained in the way, to serve the sex-witches. Like the devil’s nuns, they both wore matching vestments, tied at the shoulders and waist, beneath which they were naked. Their obvious erections tented the front of their flimsy gowns. They held my hands, bound in loose ribbons, as they led me forward from the darkness into the reddish light that fell before the demon throne.

“Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia.”

As I approached, the whispers of the sisterhood became more obvious against the droning of the prayer drums.

I had been prepared. Oiled and perfumed in a concoction of urine and aphrodisiacs — like the sharp tang of forgotten fruit, dipped into the bitter river. I was naked from the waist up, my cute, pointed breasts exposed — the marker of my femininity. Around my neck, I wore the dead, a ceremonial necklace made from the human bones of babies sacrificed to the Dark Lord. At my waist, I wore a similar garment to the devil nuns that obscured my erection — my flaming weapon of pleasure.

“Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia. Salvete Lamia,” the witch’s chanting became even louder to their child-eating monster.

My pretty acolytes brought me forward, before the living Baphomet. It was my evil mother. She was dressed in a goat-like headdress with her breasts exposed, but her lap was covered. Either side of her stood her twin sisters, Morena and Mamuna — like the serpents that entwined the erect phallus of the Baphomet, they gyrated like a liquid ribbon dressed in translucent, serpentine skin, bodystockings.

“Ali slovesno prisežeš, da se boš predal Satanu? Ali se zavežeš zlu in hudobiji? Ali s svojo dušo častiš čarovniškega boga Bafometa?” asked the living Baphomet.

I only had a rudimentary understanding of the language. However, I knew the answer.

”Yes,” I replied.

The serpentine twins slithered forward, as I knelt before the evil Baphomet. They hissed, their split tongues protruding from their mouths. Their bodies undulated inhumanly, as if induced by an unseen magic snake-charmer. Their sibilant hissing filled my ears. They quickly untied the bindings with my acolytes and tore away their vestments, leaving both of the young boys completely naked before the assembly of devil nuns.

The young ones, in turn, began to undress me. Their young cocks stood upright, as rigid as mine. The focus of the ouroboros twins shifted back to me. As if it were some kind of reenactment of the demon serpent of the Garden of Eden — the creation of original sin — their seductive movements stir the devil nuns to chant with ever greater gusto, as they trust their hips back and forth, almost screaming their words.

“Salvete Lamia! Salvete Lamia! Salvete Lamia!”

For a moment, I remembered my mother’s sculpture of the witch-god, her painting of the demon stroking his phallus, and her vast collection of rape images that had fueled my most profane of fantasies.

”Naj se ritual posilstva začne! Slavimo največji greh! Sestre postanejo bratje, da bi lahko prodrli v njihova črevesja!” announced the living Baphomet.

I felt the dark devil’s lusting burst inside of me, even more depraved than ever before. A craving fills my mind, my heart, and my loins. Like an itch that needed desperately to be scratched. An irresistible urge. A delicious sensation beyond intransigence. I felt crazy, wild, and unleashed. Without even thinking about it, I found my hand gripping my cock as I began to furiously pound my meat.

As I briefly looked up, I could see the living Baphomet, my evil mother, standing up. No longer my mother, she was eater of children. The Baba Yaba. The devil incarnate. The witch goddess. The sheer fabric that had been covering her groin fell away, exposing her fur-covered legs that ended in cloven hooves. Her legs were no longer human, but more like the hind of the beast. Between her legs rose up her enormous phallus — much larger than her clitoral-cock. It’s throbbing, fat head drooled with a stream of thick, seminal fluids.

“Salvete Lamia!”

The incestuous serpents hissed as they danced around me as I masturbated. The audience of devil nuns seemed impassioned by my unscripted performance. As if it were the catalyst, the devil nuns removed their modest coverings, revealing their own mysterious transformation. No longer female or male, but the devil’s configuration of both. Was I their forbidden fruit?

The two young boys stood, one before me and one behind, frotted eagerly against me. Without penetration, the young boy behind me pressed his wet cock in the crack of my ass, rubbing it up and down with a bizarre desperation. The boy in front grunted as he pressed his cock hard against mine, rubbing vigorously — as if both were desperate to reach their climax.

But before they could do more, the serpents seemed to coil around them, drawing them away from me, for their own sexual gratification.

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THE END? OR SHALL WE CONTINUE?

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