MISHA

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: 02.10.2025 (FINAL — V20)

ART: G. Nic

Misha

SYNOPSIS: I was twelve years old when I first encountered Misha. He was very effeminate and attractive — longish black hair, sweet face, more like a girl than a boy. We shared a few secret things back then — things that we never told anyone else about — like the joys of mutual masturbation. At that time, we were just childhood acquaintances, but years later, we’d meet again at art school when Misha was no longer a boy.

MISHA — CHAPTER ONE (3,246 WORDS)

Misha — a name I could never forget. We met when we were both in high school. I guess we were no older than our tweens. Equals yet opposites. I was from a conservative Christian family living in one of the old council estates. My family were the type who said prayers at the dinner table, and went to church diligently, every Sunday. Misha, on the other hand, was from a rich Russian family with little or no parental control. His mom was an artist or something similar.

I was the smallest and youngest boy in the class. Misha was small too and very effeminate, back then. Misha had such soft features and a pretty mouth, with longish black hair, and he frequently wore dark eyeliner. As I saw it, he had a very petite body with pale skin, no muscles, and no bodily hair. Maybe it was his Russian background? I had become secretly attracted to him, and we’d also become fast friends.

From the first time we sat together in class, I would get an erection every time. I’d never really had homosexual thoughts before. But since meeting Misha, I imagined doing all sorts of sexual things with him. I knew it was supposed to be an awful sin. Under the desk in class, our legs would touch each other. At first, I thought it was accidental — but it felt like electricity flowing between us — and soon it became far more deliberate. I mean, I was still very shy about the whole attraction thing, not wanting to overstep my mark or be rejected for my unnatural feeling towards another boy.

Neither of us seemed to be the sporting type. Though football was the most popular thing with the boys in my class, we’d both picked swimming as our mandatory sports activity. Not that I particularly liked swimming, but it meant that instead of getting in the communal showers after sport and being naked in front of others, you could change more discreetly in the privacy of shared cubicles that lined the outside of the pool area. My penis wasn’t as big as the other boys’, and back then, I felt very shy about my small and immature body.

The local baths (that’s what they called a swimming pool back then) always smelled strongly of bleach, and the air was uncomfortably warm. After our hour-long swimming lesson, we’d head back to the change cubicle to get back into our school uniforms. There were vending machines just outside that sold hot chocolate. I always looked forward to one.

However, with Misha around, just looking at him, I’d found it difficult to hide my erection in my tight little swimming briefs. I didn’t know if he noticed my stiffy, but I certainly noticed his. On this particular occasion, we’d been paired together to share a cubicle, and once the door was closed, he made it no secret that his cock was hard — its shape pressing outwards, silhouetted against the damp fabric of his skimpy swimming briefs. He smiled wickedly at me as if it was cool to secretly have this thing between us, even though I was sure what that thing exactly was.

In the cramped space of the cubicle, he pressed me gently against the wall, so that our erections rubbed directly against one another through our briefs. His hands held my bare shoulders, and he kissed my mouth. He tasted delicious. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped between my lips. We immediately began to gyrate against each other. Touching the cold, bare skin of his back and hips was driving me crazy. His hand gripped my bottom to press our groins even harder together.

”Hurry up, everyone,” the teacher’s voice broke our intense moment of joy.

This changed things between us. We were no longer so shy about things together. At breaks and lunch, we always hung out together. In my own, at night, I kept thinking what it would be like to touch his penis. To suck it. To taste his semen. I knew these were bad thoughts and that Jesus would not approve. Yet, the fact that they were not Christian thoughts seemed to make it even more desirable.

At the swimming pool, we made sure that we were paired, and immediately the lesson finished, we both hurried back to our cubicle, hiding our swollen little cocks. I had thought of little else other than Misha’s body since. However, once we got inside the cubicle, I quickly realised that I needed to go to the toilet to pee.

Misha saw me squirming.

“Do it, “ he laughed, “Do it in your swimming briefs.”

What was there and then, in front of him? It was something that I would have never done on my own, let alone doing it while I was being watched. However, the suggestion felt intensely naughty. Maybe it was just my initial shyness, but I just couldn’t seem to let go.

”Watch me,” said Misha as he did it first.

I watched as his yellow torrent of urine spurted right through his swimming briefs, down his legs, and onto the cubicle floor. The smell of his watery pee wasn’t strong. I was watching him, intensely drawn to his perverted behavior. Everything about Misha just seemed to turn me on even more.

“Touch me,” he moaned.

I tentatively reached out and touched his dripping bulge as Misha continued to pee through the thin material. It felt warm on my fingers as I groped his hidden cock. I squeezed his cock, and Misha grinned evilly.

“Lick your fingers,” he ordered, and I did.

Then it was my turn to do the same. I felt myself trembling. I tried to relax. Misha laughed and pressed himself against me and began to frot, his piss-wet bulge against mine aggressively. Finally, my urine started to flow. Our pee-soaked legs entwined together as we began to kiss each other again for the second time.

xxxxx

After the swimming baths incident, there seemed to be an unshakable bond between us. At breaks and lunch times, we secretly met in the toilets. We picked the playground toilet block that was the furthest from everything else. Few kids used it as it stank of stale urine and wasn’t cleaned so often.

On these initial occasions, we didn’t get up to much, as there was simply not enough time. We’d kiss and grope each other through our school uniforms whilst confessing our secret fantasies about one another. We’d share secrets about our solo adventures during masturbation. Misha added his brand of perversity that included solo urination and cross-dressing. That was when Misha introduced me to the idea of devil worship.

Actually, at first, I was scared of all the talk about sexual demons. Demons, Hell, and other occult subjects seemed so taboo coming from my perspective. But Misha made it sound very exciting. His mind was filled with dark thoughts that just made me challenge everything I had come to believe in. If it felt so hot and sexy, how could it be bad? Misha could be very convincing.

He talked about the pleasures of the devil — that since I had a conservative and religious upbringing, sinning was much more fun. It made sense that doing exactly what we’re told not to do could only turn us both on even more. We’d talked about the other boys and girls in our class and had agreed that sex with cocks was much more exciting than boring girl-cunts.

xxxxx

It was shortly after that that I was first invited to a sleepover at Misha’s house. I was so excited. I had no idea what mischief we would be able to get up to, being together overnight (obviously sleeping wasn’t one of them), but I guessed it would be much better than anything we’d been able to do thus far. I tried to check my expectations, but my filthy little imagination kept getting the better of me.

My mom agreed. It was hard to contain my excitement. I told my parents that we had a joint school project that we were working on together. Lying seems to make it even more clandestine.

Misha’s family and home seemed to be the antithesis of my own. Their house was huge. Four stories, set back from the road with a wide gravel driveway and high walls. It was an old Victorian house, like most of the houses on the street, with luxury cars in their driveways. I know they were of Russian descent. Above the mantelpiece, there was a recent portrait of the family. Misha’s father looked like a stern man in his fifties, and his mother looked small in comparison — maybe not much taller than her son — she appeared half the age of her husband.

His mother, Mrs K, as she called herself, was supposed to be an artist. A ceramic artist. Some of it was rather sexual in nature. Their house was filled with tribal art, sculptures, erotic paintings, and Mrs K’s bizarre ceramic installations. It was very hip (and a little dark).

Misha told me that his father wasn’t around much (always traveling for business) and his mother was always attending art shows, dinners, and gallery openings — so with his vacant parents, Misha was mostly left to do whatever he wanted. He also mentioned that Mrs K was very liberal … even a little weird with strange ideas of freedom of sexual expression.

We had dinner with Mrs K in the dining room and then announced she’d be out for the evening and that we should help ourselves to anything we wanted as she grabbed the keys to her red BMW coupe.

xxxxx

We laughed and chatted for a while after she’d gone. Misha said it was best to wait at least fifteen minutes, just to make sure she doesn’t turn back (just in case she’d forgotten anything).

“She won’t be back before midnight,” Misha promised, “She’s never home much anymore … so besides setting fire to the place, we can do anything we want … together.”

It sounded amazing. My little cock had been hard the entire time, and sitting side-by-side in our flannel PJs, Misha had been squeezing my crotch (even while his mother had still been there). She seemed not to notice, even though it was quite obvious that we were both fondling each other in our erect states.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Misha suggested.

Misha’s bedroom was on the fourth floor. It was so large compared to my meagre bedroom. In fact, besides his bedroom, the other rooms on the fourth floor were just used for storage. Our bare feet slapped against the polished wooden floors as we made our way upstairs. It was just getting darker. The old house was a little creepy, but it seemed to only intensify our perverted desires. I knew with Misha around, it was going to be sinful.

His room wasn’t what I expected. It certainly wasn’t like mine with toys and books that I had since I was young, with posters and pictures on the walls — his room seemed dark and strangely dedicated to occult-type stuff. Maybe more cultish and pagan in its theme. His taste was macabre, and he seemed to cover his walls with horror posters.

His bedroom window looked out onto the garden, four stories below. The darkness made it difficult to make out the boundaries of their garden against those of the neighbors. It seemed to be filled with leafless trees silhouetted against the orange sky. Misha stood immediately behind me as I looked out. I could feel his throbbing erection pressing against my backside as his hand snaked its way down the front of my flannel pajamas. His fingers gripped my stiff cock and began to rub my foreskin back and forth.

“Your cock is so hard!” he said in my ear as he rubbed me harder.

I kind of knew what masturbation was. At church, they’d said it was a sin. Masturbation was against the rules — regardless, I had touched myself many times before, but I had never actually experienced what an orgasm was. Usually, I would just squeeze my erect cock. It always felt naughty to do that. But, as Misha rubbed me, it felt like a whole new kind of level of sensation. My cock was throbbing and began to leak with my pre-cum juices. My balls tightened. And my head was spinning.

“Let’s get naked,” he suggested.

In a flash, we were both naked, lying next to each other on his bed. We kissed open-mouthed. Our wriggling tongues entwined like two electric eels. I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. Misha broke our sensual kiss and leaned his head against my bare chest. He began to suck my nipples as his hand continued to play with the foreskin of my hard little cock between his thumb and forefinger. Then, his head descended to between my parted legs, taking my quivering organ into his warm mouth, as he sucked and toyed with my testicles, even licking my dirty brown-flower.

“Aaarghhhh …” I moaned out loud — unafraid of anyone listening.

I felt incredible.

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

”Yes,” I answered, not wanting him to stop fellating me.

“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.”

He grinned ear to ear at my promise. His face was a devilish scowl. My heart thumped in my little flat chest. Once again sank between my open thighs. Likewise, lying between his open thighs, my hand gripped his small cock, rolling the foreskin back and forth, as I began to suck it. At the same time, I felt him taking my quivering cock between his hungry lips, and pressed hard against my bladder. Without thinking about it, I felt my hot-salty-piss squirt into his mouth just as mine filled with his warm-sourish-urine.

The Devil’s communion … what did that mean?

But as I swallowed his pee, I suddenly began to tingle all over from head to toe … my body convulsed and began to buck wildly against Misha’s face. I was cumming! I had never experienced an orgasm before — involuntarily shooting floods of watery boy-semen into his hungry mouth.

“Your piss and cum are so delicious!” he said.

We began to kiss again, and I could taste myself — my cum juices and urine — as he spat what remained of my pissy orgasm back into my mouth.

xxxxx

This was the first of several sleepovers with Misha.

Each time, his strange mother seemed to disappear almost on cue. And each sleepover seemed to be more depraved than the last — each holding its bizarre outcomes — that only furthered my entanglement in Misha’s perverted little world.

“Let me show you something really cool,” said Misha.

It was the second time I’d slept over, and he took me into his parents’ room. He showed me where they hid their treasure trove of Russian pornography. I was shocked at first. I had never seen pornography like it. I mean, sometimes the boys at school had dowdy girly magazines with nude pictures of models in various poses — mostly with big tits and hairy vaginas. Everyone in the class used to clamour to take a look.

But these magazines of Misha’s were sometimes completely different. The models appeared to be very young. They were depicted doing extreme sexual acts with adults. Some of the young models appeared to be very uncomfortable with the situations posed in front of the camera. There were magazines entitled “Young Lovers”, “Incest Delight”, and “The Devil’s Children”.

Other magazines showed women who had penises. Misha seemed to like these particularly. He said they were called transsexuals. They consisted of effeminate males who wore women’s clothing and make-up. Some had fake breasts. I must admit, I too was totally intrigued with them. They were shown performing all kinds of kinky stuff with fake cocks, which they stuck up their anuses (Misha called them dildoes). Some were fucking each other in the anus. Some could suck their penises. While others even urinated in their mouths. Bizarre but beautiful, I thought. Better than boys. Much better than girls.

“The best of both worlds!” said Misha.

Misha encouraged me to try cross-dressing. We both dressed in his mother’s black shear tights. Parading ourselves in her high-heeled shoes in front of the dressing mirror. Misha helped me put on some make-up before we started squirming around, frotting our hard little cock against one another (pretending to be transsexuals) through the deliciously sheer nylon. I got off on these rather perverse little games as soon as his mother disappeared.

We talked a lot about secret homosexual orgies, which were more like rituals performed to summon Misha’s sexual demons. It went against everything in my Christian upbringing, but at the same time drove me to imagine how incredibly horny it could be doing wicked, dark, and evil things. It was in our third sleepover that he showed me a picture of a demon called the Baphomet. Half man, half woman, all beast. Misha said that it was the demon that he worshipped every time he masturbated. He said that it brought him the most powerful of orgasms to imagine both of us having sex before this demon.

I must admit, I was hooked on this dark journey. My family had no idea what we got up to. Maybe they were happy that I had a friend to keep me out of trouble. Little did they think that it was quite the contrary.

We would dance vigorously and masturbate ourselves to Misha’s weird tribal music. Dressed up in his mother’s dark stockings and bra, Misha loved to wear this evil-looking Halloween mask. It covered his eyes and had devil horns. We drank a mixture of our urine in a strange devil-worshipping ritual that Misha had dreamt up. We even blasphemed. He was never short on bizarre ideas. This would be the first time we had anal sex.

“I want you to fuck me and cum inside my bum!” he told me, “Then you must suck your white stuff out my ass and share it with me, when we kiss!”

I think I fucked him in every room in his house, including the garden. He loves to be fucked like a girl on all fours. He would scream like a girl as his semen squirted high in the air, usually over his chest and face.

xxxxx

Then, suddenly, without warning, his family moved away.

He was no longer at school and I wasn’t to see him again. I keep thinking about all the thrilling sex I had with my young friend. He’d transformed my dull little life. There were so many more twisted fantasies still to perform together. Why didn’t he tell he that he was leaving? I felt totally lost. My heart hurt. I missed him so dearly. Wished it had worked out differently. I guess he’d started something that he’d never finished with me. I couldn’t tell anyone. Nobody would understand. Was I angry? More like, I was hungry for more — but alas, I was alone with my secret regrets.

xxxxx

MISHA — CHAPTER TWO (2,575 WORDS)

For me, things were never the same again. For the longest time, I just couldn’t accept that Misha was gone. I even stood outside his old house staring at the “for sale” sign. Then, I saw Misha’s father. He saw me.

“Ty. Stoy. Ty odin iz druzey-pedikov moyego syna! (You. Stop. You’re one of my son’s faggot friends!)” He demanded.

His movements were agile, and he quickly gripped my wrist, preventing me from escaping his glare.

“Hey, what’s going on!” shouted a passerby.

In the momentary distraction, I quickly pulled back and broke his grip. I turned and ran.

I never went back there again.

xxxxx

I felt lost without Misha. Oh, Misha! My cock was sore from my furious masturbation thinking about him. Life moved on, and I had no choice but to move on, too.

It had been a long time since my relationship with Misha. I started having a few “normal dates” with girls. I had enjoyed the pleasures of foreplay and sex with them. Outwardly, I was living a normal heterosexual lifestyle — but secretly, I was still thinking about my Misha. I felt that the girls I met were pretty, sexy, and tempting, but they just didn’t get it. They had no idea of what constituted real sexual pleasure to me.

With Misha, our perverted lust seemed so much more intense. I missed our sexual role-play. Doing things we knew were not natural. Maybe it’s because I still long for Misha‘s devious mind and cock. I missed all the edging, sucking, licking, anilingus, piss-play, and anal sex. Maybe I just hadn’t met the right one?

After my high school graduation, I got accepted into art school. It wasn’t one of those prestigious places, but now, almost twenty years old, I figured it was better than some dead-end job. The school wasn’t close to my family’s home, so my attendance would require that I live away from home. In a way, that seemed to distance me from all the religious activities and my family’s heterosexual expectations.

I figured that in the privacy of my place, I can do whatever I want, sexually. It could be an opportunity to experiment with the interests instilled in me from my short experiences with Misha. I missed his heavy indulgence in phallic worship, occult, and sexual demons. These weird sensations had left an indelible mark on my sexual psyche. Alone, I thought about that twin-sex demon, the Baphomet and found myself masturbating to transexual porn, sexual demons, and urine drinking.

xxxxx

It was registration day at the art school.

Everyone who was enrolled on the course was present. There must have been about two hundred young adults. There were the expected talks by the teachers and the collection of our course materials. As I sat in the large hall surrounded by my fellow students, someone caught my eye. It was just a glimpse. She was thin and petite. Without being obvious, I observed her long black hair and blunt fringe, sculptured face, bright teeth, and goth-like make-up. She seemed to strut into the room as if on display. Heads turned. She looked gorgeous in a way that was quite different to the others. Her dress-sense was very tempting, raunchy, and revealing, showing a lot of pale skin.

There was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. I wasn’t sure, but she seemed to notice me too. I immediately felt self-conscious. Did I imagine her smiling at me? I tried not to stare, but found my eyes drifting back to her, as if I were hypnotized by her in a way.

The session ended, and the crowd of students dispersed, and I lost sight of her. My heart sank. I was getting ahead of myself. What would she see in me, anyway? I walked out onto the balcony that looked out over the town below. I spied her there looking out over the horizon. There seemed to be something almost purposefully arranged about the situation. My active imagination at work, I guessed.

“Are you following me?” she asked cheekily.

“Er, no …” I stumbled and lied.

“That’s a shame. I hoped you were!”

Her voice was soft, demure, and somewhat familiar.

“Do … do I know you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

Standing closer, she looked so familiar, yet not. Yes, she was soft and demure, but there was something beneath the girlie make-up. She seemed more sordid than just hot and sexy. Her smouldering eyes scanned my reaction. Yes, I think she could sense that I thought she was glorious. Her fingers toyed with her occult-like jewellery that danced before my doting eyes as the shiny surface reflected the sunlight. As my eyes cast downwards, I noticed the small Baphometic tattoo on her hip.

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

I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t immediately make the connection. She moved closer to me, like a predator stalking her prey. Her hand touched my face. I felt almost paralyzed. It couldn’t be? It wasn’t possible? My heart thumped in my chest.

“Misha?” I ventured.

How was it possible? Misha was a she, exactly like a real girl.

She smiled.

xxxxx

Long story short. Misha’s parents had separated, and he was forced to return with his mother to Eastern Europe. It all happened suddenly, and he had no way to contact me. Life there was different, but with his mother’s agreement, Misha started taking hormones, and soon began to develop real breasts.

“I’m really horny right now. Can we go back to your place?”

How could I refuse?

I didn’t have a car. Couldn’t afford one, but I had a motorbike. Misha climbed on behind me and pressed herself against me. Her hands held my waist tightly, and I felt that hard little bulge press against my bottom. I was so turned on. It didn’t take long to reach my small apartment, and in no time we stood face to face behind closed doors.

I swear, she looked like a total goddess. Not like a girl. Not like a boy. Something else. A sexual creature. Something irresistible. Something darkly divine. The glint in her darkly shadowed eyes said she was eager to fuck. Always eager to fuck. I wanted her like I never wanted anything else.

We began to kiss furiously and press ourselves harder and harder against one another. I say kissing, but it was as if she was sucking my face. Her pierced tongue felt thick, like a cock, as she rammed it into my open mouth — fucking my mouth — as her delicious lips closed tightly around mine. That pissy, pervert taste — how I’d missed that musky taste and her aroma, so familiar and alluring. One of my hands gripped her little ass while the other mauled her bubble breasts. We tore at each other’s clothing until eventually we were naked.

“Kneel,” she commanded, “Worship me!”

I did exactly as she said.

“Worship me with your mouth. Suck my beautiful tits. Lick my filthy ass. Suck my demon cock, darling. Mmmmmm … I desperately need to empty my bladder into your dirty little fucking mouth. Worship me! Worship me!”

With the face of an angel, the temperament of a demon, and the voice of a pervert — it’s like we hadn’t been apart. My hand eagerly gripped the root of her thick cock, while my lips kissed the wet tip of her thick cock. No longer the cock of a young boy, but now the cock of an evil, twisted goddess. She pissed angrily into my mouth. There was too much to swallow. Her piss went everywhere. The smell of urea filled my nostrils. She laughed loudly. Holding me by my piss-wet hair like a dog on a chain.

“Get on your fucking knees, lover,” she demanded, “It’s been so long — I need to fuck you hard. I need to fuck you, right now!”

xxxxx

It was the early hours of the morning. The moon was full and its light fell over our naked bodies as we lay together in my stinking piss-wet bed. The room stank of our dirty sex play. I looked at Misha in the moonlight. She was still fast asleep.

She’d fucked me in the ass for the first time. Sodomy, she’d said, was the gift of the Devil. By partaking in ritual sodomy, we affirmed our worship of the dark gods of lust. How I loved the feeling of her thick cock deep inside of me. She’d cum so hard. Squirting her tainted seed deep inside my unworthy guts. Now, as I lay by her side, I felt it leaking from my sore asshole. I’d also cum just as hard without even touching myself — just from the pounding of my prostate. My body still ached and felt bruised from the ferocity of our infernal fucking.

My hand couldn’t resist lightly stroking her fake bubble breasts. They felt hard and almost unnatural. I liked that. Her prone nipples had felt like rigid bullets of flesh, like little cocks, in my hungry mouth. I’d kissed her Baphometic tattoo — another sign of her allegiance to the demons of hellish lust. My fingers lingered over the flesh of her limp cock and testicles, which said to me that she was more than a woman.

I never wanted her to leave again. How could I live without her special kind of depraved sex? She made me feel so alive. I was high on her carnality, as if she were a libidinous drug that I had become addicted to.

My lips grazed against her armpit. My tongue dared to taste her sweat. Her taste was intoxicating. I licked more. She stirred and turned. Her cock started to harden, until it stood out from her body at right angles to her hips — the foreskin retracting to expose its wet head. I touched its tip, caressed its mushroom crown. My mouth closed around it, sucking it momentarily between my lips. My hand traced the concave shape of her fuckable ass. My middle finger slipped between the crack of her buttocks. I brought my naughty finger to my nose and lips. The musky perfume of her anus was so inviting.

Was I falling in love with her all over again — or was it simply lust incarnate? Such temptations of hot, perverted sex. Wet urine play. Our urine-drenched sword fight. She loved piss — the smell of it, the taste of it — she begged me to piss over her hot, sexy body. This was how sex should be.

xxxxx

The next few days and nights that followed revealed more of Misha’s delicious and perverted misadventure.

It seemed that it was events that involved Misha’s mother that had triggered her parents’ separation — events that had involved both Misha and her mother in a sexual way. Young ones and incest. When Misha’s father had discovered their covert sexual activities, he’d been horrified. I must admit, the thought of Mrs K being a sexual deviant was kind of sexy. But I could understand how her husband would have thought otherwise. No wonder things had escalated so fast.

”Daddy was very mad. We think he was going to hurt us,” Misha started.

How did Misha feel about it? I mean, the whole incest thing? To me, it seemed she took it all in her stride.

“It all started when I was very young. So young that I cannot even remember how young I was. Mommy was very naughty — she was a dark and twisted pervert.”

This was the beginning of a long confession about many wicked things that both of them had done together.

“Mommy was the one who sparked my deep love of dark things. You see, she was a sex witch. She introduced me to her evil and depraved ways. Of black magick. Of sex magick. Of bizarre occult practises. Of evil spells and incantations.”

I was fascinated by everything she told me. My cock quivered at her every word.

“Whilst, Mommy and I, fled to Cluj in Eastern Europe, it seemed that had only intensified our incestuous perversity,” Misha said, “She was the one that encouraged me to drink piss … my piss and her’s … she called it the Devil’s Communion …You know the Russian porn I had shown you, at my house during our sleepover — it all belonged to my Witch Mommy. She loved child porn. The more extreme the better. It was my Mommy’s favorite. She loved seeing the children suffer. I think it was the abuse that turned her on!”

All the time she enlightened me about her past, Misha did not stop masturbating me. The more she said, the faster her hand rubbed my eager dick.

“She was the one who encouraged me to wear my hair long … wear make-up … and dress like a girl. Then, Mommy insisted that I fuck her … in every hole!”

She continued to explain that in Cluj, her mother was part of a coven of several sex witches that all seemed to enjoy sexual abuse of minors as an integral part of their devil-worshipping witchcraft, dark magick rituals, and occult ceremonies. Misha seemed hesitant to say much more.

“Don’t stop,” I said, “I want to know everything! It’s really hot!”

“Well … mmmmm … She’d told me that in the days past that the sex witches of Cluj would offer babies as human sacrifices in return for favors from demons … and when they couldn’t find young runaways or orphans to participate in their depraved orgies … they made me have sex with dogs and goats, that afterwards they were sacrificed to their dark gods … there seemed to be no limit to their insatiability,” she confessed, “Does that … you know … repulse you?”

“No. Not at all … I don’t know why, but it just turns me on more!” I replied.

We kissed passionately and continued to talk. And all the while she masturbated me, as if her story were told to inculcate me into her dark magick.

“I know what you must be thinking. It’s crazy, right?” she said, “It’s too much to imagine? Are you sure that I disgust you, that I participated in these evil things?”

I shook my head. Yes, it did seem a bit crazy and way beyond my expectations. Did I have second doubts about this? Of course not. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know every sordid detail about her, her mother, and the other witches.

“Mommy was always a bit of a sadist, and of course, a total evil pervert. I loved her for it. She wanted me to grow up to be a pervert, too. An incestuous cum slave to her dirty urine cunt. I was her willing accomplice — worshipping her blasphemous demons — as part of her sacrilegious cult. She watched us, you know. She only pretended to leave the house. She wanted me to bring you to her bed. She wanted us both to fornicate for her evil spirits …”

Her fingers stroked me faster to her depraved story.

“Mommy loved to fuck me with her naughty strap-on. She wanted to fuck you, too. We had it all planned. But then Daddy found out, and he spoiled everything. Aren’t you shocked? Do you think I’m horrible? … you know, to go along with such a mischievous plan?”

“Arrghhhhh!” I groaned.

I ejaculated between her nibble fingers. My cum went everywhere. It was the answer she’d been waiting for.

xxxxx

MISHA — CHAPTER THREE (2,697 WORDS)

Misha was insistent. I was apprehensive, but I agreed.

The plan was that, instead of returning home to my parents for my Christmas break, I would follow Misha back to Cluj, in Romania. What did I know about the place? Well, it was in the deepest and darkest part of Romania. It was a place infamous in books and movies as “Transylvania” — the so-called home of the legendary Count Dracula.

Was I out of my depth? Probably.

Misha had told me previously that during the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, in Cluj, like other parts of Transylvania, they had experienced “witch hunts” with numerous executions, and those found guilty were publicly executed. Those accused were often burned at the stake in the city square, and their remains were displayed afterwards in Cluj’s “Witches’ Road” and Tailors’ Tower.

But did that suppress the occult practises?

No. It just drove them underground. Secretive societies and covens become the norm. Some existed purely as common healers, while others intensified their bizarre sexual activities. Of course, the latter caught my interest. Misha told me that human sacrifices were often made to appease their evil spirits. The Baphomet, the god of witches — especially the sex witches — demanded lengthy erotic rituals and extreme orgies, like the Black Mass (a mockery of the Russian Orthodox Church’s mass) that incorporated sexual abuse, rape, and eventually death of non-believers, usually young ones, in reprisal for all the burnings.

How much of this was actual truth or just folklore?

I wasn’t sure. It just sounded interesting to ponder. As a child, I remembered the story of young Hansel and Gretel — a tale that didn’t end well for the witch — that the fairytale was more of a warning to curious children, not to stray too far in the woods. However, in Romania, there were more explicit versions of this same tale. And though they followed along a similar theme, their versions didn’t always end so well for the children either. I somehow liked these darker and more sinister endings. There was an explicit, sexual implication that just turned me on.

One of these Slavic fairytales was about a witch called Baba Yaga. The narration described the protagonist as being old, with a crooked mind, and painted a picture of her ugliness. According to Romanian myths, she was one of the most evil beings and was believed to be the mother of all the demons. Baba Yaga was also a manifestation of the archetype of the “Dreaded Mother” and the “Witch-Goddess”. Baba Yaga was supposed to be some kind of shapeshifter who was always lusting for young virgin boys.

I found myself imagining that Mrs K was secretly like Baba Yaga, after all, she’d been instrumental in allowing Misha and me to have sex together at such an early age — pretending to go out — so that she could return and voyeuristically watch our perverted sex games together. Did she masturbate whilst watching us suck and fuck? I hoped so. I knew this sounded pretty fucked up! But it turned me even more.

xxxxx

It would be a two-day train journey to the small town outside of Cluj-Napoca. I had packed lightly and wrapped up warmly as the winter in Cluj was an average of about three degrees Celsius. It was freezing! Upon arrival, I discovered that everything in Cluj looked old and decrepit. From the train station to the surrounding area — it felt as if I’d stepped back two or three hundred years. Maybe, in some eyes, it could have appeared as charming and quaint, but in the winter everything looked dull and creepy in the winter’s misty fog — my over-active imagination made the village appear to be a place where evil would thrive.

It was now late evening. I was hoping that Misha would be there to meet me, but instead, it was just her mother.

I immediately recognized Misha’s mother from the family portrait I’d seen above the fireplace. I had expected a much older version of her, but to my surprise, she still looked the same — not much older than me — in her mid-twenties, even though I knew that was an impossibility.

She was dressed in a luxuriously thick fur coat with a fur hood. Her face was fresh and very pretty. Almost innocent — though of course I knew she was the antithesis of this — perversely tainted. I reminded myself that, according to Misha, she was supposed to be a devilish witch.

“You look hungry?” she asked in her broken English with a strong Russian accent.

I nodded in agreement.

“Mmmmm … My cunt is full of Misha’s semen. You come with me to the inn. I sit on your face. You eat it out and suck my horn. I cum on your sweet, young face.”

It wasn’t exactly the welcome speech I had expected. I wasn’t sure what she meant, by a horn, either.

”Misha. She … preparing,” the witch offered, “Tomorrow night. Full moon. She will become a sorceress. A sex witch like her mother. Have a ritual orgy. Drink piss. We make a sacrifice. Eat baby. And much fucking. You will join us.”

Again, I just nodded.

xxxxx

The inn was close by, and with no time, I found myself in our shared accommodation for the night.

It was warm inside. The innkeeper showed us to our room. He’d been eager to leave us alone — as if afraid of something — maybe it had been Misha’s mother? He hurried away without a single word. Inside our room, the only light of our bedchamber came from the crackling fireplace that appeared almost like a devouring mouth. There was a low bed covered in animal skins, and the stone walls were sparsely decorated with oddities.

Now, behind closed doors, Misha’s mother stood before me, silhouetted against the firelight. She slowly opened her exotic fur coat, beneath which she was completely naked. Her body appeared to be impossibly thin and bleachy-pale. Her chest was almost completely flat, and her vagina was hairless. She looked more like a pre-pubescent girl.

“Come …” she croaked, “Get naked. Kneel before me. Tell me that tonight you will be mine. My itchy cunt dribbles with my kin’s cum. Lick me. Pleasure me. Worship me …”

It would be a lie to say that I wasn’t captivated by the nature of this strange and evil creature. She was, after all, the eater of children. The incestuous cannibal witch goddess. The shapeshifting devourer of souls that supposedly lived on the energy of the innocent. But then again, I wasn’t exactly virgin material and certainly not innocent. And the idea of tasting my lover’s semen from this vessel of evil made my naked cock stand firm and wet-tipped.

“That’s it. Come closer. Eat me. Adore me. For I am the Mole of the Devil …”

Naked, I fell to my knees before her on the thick fur rug that lay before the roaring fireplace. The fireplace crackled and popped. Whether it was in worship or lust, I don’t know, but my desire to appease her seemed to dominate my thoughts.

Her small, cold fingers gripped my bare shoulders, pulling me closer to her moist heat. She thrust her bony hips towards my face. Her bald cunt was already very wet and oily to the touch as she began to gyrate against my open, hungry mouth. My tongue snaked inside and pressed upwards into her greasy cunt hole. And, to my delight, I was instantly rewarded with the sour taste of spent semen, intermingled with the sourish flavor of her sexual juices.

“Show me …” she groaned, “Show how you worship … your succubus!”

She pressed me onto my back, and like an animal of prey, immediately straddled my bare chest. I felt deliciously helpless. I wanted to be dominated. With her knees on either side of my head, she lowered her oily cunt over my lips. I was dizzy with a strange desire. Her viscous juices dripped across my lower face and into my open mouth. She viciously grabbed my hair and sharply pulled my head back, as even more of her cunt juice and the remaining cocktail of Misha’s semen oozed from her gaping cunthole.

“Suck my horn … masturbate for me!” she commanded, “Show me. Pray to the goddess of the witches!”

Yes, now I knew exactly what she meant by “horn”. Her clitoris was huge and thick. It seemed to almost glow in the firelight. Enchanted — as it seemed to expand and stick outwards from the crest of her labia lips. I watched in awe as it stretched outwards and upwards, until it truly resembled a fleshy demon horn.

My right hand was a blur of motion, rubbing my aching cock as fast as I could. She mashed her “horn” against my face, frotting harder and harder, and then pressing it directly into my eager mouth to suck.

“Yes! Yes! Suck it harder!” she moaned, “Arghhh … Make me cum! Make me cum! Arrghhh … Make me cum! Arghhhhh …”

Her groans were accompanied by spurts of more ooze, saturating my face and hair. She was fucking my face with her horned cock! I was high as a kite in my perverse nirvana … my cock was almost ready to explode.

”Arghhh … Salvete Lamia! Salvete Lamia!” she cried.

Lamia? I’d heard that name somewhere before. A goddess? A witch-like figure known for being a child-eating monster? An evil night-haunting spirit? Was that who she was praying to?

“Salvete Lamia!”

My eyes seemed to be blurred by the thickness of her juices that covered my face. As I looked upwards with eye sockets filled with her secretions — I swear I saw wings. Not the white feather kind of angel wings. No, these were wings that stretched outwards from her shoulder, covered in black leathery skin, with sharp claws, unfolding much like a bizarre umbrella. Her hair was gone, and upon her bald head, there were curved horns. And those reddish eyes stared down at me, burning with evil lust.

I groaned. And as I ejaculated, I passed out and everything went black.

xxxxx

I awoke alone. It was already close to midday. I had completely crashed out.

Misha’s mother was nowhere to be seen. And the night’s activities seemed a little hazy in my mind. I had been so excited to reunite with my dearest, Misha. But I was no longer sure about what exactly was real and what was not. My thoughts were all mashed together into a lusty, orgasmic haze. I vaguely remembered glimpses of a sex demon. There had been a harlot with a cock. A young girl with the Devil’s horn between her legs. Had I seen a creature of dark lust? I felt so horny, but it was all jumbled up and didn’t make much sense.

Yes, I had slept more deeply than I could ever remember. There was a haze. A nightmarish haze that slipped in and out of my consciousness. Half intelligible. Half remembered. As I lay there, I tried my best to piece together my intimate thoughts. Had it been my imagination, or had Misha’s mother transformed into something incredibly evil, yet sexual? Maybe all the stories and myths were getting the better of me?

As I lazily lay back, my fingers toyed idly with my throbbing cock. It felt good stroking myself. Masturbation seemed to help bring back glimpses of the night’s dark joys. This hideous dream started to emerge — and as I began to masturbate more furiously, more of this unnatural fantasy seemed to unlock and flow back into my consciousness.

There had been a ritual of sorts. It wasn’t as if the events returned to any logical order or sequence. A twisted sexual dance of golden rain. The spurting of so much semen. The cries of the sex witches. Fires burned brightly as they illuminated the pagan-like festivities. An orgy of piss-wet bodies. Cocks and cunts. Young boys and girls. A celebration of transgendered bodies. There was a sacrifice to be made. Evil desires to be sated. A crying baby. A bloody knife.

I could see the Baphomet, alive. Not just an idol or an effigy, but as a living beast. It moved. It danced before my eyes. It mauled its breasts. It stroked its erect phallus. There were the sex witches with their huge horns … not the kind that appeared on their heads … but prominently protruding from their genitals. They were darkness incarnate. The smell of burning flesh mingled with the odor of extreme profanities. Sweat. Shit. Piss. Semen.

Maybe it had been a nightmare that had juxtaposed every depraved element of my journey into Misha‘s darkness.

She was there. I saw her. Right in the midst of it all. The epicenter. Misha. So divine. So beautiful. An angel among the dark demons. Yet, she wasn’t an angel of the light. She was the Devil’s daughter. A wicked grotesquerie that demanded suffering, torture, rape, and murder — all in the lead up to her glorious orgasm! It was shocking. It was hideous. Yet, as I masturbated myself to this unhinged dream of debauchery, I felt breathless but inspired and excited by its monstrous sickness.

She lay on her back. A young boy lay in front of her. She was stroking her cock. His whole hand was moving in and out of her anus. A young girl was lying to one side. She was sucking her bubble breasts. They kissed briefly, then the girl resumed her suckling. Another young boy stood over Misha’s head. I could see his concave backside thrust back and forth, as she fellated him to orgasm. They moaned together deliciously as the witches chanted and the pagan drums beat to the rhythm of the boy’s thrusts.

Everywhere I looked, there was lust. Naked bodies entangled in fornication. Among it all, I realized that I was one with them. Not an observer but a participant. Eager. Willing. Part of their vile horde. Willing to do whatever the Angel of Darkness wanted of me. My soul is as dark as theirs. Acting without hesitation or regret.

Misha’s mother seemed to be the mistress of the night, leading this evil ritual towards its conclusion — a cannibalistic sacrifice to the Devil. The sounds of perverted sex continued to fill my ears. Witches fucking their young lovers — impaling them upon their clitoral horns — the strong smell of semen, urine, and sexual secretions overwhelming my senses.

The scene changed again. Now, Misha and her mother were performing ritual sodomy. Like an incestuous offering before the living Baphomet. Their unique anatomies locked together like wild animals. It was to be a bizarre yet bestial climax.

I thrust eagerly to the same beat, my cock buried deep in the ass of a tiny young boy, that only reminded me of my much younger self. I felt my orgasm racing forward. Yes! Yes! Yes! Uncontrollably, as my dream had conjured many perversities, my cock exploded. Ropes of slimy semen spurted over my chest and face. I licked my salty lips, imagining that it was Misha’s cum.

xxxxx

Finally, I left the warmth of the inn and ventured into the chill of the late afternoon, with a small piece of paper in my hand. It was the instructions on where to go to meet Misha.

There were things that I thought her mother had mentioned … something about Misha needing to prepare … that there was to be a full moon ritual … that Misha was to become a sorceress … and something about eating babies? Some of which sounded incredulous. Some of which sounded inviting.

The instruction took me off the beaten track towards a group of Gothic-style buildings standing among sparse trees. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by winter woodlands, the place was very isolated, and it was already getting dark, as the winter days in Cluj were very short. Long shadows covered my stony path as I neared a chapel-like building at the rear of the property. The wind had picked up, and it was getting even colder.

The weathered door was painted red. It felt sturdy against my fist as I thumped loudly against it to announce my arrival.

xxxxx

THE END? OR SHALL WE CONTINUE?

xxxxx

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