DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: LGBT themes, WS, Scat, Coercion, Young Ones, Corruption, NC, Rape, Snuff, Satanism, Occult, Witchcraft, Transformation, Femdom, Sissy, Sadism, Blasphemy, MC, Demons, Supernatural, Evil themes.

AUTHORS NOTES: This story was partly inspired by the movie ‘Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children’. I wanted to create an interesting back story that could be built upon in subsequent stories/chapters portraying the perennial battle between good and evil – where those who are evil are somewhat obvious, predictable, and monstrous in nature; but more interestingly, where those that are supposed to be ‘good’ are far more covert, clandestine and ultimately more insidious (more evil than evil) in what they are prepared to do to achieve their hidden motives.

CREATED: 30.01.2017 / REVISITED: 18.09.2023

Raven & Dove 1


  • SPRITE: A sprite is a supernatural entity. They are often depicted as fairy-like creatures or as an ethereal entity. The word ‘sprite’ is derived from the Latin ‘spiritus’ (spirit).
  • ENCHANTING/ENCHANTMENT: Enchantment is the term that Sprites use to describe the use of ‘white’ or so-called good magic.
  • BIRD: A bird in the language of the Sprites means a penis, cock, or phallus. When a ‘bird’ sings it refers to the process of ejaculation and orgasm – whether self-induced through masturbation or through other sexual means.
  • MISCREANT: A miscreant is a supernatural entity. They are often depicted as minor demonic creatures of a very mischievous nature. From the Latin ‘mis’ plus ‘creant’ (meaning mis-believe). They are known to cause all sorts of depraved and villainous acts.
  • INFERNO: A place of worship of the miscreant god (Satan/the Devil/Lucifer). A demonic being that requires the frequent sacrifice of young human (prim) children.
  • MAHRING: A collective term for all forms of miscreant black magic and sorcery. The word is derived from the German word nachtmahr. (nightmare or bad dream); it is an adjective describing the process of using witchcraft against prims and sprites.
  • PRIM: A short form for primitive or primate. Used as a colloquialism for non-magical persons or people especially non-magical children (male or female). Also used as a derogatory terminology, especially in comparison to those with magical abilities.


The world is not what it seems. Folklore may call them pixies, nymphs, cherubs, and fairies; others may mistake them for angels; but the effeminate sprites are supernatural beings that live extraordinarily long lives. They are of prim-birth (human) but are very rare. Sprites are strange but said to be of a benevolent, gentle, and docile nature. They have been hiding all along in plain view. By using enchantment (white magic), they stay out of the reach of those who would do them harm.

Ms. Dove is a guardian of sprites. She has for over a century taking care of them, referring to them as ‘pupils of her school’. With her, they have always been safe. She teaches them to recognize their true nature and to develop their abilities which in turn will help them survive. Whitney is a young boy just turning eleven. He had never been like the other children his age and with this birthday, he feels an even greater change is abreast. He does not know that he is in fact a sprite.

At the opposite extreme, miscreants are malicious little creatures. Born of prim-birth, just like the sprites, their natures are the polar opposite of their magical brethren. They use mahring (a form of occult sex power) to fuel their deviant existence. They dwell on suffering, abuse, and perversity. Miss Raven is their mistress and Ransom is just discovering that he belongs with the miscreants. Miss Raven takes him under her wing as she encourages her bisexual miscreants to sexually abuse, rape, torture, and kill prim children in the name of their miscreant god, Satan.

Miscreants seem to be drawn to sprites. Miscreants are hungry for their essence; the smell and taste of which drives them crazy with murderous lust. Miss Raven has discovered by chance that with the essence of the sprites come many enhancements that she relishes. For one, it gives them extended existence; as well as rejuvenation for all of their lifestyle excesses; and the more sprites they consume the greater the effect. Now the sprites find themselves under threat of being hunted down and even Ms. Dove has to face the deteriorating situation and maybe forced into an uneasy alliance to save them from extinction.


Ransom Devlin was hard as a rock. The eye of his engorged flesh was open and wept with clear viscous fluids that pooled at its tip and then dripped freely. His eleven-year cock twitched as he looked at himself in the dressing mirror. Ransom was not like other boys. Yes, he was an only child and rather spoilt, but he ate and slept, and that was like all the other kids in his class. Still, there was a strangeness about him. He lacked the language to name it. All he knew was that he had a mysterious talent that he told nobody about. Except his best friend, Whitney. Well, recently ex-best friend now, as they had not been talking since the sleepover about two weeks prior.

Random could move things; close doors, push pencils across the table, turn on lights, and myriad of boring tasks without doing anything — literally anything, except think about it. He’d seen enough movies about this sort of thing to be wise about broadcasting this fact and telling the world – he would be a freak show, proof of the existence of the supernatural (even aliens). He would be a kid to be tested and experimented on, like a laboratory mouse. He was smarter than that. He never used his power in public.

In private, however, he used it for his own sexual gratification — bringing himself orgasm in long thrusting strokes that made his ball sacks ripple with self-induced ecstasy. He could conjure up all sorts of weird ways of self-pleasuring.

An only child with absentee parents he was let to experiment freely. Jerking off without using his own hands was truly a misuse of his extraordinary gifts but Ransom could not care less. He used all sorts of household objects to make himself feel good. Today it was a tight elastic band that he had wrapped around his foreskin — he moved it back and forth making himself jerk with tortured pleasure and at his rear, the round handle of a hairbrush slid back and forth inside his oily anus. Oh FUCK it felt hot! He slowed it all down … wanting to make the sadomasochistic pleasure last as long as it could. He bucked as several wades of salty semen sprayed over his face and neck.

As his climax receded, he thought about Whitney and the events of two weeks ago. The two boys had been best friends for as long as he could remember. But things between them had changed. Both of them had changed. He had discovered the divinity of masturbation and with it his ability to make himself orgasm over and over (until his dick was too sore to continue); and Whitney had become more and more feminine in his ways.

The androgynous Whitney looked more like a girl than a guy, acted more like a girl than a guy and Ransom had become unwittingly attracted to him. It seemed that maybe the feelings were not completely mutual. The sleepover at Whitney’s house which was supposed to have been a seduction, turned out badly. Now they were not talking. During his masturbatory build-up, he forgot about the failure for that moment and used Whitney’s sissified and effeminate body to fuel his violent rape fantasy.

Two weeks prior they had both fallen asleep next to each other in the darkness of Whitney’s bedroom. Ransom awoke or was it that he could not sleep? He could not remember. There was something so intoxicating about Whitney that Ransom had not noticed before. He could not understand it fully.

As the gentle boy lay peacefully next to him, Ransom could not help himself, he sniffed at Whitney’s deliciously feminine body. Whitney made Ransom highly aroused — like nothing else ever had before. He mindlessly stripped from his pajamas. His own cock was drooling by the time that he was completely naked. He desperately wanted to put his cock inside Whitney’s mouth, inside Whitney’s anus. Fuck! He just wanted to lick him all over.

He used his powers and slipped Whitney’s Panama pants down his skinny thighs and down over his knees, exposing his genitals without waking him, as he willed the material to slide silently all the way down over his feet. Ransom’s sweaty hands then danced lightly over his young friend’s soft skin as he nuzzled up to him. Whitney’s flesh smelt of sunshine. He was so edible. His fingers touched Whitney’s genitals for the first time, stroking the soft flesh between his flaccid cock and his small testicles. Whitney’s ball sacks tightened as he slumbered, unaware of his friend’s malicious intentions.

He remembered a dream — a nasty dream … Maybe they could simply start by rubbing their hard little cocks together, gripping them both, and rubbing them until they both reached their hot cum splattering climax? Maybe he could taste him first? Just a little taste. Random began to kiss Whitney’s limp penis, licking the pencil-thin shaft and then sucking it between his eager lips.

“Mmmmm,” it tasted delicious.

Whitney’s penis began to subconsciously react to Ransom’s warm mouth, lips and tongue lapping at him, as the perpetrator draw great enjoyment from this secret and deviant pleasuring. Ransom masturbated very slowly as he continued to molest his best friend, whose penis was now fully erect and had begun to throb in Ransom’s mouth. Oh, to taste his friend’s semen. A dream. A wicked dream come true.

“W-what are you doing?” stammered the sleepy Whitney, more surprised than anything else.

Whitney sat up abruptly in the dark room, realizing that he was lying without his pajama bottoms on and that the bed sheets were pulled down exposing himself. He jumped up pulled the sheet over his exposed genitals and turned on the bedroom light.

Disappointed, Ransom sat up too. He was fully naked and still highly aroused. He did not have anything to say.

“You … you were touching my little ‘bird’ … why Ransom?” Whitney blinked at the sight of Ransom naked and sexually aroused. Whitney blushed and looked away in complete embarrassment.

“You were enjoying it,” Ransom laughed.

“Please … Leave me alone,” croaked a confused Whitney.

“You were as hard as I am … you loved it like a sissy faggot.”

“Please, Ransom. I just want you to leave … RIGHT NOW!”


It was Whitney Stuart’s eleventh birthday. In fact, he was eleven years, eleven days, and eleven hours old when everything about his life changed. Young effeminate Whitney had been crying, but by the time he reached his next class, the only evidence of what had transpired was the stench of urine. He quietly entered the classroom and moved to the back so that nobody would notice him.

He had been in the boy’s toilets about to take a pee when Ransom entered. Ransom was just a couple of inches taller, but carried himself with a lot more confidence. The night of the sleepover was still fresh in his mind. He was still confused about it. He did not want to talk to Ransom about what he had done and how he had taken advantage of him. He felt violated. Compared to Ransom, Whitney was very pale and puny, his fine bone structure was more that of a pubescent girl with narrow hips and dainty movements.

Random stood between Whitney and the only exit. The door closed and locked itself. Random grinned sardonically and pulled his cock out. It was hard (like the night of the sleepover) and his foreskin was rolled back exposing the wet purple acorn at its tip.

“Come over here now and kneel down. Suck it, you candy-assed faggot!” ordered Ransom.

He looked crazy with lust. Whitney was afraid of Ransom. He was really scaring him. Whitney backed up and shook his head. Ransom advanced, his cock dancing back and forth. He pushed him to the dirty floor in front of the urinals, then he pissed over him and laughed. It was over before it began. After Ransom left. Whitney tried to clean himself up. He hated Ransom and what he had become — he still remembered helping Ransom, who was not intellectually gifted, through his exams — and this is how he repaid his kindness. He had trusted Ransom. Now he could only think of the mean things he did to humiliate him.

Once back in class, Ransom ignored Whitney as if he was daring him to tell tales and therefore bring on more wrath. Whitney did not have to say anything either. The teacher called Whitney to the front of the class. Whitney wanted to cry. It was just then that a visitor arrived at their class. The beautiful visitor was a tall elegant lady dressed all in satin white. She had long white-blond hair that was tied up in two ponytails. Whitney admired her long slim legs and regal neck. She carried herself like royalty. She introduced herself to Whitney’s teacher, Mrs. Batch, as Ms. Dove. She was like a dove, a beautiful bird of peace. She was everything Whitney would have liked to be and more. Ms. Dove handed a piece of folded paper to Mrs. Batch who opened it and studied it quickly.

She escorted Whitney and the enigmatic Ms. Dove to the corridor outside the classroom.

“It seems that you have been sponsored by Ms. Dove’s school for outstanding excellence in the arts,” she explained to young Whitney, who was not sure what that exactly meant.

“It means that you will be coming with me,” explained Ms. Dove to the bewildered young boy, “You are an exceptional talent,” she added with a warm smile.

She retrieved a small round glass bottle that looked like a perfume dispenser and sprayed Whitney with it. The smell was delectable — but what was more surprising was that he no longer could smell the horrid stale urine door that had permeated his school uniform.

“That’s better,” said Ms. Dove.

Whitney felt a little overwhelmed. He had seen the paper that his teacher had inspected and it certainly had his parent’s signatures on it — giving Ms. Dove permission to take him out of the school.

“You are going to like it at your new school Whitney. There are many talented young boys there, just like you. They spend their time doing many creative endeavors including, painting, drawing, sculpture, music, dance, and a little magic. There are no bullies. Just pretty young boys like you.”

Ms. Dove looked down at her pocket watch, which was fastened to her double-breasted jacket by a delicate chain. It looked old-fashioned but still very much in the vogue — a virtue that Ms. Dove seemed to personify. Just then a white limousine pulled up against the sidewalk and Ms. Dove opened the door.

“It’s time we get going,” she announced.

They stepped into the cool white leather interior and the limousine moved off immediately. It was so smooth and quiet that Whitney did not even realise they had left the old school behind.

“You are going to really like it at my school.”

“What is the school called?”

“I called it ’Ms. Dove’s School for Sprites’.”

“I cannot believe this is happening. Or that my parents consented?”

“They did my dear,” replied Ms. Dove looking dreamily out of the window.

Her attention came back inside as she looked Whitney in the eyes.

“You know you are very special … exceptional … rare …”

“What’s special about me?” asked Whitney.

He had never felt special. Stupid sometimes maybe. Rejected maybe. A freak who looked more girly when he should be more masculine. He thought about how embarrassed he had felt at sports in school … In the shower room, he felt so self-conscious about his effeminate body, his delicate bone structure, and his dainty movements. The other boys did not say much, but he felt out of place.

“You are special. You are a ‘Sprite’ you see.”

“A ‘Sprite’? What’s a ‘Sprite’?”

“All in good time. Just know that you can be yourself around us. Know that you are magical and have special gifts that normal folk don’t always understand … Or appreciate.”

Whitney did not understand, but by the comforting tone of Ms. Dove’s voice, he felt safe and secure — it was like finding a new special friend. A very tall and pretty friend. Ms. Dove was mysterious and absolutely gorgeous. He wished he could grow top to be just like her.


Arriving at their destination was somewhat of a disappointment for young Whitney. Whatever he imagined that Ms. Dove’s School for Sprites was going be like, from the outside it looked like a derelict building. The windows were boarded up and there was a rusty corrugated iron fence topped with barbed wire. Poster billers and graffiti artists seemed to have had a party there.

“It’s not what it seems.” Assured Ms. Dove, smiling with those perfect straight white teeth. She ran her little pink tongue along the front edge of her slight overbite. “Here.” She said giving young Whitney a pair of oversized sunglasses. He donned them and to his surprise, the appearance of the old building changed – it was no longer ravaged, but splendorous, like something straight out of Disneyland with a grand staircase, leading up to an opulent oversized doorway. The school was iridescent white in color topped with candy pink and turquoise turrets — it was a fairyland castle.

“Wow!” said Whitney.

“I know. It’s a little over the top my dear. We call it enchantment my dear.”

Inside, there was a flurry of activities.

“They are all excited about the new arrival,” said Ms. Dove, “We are all so happy you found us.”

“But …”

“I know, we found you. It just sounds better!”

The angelic boys gathered. There were about two dozen of them. They were all about his age, maybe some were two years younger and some as old as two years his senior. They were all so pretty. Angelic boys. Sprites. Some had grown long hair and most dressed in feminine attire. A wonderful mix of fur, lace, silk, tussore, tussah, samite, tulle, sendal, and pink chiffon. Most wore makeup.

“Now say hello ‘girls’ … this is Bobbi, Lake, Toni, Julio, Christie, Siren, Fay, Ashley, Hilary, Robyn, Vivian, Leslie, Taylor, Meredith and Sydney. And over there is Shirley, Joyce, Carol, Willow, Rain, India, Dakota, Julian, Morgan, Peyton. And this is your new roommate … Madison.”

Madison was a little smaller than Whitney but ever so pretty. He wore a filmy light top that showed off his puffy little nipples — like little love cones of delight. He curtsied.

“Hi Whitney, we are all so excited you came,” said the pretty little Madison.

Ms. Dove turned in a complete circle and pointed to various rooms that ran off from the main entry area that was as brilliant white, gold, and iridescent (as a pearl) as the exterior of this dreamland castle.

“There is our ballet studio over there to your left. Just ahead is our boutique and music room. Our arts and crafts studio to your righthand side. The beautician’s and nail room is over there and our dining and lounge is over there to the rear. There is a marvelous garden on the roof where we hold special events – especially dancing and praying. You are going to be very comfortable here Whitney. I just know it, my darling. Now ‘girls’ do I have to remind you that you still have the remainder of the day’s classes to complete? So … Off you all go and shake those lovely little tushes.”

The talkative crowd dispersed quickly.

“Now Madison, can you show Whitney upstairs to your room? Get her out of this awful uniform.”

Ms. Dove curled her mouth in disapproval of Whitney’s school attire.

“And bath ‘her’ PLEASE!”

“Yes, Ms. Dove,” acknowledged Madison with another overly extended curtsey.

“Afterwards get ‘her’ something more lacy, more satin, more applebloom — a pretty camisole maybe? Does some eyeliner help? Maybe a short roseate kilt? I leave it to you my dearest,” said Ms. Dove patting Whitney on the rear, “Run along my dears … I’m keeping an eye on you both.”

Ms. Dove turned on her heels (her six-inch stiletto heels), and disappeared like the others leaving Madison and Whitney alone in the long hall.

“Come on then,” said Madison smiling at Whitney, “You’re so pretty. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

“Thanks, Madison. I must admit, I am a little overwhelmed. And … I don’t feel pretty. You are all so much prettier than me … it’s a bit intimidating.”

Madison squealed with delight. ‘She’ seemed to like compliments.

“You use such long adult words … you must be poetic?”

“What do you mean?”

“We are all ‘Sprites’ here … Magical … Enchanted … We have magical talents … Maybe yours is the magic of language? …. Like a writer? …. Or a poet?” she annunciated the words and then laughed again.

“I’m a poet?” Whitney laughed at the thought.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” replied Madison turning towards the spiraling staircase.

Whitney noticed how everything was so white and gleaming. It did feel magical – like a fairy’s dream come true.



The bedroom chamber that they were to share was beautiful. The high white vaulted ceilings and grand arched windows looked out across the city vista framing the picturesque setting. The floor was covered in lush golden carpet. They both slipped from their shoes to feel the thick pile of the carpet between their dainty toes. Madison’s were painted. There was an antique dressing table with a wide stall (that could easily accommodate the both of them, side-by-side. But the centerpiece was the opulently carved wooden canopy bed with translucent golden muslin drapes hanging from each corner.

“Let’s get you bathed first. We have plenty of time before dinner to get you changed into something more elegant. Ms. Dove is very particular about our dress code and make-up. She wants us to always look our best. Now that you are no longer in the land of the ‘prims’ you will discover a whole world of new sensations.”


“Sorry. I mustn’t use that term. ‘Prims’ is short for primitives — it’s what we call normal non-magical folks. But it’s really a bit rude. I don’t really like the expression myself.”

“You mean disparaging?”

Madison laughed.

“More long words!”

Whitney glanced up at the large Renaissance-style oil painting hanging on the wall opposite the bed. It was a strange heavenly composition of many naked cherubs, most with tiny wings, harps, and cupid bows and arrows. Some were flying, some wrestling most were embracing and even kissing, but Whitney could not help but notice that they all sported tiny little erect penises.

“It’s incredible,” said Whitney.

“I’m glad you like it,” Madison smiled and gently stroked Whitney’s hair.

“Just one bed?” asked Whitney naively.

“Sharing is much more friendly, don’t you think?”

“I guess so. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone but my best friend before.”

There was a short awkward pause.

“Were you in love?” inquired Madison.

“What do you mean?”

“With him? With your bestie … Darling, I can hear it in your voice. You say it with some pain attached?”

“I don’t know. We were close. We grew up together. And then he changed. Or maybe I changed. I don’t know.”

“Sorry. I touched a sensitive nerve. I shouldn’t have been so blunt to ask.”

“No. No. It’s ok. Really,” changing the subject, Whitney asked, “So what’s your magical talent?”

“Mine is the enchantment dance.”

“A magical dance?”

“Yes … It’s hard to explain. When I dance … they say that all the ‘birds’ must sing.”

Whitney was not sure he understood. But thought it rude to ask further.

Madison smiled angelically and took Whitney’s hand leading into an alcove that turned out to be their bathroom. The Romanesque bathing area was recessed into the floor of gleaming white seamless marble. Whitney saw his thin and nubile reflection in the huge mirrored walls. In the bathing area, the decor was less subtle and did not just hint at cherubic erotica, it was far more explicit with large white marble frescoes of seraphic figures in various sexual positions with each other and with other goat and pig-like animals that stood upon their hairy hind legs.

There was no celestial hierarchy or ardor of light and purity — it was priapic and pornographic. At the centerpiece of this bizarre fresco was an androgynous figure, female from the waist up and male below with the head of a wild boar. The mythical creature was endowed with an enormous erection and seemed to be the center of the cherubic worship.

As Madison turned the taps to fill the bath, yellowish water sprayed forth into the shallow scalloped-shaped font from the loins of other statues of naked cherubs, the golden liquid spouting from their erect little penises. Madison helped Whitney to undress and then undressed himself. Whitney could not help but get a little thrill at the first sight of Madison’s pretty young body (that he saw plainly reflected in all the mirrored surfaces).

He was so anorexic and yet so ladylike. Whitney blushed crimson when he realized that Madison had noticed that he was already semi-erect. His little bird standing to attention gave away how sexually aroused he was feeling. Madison smiled and showed Whitney that he was also fully erect. Whitney’s momentary embarrassment quickly turned to excitement as Madison took him by the hand and led Whitney into the warm amber liquid that frothed as it filled the font. In the font, there was a noticeable sourish smell that reminded Whitney of the disgusting urinals in the boys’ toilet.

“You must be very erotically charged,” Madison said.

His hand lightly stroked Whitney’s naked bottom pulling him closer to him until their penises touched,

“Oh, … Yes, it’s true, Ms. Dove said you were an especially sexy sissy … I can feel it in your hard little bird.”

“Oh, Madison. I am so happy.”

Madison pressed even closer, drawing his arms around Whitney. Whitney’s heart was pounding with the melody that had the rhythm of an industrious hammer. His excitement was bubbling like the sour liquid that surrounded them. Whitney’s little bird pressed harder and more desperately against his new roommate’s rigidness as they squared off, bird against bird, legs together, chest and stomachs tingling with sparks of sensual magnetism … and face to face.

Whitney opened his mouth willingly as Madison began to kiss him — as their tongues began to duel, twisting and poking. Whitney forgot all about Ransom, his mind could only think about how deliciously naughty it felt as Madison gyrated his narrow bony little hips against him rubbing their sexual organs together excitedly. Flesh against flesh. Their pre-cum flows to lubricate their frotting. Whitney stroked Madison’s long blond hair that reached down to his waist. He was so beautiful.

After they kissed passionately for what Whitney felt was forever, his breathing had become labored with deep sexual arousal; and standing in the warm liquid he recognized the smell more pungently, they were, in fact, bathing in urine. Madison bent down and drank from one of the cherub’s birds that the urine fountain-ed from and then kissed Whitney again. He could taste the salty sourness of the urea on the boy’s painted lips.

As he kissed him, Madison spat the mouthful of the urine into Whitney’s mouth. Whitney drank it and smiled mischievously. Madison then guided Whitney down to drink directly from one of the many pissing cherub statues. Then, the both of them piss-kissed and quickly became drenched in the hot tangy piss. Madison groaned eagerly into Whitney’s mouth grabbing hold of his piss wet hair-soaked pulling him down deeper into the sourish urine bath. Whitney felt as dirty as a little piglet … yet Whitney did not feel unclean. Quick the reverse. He felt purified.


Madison helped him out of the font. They were both very excited as they made their way to the love bed, still dripping wet from their strange baptismal ritual. That’s when Whitney saw that they were not alone. In their bed were Siren and Christie. Both were naked and fornicating in a manner that naive Whitney had never thought possible.

Christie was on his hands and knees. Siren knelt behind his rear. Whitney could see that Siren had his bird inside Christie’s tight little anus. They grunted like sex pigs. Their pleasure was obvious as they thrust together in an intimate exchange that made Whitney jealous. As the two realized that Madison and Whitney were there, they stopped their sacred sodomy and Siren pulled out his ‘brown-stained’ bird from Christie’s dirty anal love hole.

Madison and Whitney climbed onto the bedding still dripping wet from their urine bath. Siren sat with his sissy legs open and leaned back on his elbows so that his dirty shit-streaked bird stood upright.

“Taste him.”

Madison guided Whitney down between Siren’s legs and encouraged him to take Siren’s dirty little bird into his mouth – to clean it with his tongue and then suck on Siren’s bitter-tasting bird. Madison’s fingers wrapped around Whitney’s testicles, teasing and squeezing them and then masturbating him in sharp hard strokes. Whitney groaned in acknowledgment of these new pleasures. Divine. Oh so divine. He eagerly licked and sucked Siren like there was no tomorrow tasting the greasy bitterness of Christie’s poop tube down the length of Siren’s slimy sex organ.

Siren farted pungently without any apology as his hand pressed insistently against the back of Whitney’s bobbing head, face fucking him as a jet of Siren’s warm urine sprayed into the back of Whitney’s mouth. Whitney swallowed as much as he could, before it flowed out of the sides of his mouth, firstly soaking into the satin sheets, then pooling above the rubber mattress cover below that trapped Siren’s urine between them.

“Your sexual enchantment is so strong Whitney. You are completely irresistible …” gasped Madison rubbing himself as fast as he could. “You make us all want to do such nasty things.”

Pretty little Christie stood up on the piss-drenched bed and eagerly added to the fluids as he urinated directly over Whitney’s face, aiming his salty piss flow into Whitney’s open mouth. Whitney felt Madison move behind him and hold him by the hips. He could feel Madison’s little genitals quivering with the fire heat of uncontrollable passion. He pushed back so that Madison’s excited little bird pressed hard against his dirty little anus. Whitney felt his virgin sphincter open and devour Madison, sucking his bird into its oily and greedy puckered opening.

“Fuck me Madison,” Whitney coed.

Whitney felt him fill his anus. There was no pain only a pressure against the inside of his bowels. As Madison started to thrust the pressure increased driving him insane. Christie was now underneath him, lying in the urine. He felt Christie’s hot mouth swallow his twitching bird. He loved it. As Madison thrust into his anus, Whitney thrust in Christie’s cunt-mouth. Siren, not wanting to be left out, turned to face away from Whitney and offered him his dirty brown anus.

“Lick me Whitney … taste my shitty ass pussy.”

Whitney lent forward and kissed the dark-skinned hole of corrugated anal muscles and then pressed his tongue inside the dank slimy hole. It tasted vile, but that only drove Whitney even more crazy, He bucked wildly, close to climax. Madison groaned as he too seemed to be approaching his much-needed release.


Whitney lay with Madison spooning across their large bed. The enchanted bed was no longer soaking wet although it had a light perfuming of the residual of their liquid emissions. Whitney loved the way the silkiness of his feminine nightgown felt against his skin. He felt so relaxed and peaceful.

It was still light outside. According to Madison, it never got dark at the school, and though the light was much more diffuse than earlier in the day, it felt dreamy and very pleasant. He turned over onto his back. Madison remained fast asleep curled in a little ball of tartarin and feathers. His soft voice purred like a cat. Whitney could not believe the events of the past day.

Madison had explained the ‘magical science’ behind the enchanted school and its need to appear like a derrick building to the ‘prims’ or normal folks. It was for their own protection. The less obvious they were the better. White fairy magic made the building appear like the rest of the rundown neighborhood. It was simply a camouflage. Madison had said that he had been at the school since the 1930s. But that was crazy … it would make him about seventy years old. He felt instinctively that Madison would not lie to him — but how could that be true? More fairy magic? Maybe he just heard him wrongly. It was just too incredulous to believe.

He had enjoyed all the attention he had received at the school especially the exciting sexual experiences with Madison, Siren, and Christie. For the first time in his life, he did not feel any shame about his femininity and his attraction to other young boys. After their urine bath, Madison had giggled like a girlie as their piss-wet foursome began and had opened up a whole new world of strange sexual experiences that Whitney could not wait to explore further.

The slight but still distinctive odor of their combined urine flavored the sensuality of his surroundings. It made Whitney think about Ransom. They used to be so close. Best of friends. He had told Ransom all of his most secret thoughts. They had played together, bathed together, and grown up together. Why did Ransom hate him so much? Whitney thought about their sleepover and how Ransom had tried to take advantage of him.

He remembered how Ransom could open and lock things without touching them; he could move stuff with just a thought; after all the enchantment that Whitney had recently experienced he had no doubt that Ransom’s gifts were for real. He had never told anyone about it, because he realized what danger that would put his friend in. And even in the cooling of his lust (with the other sprites), he realized that maybe there was something about him that had influenced Ransom …

“You must be very erotically charged.”

Isn’t that what Madison had said? Maybe he had enchanted his friend and it was in fact his own fault — be it unwittingly.

But this thought aside, their last encounter had been awful — how Ransom had pushed him hard and he had fallen on the wet dirty floor of the boys’ toilets. Ransom had locked the door and there was nowhere for Whitney to run. Ransom had opened his pants and pulled out his disgusting looking ‘bird’ … actually it had not looked like a little ‘bird’ anymore — his penis and balls were man size, darker in color than the rest of his body, the foreskin no longer covered its acorn tip, instead it was pulled all the way back, exposing the large bulbous purple head that was wet with fluids and engorged as Ransom’s cock pointed hard and throbbing in his face. Ransom held it in his hand and rubbed the foreskin back and forth vigorously.

“Suck it you candy-assed faggot!” Ransom had spat at him.

He sounded so evil.

Whitney remembered how scared he felt and how he began to cry (as he did at their last sleepover). But strangely as he recalled the whole ordeal again, he found his own little ‘bird’ stiffening again — as hard as it was with Madison’s touch. The way Ransom acted was so rough and violent. It thrilled him. It was wrong to think about such things, but still, he could not deny his fascination with the thought of being forced or even raped.

He snaked his right hand beneath the delicate fabric of his nightgown and touched his hard little bird – something he had never done at nighttime alone before. His bird throbbed between his fingers as he carefully pulled his foreskin back. The feeling was incredible. He rubbed the tight skin back and forth, slowly at first, as he had seen Ransom doing it in the boys’ toilet. The sensation made him feel dreamy again.

He imagined what it would have been like to do exactly what Ransom wanted him to. He pictured himself kneeling in the piss and shit in front of his wayward friend. In his fantasy, they were both completely naked. His fingers touched Ransom the way he was now touching himself, rubbing the boy’s much larger cock lovingly, pleasuring him as if Whitney were paying homage to the pig god (he imagined the androgynous figure from the bathroom), thrusting Ransom’s foreskin back and forth with one hand while the other cradled his sweaty testicles in the other … Rubbing and rolling them between his palm and then pressing his index finger deeply into the boy’s stinky anus.

As he thrust up and down, faster and faster on the thickly veined shaft, the angry bulbous head wept a slimy fluid. It felt taboo to be forced to perform such a lewd act against his will – even though in fantasy he was more than actually willing. Again, he looked back to the moment when he had awakened in Ransom’s bed, as his friend was sucking his ‘bird’ and now, in his head, he heard Ransom groaning in delight as he finally took his friend’s ugly big cock between his effeminate painted lips, crushing it between his wriggling tongue and the roof of his hot wet mouth.

Closing his lips around the throbbing shaft and began to suck it as hard as he could. Yes. Yes. OH YES. He felt Ransom thrust his hips back and forth, fucking his face with his thick cock. He wanted him to cum in his mouth — to be forced to taste his fowl seed.

“Oh Ransom …” he whispered softly.

Whitney’s pleasure reached the point of no return. It was like a thunderbolt of white lightning striking him directly in his tiny genitals. He raised his backside up from the bedding and his enchantment flowed from his testicles, bucking wildly and spraying the inside of his delicate nightgown.



Ransom could not believe his eyes. Mrs. Batch did not even blink an eyelid. Was she completely blind as well as stupid? It was as if Mrs. Batch, and the entire classroom for that matter, were oblivious to the shocking Asian woman’s appearance as she stood next to the blackboard in the front of the classroom. The woman in question, who had introduced herself to Mrs. Batch as Miss Raven, looked like a Bangkok tranny whore. She took a slow drag of her thin cigarette and then continued her conversation with his teacher.

“Yes, you old fucking bitch that is what I said. The boy. Ransom Devlin is mine. He’s a hot little cocksucker and I want to ride his delicious cock,” she said in her thick Thai accent.

“Oh yes, Miss Raven. I will inform the school principal that you will be taking our Master Devlin on an educational excursion. All the paperwork is in order. We are delighted that he has been specially selected for this most important of learning opportunities.”

“That’s what I said.”

Miss Raven put both hands with their long manicured nails on her impossibly narrow hips and looked directly at Ransom. She winked with heavy mascara eyelashes. It was as if there were two distinctly different conversations happening simultaneously … And he was the only one present to have the privilege of hearing both. His eyes could not help but stare directly at her. She was gorgeous in every way imaginable to an eleven-year-old boy.

She looked like an Asian porn star dressed in the shortest black skirt possible, with thigh-high latex boots that tilted her bony hips forward and ended in six-inched spiked stilettos. She wore a tiny black lace corset open to expose her small pert breasts with crosses of black electrical tape placed across her nipples. Across her almost flat chest, she had a rather blasphemous tattoo of an inverted crucifix, that sported ‘phallic’ protrusions at each of the four ends of the cross.

Mrs. Batch beckoned Ransom to join Miss Raven at the front of the class.

“Now say hello to Miss Raven.”

“Call me Mistress my darling,” interrupted Miss Raven.

“Yes … Mistress,” said Ransom, clearly unsure of the whole situation.

“That’s better,” replied the Mistress fondling his backside inappropriately.

“Your parents have signed the consent form and you are released into Miss Raven’s care. Make the school proud Master Devlin.”

“Yes Ransom, I’m going to teach you to be a dirty little fucker and nasty cocksucker. You’ve wasted enough time hear with these boring cunts — let’s get going, I’m so fucking horny.”

The Mistress flicked her cigarette ash over Mrs. Batch’s face who was still smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Don’t worry, they cannot see me the way you do. They cannot even hear what I am really saying. Fun isn’t it?”

“How is it possible?”

“It’s called mahring, Ransom. It’s a bit like magic and mind manipulation all rolled into one. Soon you’ll learn and you will be able to tell this old cunt anything you want and she will do it for you … so willingly!”

“I don’t understand?” questioned Ransom.

“You will Master Devlin. You will.”

Outside the school building, the Mistress directed Ransom towards a large black and chrome motorbike parked right across the school driveway. She mounted it in one smooth motion and told him to get on behind her. He did as he was told.

“That’s it, darling, press your nasty little boy cock up against my naked ass cheeks. Mmmm. Press it into the crack. Mmmmm that’s a good boy. You learn fast.”

Ransom did as she asked. His cock was already fully erect.

“Mmmm, that’s it. I like it when my boys are nice a hard between the legs. Hold my tits, squeeze them hard, FUCK YER … squeeze my nipples harder. HARDER!” she started the loud motorbike with a stab of her heeled foot, “Hang on tight.”

The motorbike lurched forward and Ransom grabbed her firm little breasts, needing them with his eager fingers and squeezing the bullet-hard nipples through the black crosses of electrical tape. Before Ransom could get his head around all that was happening he realized that they were already a long way from his immediate neighborhood and far from the familiar landmarks of his childhood.

“Where are we going?” asked Ransom.

“To your new abode. To the ‘Raven School for Miscreants’. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“What is a miscreant?”

“Let me see. The dictionary definition of a miscreant is a boy who is depraved, immoral, or base; (that would be you) … who holds a false or unorthodox religious belief; is heretical, vicious and is an out-and-out villain.” She laughed out loud against the rush of the wind.

“You mean … bad?”

“Well, yes. But you and my miscreant boys are far more than that. You are all beautiful and magical.”


“Yes. Mahring Ransom, mahring … haven’t you heard of black magic?” shouted the Mistress over the sound of the motorbike’s engine.

“It’s like bad magic?”

“You’re getting it, boy. And the miscreants use mahring (black magic) to get whatever they want. Now there are the ’sprites’ — those diaphanous faery boys … you might call them faggots, right? They have a different kind of magic. They call it enchantment! Dumb really. Mahring sounds much better. Miscreants love sprites. We fucking love them … there’s something in their semen that just drives us all crazy!”

Ransom wasn’t really paying much attention. He was holding on for his life as the motorbike sped faster and faster through the old town and into the darker more sinister part of the derelict city – its red-light district.

“Where’s the school?” cried Ransom over the roaring sound of the engine.

“It’s down,” replied the Mistress.


“Down in Hell. Now hold on tight.”

The Mistress eased up on the throttle for a second or two and then the heavy motorbike banked steeply to the left; between the heavy oncoming traffic that rushed around them, then descended down a blind alley and into a subterranean garage. The wide garage door opened automatically like a gaping mouth and then slammed down shut behind them swallowing the thundering motorbike as came to an abrupt standstill in what looked like an industrial goods lift.

Ransom studied the four large-sized buttons. The first said OUT; the second said CLUB; the third said DUNGEON; and the last said INFERNO.

“Lean across would you and press CLUB?” asked the Mistress.

Ransom thought about the button and it pressed inwards without him even touching it. The heavy industrial lift lurched in a vertically downward motion.

“Impressive. You are truly miscreant. What else can you do?” asked the Mistress.

“I can move stuff by thinking about it.


“What’s the CLUB?”

“The CLUB is where all the miscreant boys hung out, drinking alcohol, smoking, snorting drugs… they indulged in anything that pleases them … especially sexual activities. The DUNGEON is where we keep the abducted ‘prims’. They are mostly street kids who won’t be missed by anyone. And INFERNO, well you will find out all about that soon enough.”

According to the Mistress, all miscreants were bisexual and enjoyed a wide array of paraphilia. Most of which were extreme, perverted, and rather dangerous. She said that the young ‘prim’ kids were used by the miscreant boys in all sorts of deviant games that involved humiliation, molestation, abuse, and sexual torture of all kinds.

Just then, the heavy gates of the lift opened at the stench of booze, fags, and sexual sweat hit Ransom. There was already a party in full swing and voices screamed across the loud thumping EDM beat.

“Meet your miscreant brothers.”

Random looked around the CLUB that was lit up with strobes and black light like a seventies discotheque. He noted that the boys who were all about his age (give or take a couple of years), were almost completely naked and sporting wet-tipped hard-ons. His own cock flesh filled with blood immediately, pressing against the inside of his tight little school pants — desperate for release.

The CLUB appeared to be a den of iniquity. Boys loving boys in all manner of kinky activities. Grinding. Gyrating. Oral. Anal. Two-way. Three-way. Four-way. Large video screens were showing what Ransom would find out later to be homemade pedophilic snuff movies. Black rites and rituals to Satan. And he observed how the miscreants were all using prim children as their sexual slaves and human sacrifices. Every extreme perversion was catered for. It was a perverted paradise.

“Well? What do you think of our little CLUB?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I can see by the bulge in your pants that eager to make yourself at home?”

Several young miscreants noticed that the Mistress had arrived and that she was accompanied by a newcomer, conspicuously overdressed. The Mistress brought Ransom over to one of the curved seated areas where five naked miscreants were gathered around a young white-skinned prim who was attempting to perform oral sex on one of them. They looked annoyed at the boy’s poor sexual performance and took turns beating him hard with a short-riding crop.

“Let me introduce you to Hunter, Rabid, Maniac, Slayer and this is Carrion,” said the Mistress

All the naked dark-skinned boys stopped what they were doing and came to knell excitedly before her.

Carrion was the first to tongue-kiss Miss Raven, who had removed her short dress to reveal her long shecock that stood hammer-hard and upright against her stomach — its angry mushroom head glistening with sticky fluids. Ransom looked on in disbelief as perverted lust welled inside at the sight of his exquisite transvestite sissy goddess.

“You like my sissy cock?” her Thai accent made everything sound sexy.

Ransom nodded.

“Then worship it. Worship it with your mouth.”

The boys parted to let Ransom kneel before Miss Raven. Ransom was overwhelmed by his attraction to this androgynous Asian priestess and was completely on autopilot. In all the short eleven years of his life, he had never even known that such sexual configurations were possible (only maybe in his wildest masturbation fantasies … and his strange dreams of lust and rape). The boys were already opening his flies and pulling out the cock of his loose school pants.

“Miscreants are sex demons, Ransom. You are a sex demon. Your true father is Satan.”

The Mistress pressed the head of her big fat cock against Ransom’s lips. He opened his mouth wide, taking the head and the first two inches of her thick stem between his moist lips. The Mistress grabbed the back of his head and pressed it further forward.

“You are a natural-born cock sucker. Aaarghhhhhh …” she groaned, “And in Satan’s house we rule. The pathetic prim children serve us. As you will soon discover… abusing them, raping them, torturing them, and killing them can be so much fun.”

Miss Raven released her hold on him and as her cock slid from his open mouth, he gasped for air. The other miscreant boys laughed.

“Undress him and give him the whip,” ordered the Thai Mistress as she rubbed his saliva down the length of her veined shaft.

Ransom stood up and shoved the boys back. He needed no help undressing. His cock quivered like never before. Fuck, he was horny. And the sight of the Mistress’s sissy cock was inspiring. So he was a sex demon? He knew he was different. He knew that he wanted sex with both boys and girls — and as his personal fantasies had escalated in their wildness from vanilla to debauched, he recognized that only the most extreme sexual thoughts could please him now. A sex demon. Yes. Hunter offered him the whip. He took it. It was made of leather and felt hard against his hand. He swiped the air with it. Fuck, that would hurt if it hit you.

“Go on,” said Hunter pulling the prim boy to his feet, “Beat him.”

The word formed in his head was ‘how’. But he did not want to look stupid in front of his demonic brothers. He of course had dreamt of beating other young boys and girls with whips, paddles, and even barbed branches soaked in vinegar. Ransom used the end of the whip to prod at the boy’s pathetic genitals. His young eyes welled with tears that begged him for mercy. As the boy’s hands tried to cover his flaccidity, Ransom delivered a short blow to the boy’s open fingers and he yelped and removed his hands.

A sex demon. I’m a fucking sex demon.

’As you will soon discover … abusing them, raping them, torturing them, and killing them can be so much fun — the Mistress’s words played over and over in his head … darkly inspiring him. He realized at that point that he could do anything he wanted to these unwanted abducted children. Anything. No matter how evil. Nobody would stop him.

Nobody would object. Nobody gave a fuck.

In fact, they would enjoy watching and would participate in whatever perverted sex act they desired. He imagined the pathetic boy was his stupid best friend, Whitney. The fucking little faggot who refused to pleasure him. Fuck you, Whitney. If you were here right now, I’d fucking kill you. The whip whistled through the dank air and struck the nine-year-old prim across his under-developed genitalia. He screamed in the sharpness of the pain and fell to the floor. The boys laughed and pulled him up. Where Ransom had struck the boy, there was a painful reddish line across his groin.

“Again,” said the Mistress.

Ransom did not need encouragement. He hit the boy in the same spot masturbating himself as he did it. The other boys were masturbating too.

“Fuck yer,” said Hunter approvingly.

He roughly kissed Ransom pressing the hard cocks together. Ransom kissed him back.

“Enough,” ordered the Mistress.

The two of them reluctantly parted.

“Give him a sacrificial knife.”

Now the rest of the boys showed even greater enthusiasm. They grabbed the prim, whose expression had changed from pain to abject fear.

“I think his bloody genitals would look excellent hanging around your neck, Ransom. What are you waiting for?”

Ransom shook as he held the razor-sharp curved blade in his hand. Its obscene design made it even more ominous as he looked at the hysterical boy.

“Do it. Cut off his cock and balls. Do it now,” cried Hunter.


To be continued …


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