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

AUTHORS NOTES: Inspired by a close friend who is going off to Seminary School very shortly.

STORY CODES: Supernatural, Demonic, Satanic, Ritual Abuse, Rape, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, NC, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Young, Cross-dressing, Transgender, Transformation.

CREATED: 01.08.2021 / REVISITED: 12.11.2023

Seminary for Sissies 2


Peter’s father was a deeply religious man and he hated his twelve year son’s effeminate behavior. He had thought that discipline and prayer would be the answer — but it hadn’t had the desired effect. So he packed Peter off to St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary, hoping that the learning experience in an institution of God would make him a righteous boy … maybe even follow into the priesthood. Unfortunately, the St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary is filled with pedophile cross-dressing priests that parade as the “nuns” — these sexual predators use a three-stage process that they call “XXX” — Xpose, Xcite, and Xperience — to systematically abuse and molest them. Peter quickly discovers that he is not the only sissy in the school. In fact, all the boys are specially selected for their effeminate qualities and latent homosexual tendencies that feed the network of pedophile priests in the corridors of the Holy See. It’s a corrupted place where they will learn that their true god is not benevolent or holy — in fact, the priesthood serves the darkest of Gods and offers no excuses for their excesses in sexual depravity.


  • Peter – effeminate and bisexual (12)
  • William Gallop – Peter’s father, a staunch Christian (45)
  • Coleen Gallop – Peter’s mother (36)
  • John – An effeminate boy that Peter meets at the seminary school (12)
  • Matthew – An effeminate boy that Peter meets at the seminary school (12)
  • Mark – An effeminate boy that Peter meets at the seminary school (12)
  • Father Samuel – Effeminate priest and sexual predator who runs the St. Andrew’s Seminary School (36)
  • Sister Angelina – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (35)
  • Sister Emmanuel – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (39)
  • Sister Stacy – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (32)
  • Cardinal Angelo Becciu of the Vatican – supporter of the school, fat pervert (60)



“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown. The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. The Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled.” — Genesis, chapter 6, verses 4 to 6.

It was almost nightfall.

Peter and Mark were ushered to the offices of Father Samuel by Sister Stacy. Father Samuel was reading a large leather-clad volume that he closed upon their arrival. Young Peter’s eyes caught sight of the five large letters embossed in gold over its leather-like cover as “Strix” … he didn’t recognize the name or have any idea that it signified an evil omen in the form of an owl-like bird that was said to be feed human flesh and blood.

Sister Stacy bowed respectfully to the dark priest and then stood behind the kneeling boys. Her fingers idly toyed with her cock through the thin fabric of her habit.

Father Samuel was dressed in his long black robe. Around his waist, there was a delicate shiny rosary with an inverted cross at the end. The silver inverted crucifix had points that took the shape of erect penises. Peter noticed it and wanted to ask the priest about the strange book and his blasphemous rosary. But as usual, he said nothing.

“Hail the Lord,” said Father Samuel.

“Hail the Lord,” replied Sister Stacy.

“Hail the Lord,” chimed Peter and Mark awkwardly.

“Thank you, Sister Stacy. Welcome boys. You both look very pretty tonight,” remarked the perverted priest.

Unbeknown to all the boys in St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School, the evil nuns had been lacing their meals with hormones and other sex change drugs. Sex change hormone therapy usually starts at about sixteen years of age. But at St. Andrew’s they wanted their sissy sex slaves to slow the process of puberty … keeping their voices high pitched, reducing body hair to begin their new lives as obedient effeminate acolytes of the Dark Lord. Of course, these scientific changes were to begin the process — but Father Samuel also employed black magick to twist their pliable young minds to his evil agenda.

“You have been chosen,” stated the priest.

Peter and Mark looked excitedly at each other. A sissy dream come true.

“We will be receiving a visit from a VIP — the Cardinal Angelo Becciu of the Vatican — he is a very important man and is a staunch supporter of St. Andrew’s. We want to make a good impression on him … the work we do here … so we can count on his continued support.”

The priest stood up. The front of his gown was tented with what lay behind. Peter looked on hungrily.

“Cardinal Angelo has some specific tastes … he enjoys the idea of corruption … he likes to destroy innocence … evil winning over goodness … he is a fornicator that has a thirst for pretty young boys like you … but he would like to imagine himself as your sexual liberator … he wants anal virgins to deflower in the name of Satan … am I painting you a picture?”

The boys both nodded.

“Sister Stacy has prepared some costumes for this special occasion — you will dress as sissy angels for the Cardinal — you must dance and perform your angelic duties … praising the Abrahamic God … until the Cardinal tells you otherwise. He needs to see your blissful ignorance of the dark side … you will be innocent, naive, and most importantly “virginal” … now, both of, stand and bend over. I want to inspect your ass-pussies … they must be nice and tight … neither of you has been sodomized yet … this will be an important night for you both on your journey to serve our Dark Lord.”

“Yes, Father …” replied Peter and Mark.

They both stood up, turned their backs on the priest, and bent forward to display their puckered little assholes. The priest knelt down behind Mark and inspected him. His fingers delicately traced along the skin of his perineum until he reached the rim of Mark’s brown little sphincter. The priest sucked his finger, wetting the tip, and then pressed it into Mark’s nether-hole. Mark audibly gasped.

“Mmmm … Good,” remarked the priest.

He then repeated the process with Peter.

“Excellent. Now, change into your angel outfits. I want to make sure they fit you well.”

Sister Stacy brought over two skimpy little outfits. They were made of an almost completely translucent white fabric. They each had a mini crop top, tiny skirt, leggings, long silver-blond wigs, narrow crucifix choker, a silver halo, and delicate angel wings.

The boys dressed up for the priest. His hand lazily stroked himself through his gown. Yes, he liked their sexy little sissified costumes … and he imagined the Cardinal would too.


The stoic Cardinal Angelo Becciu of the Vatican arrived at St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School without much pomp and ceremony. This was more of a covert visitation. Unlike his usual itinerary of officialdom filled with fanfare and elaborate religious formalities — his arrival was during the early hours when evil was most concentrated.

He was not dressed in his regalia, the Cardinal had opted to wear a simple, white robe, fabric belt, and cape; with a matching skull cap; and around his neck a discrete silvered crucifix.

The Cardinal was received by Father Samuel and his three sissy nuns. The boys all stood to attention in fresh gowns of worship (with the exception of Peter and Mark). The Cardinal never traveled alone. His entourage was not extensive on this occasion, but the school would need to host the two accompanying aids (that hovered around him defensively).

“Welcome back your Eminence,” said Father Samuel, bowing his head and kneeling and kissing the Cardinal’s hand (in mock respect).

“Hail the Lord,” replied the Cardinal. His eyes glanced secretly, wondering over the young impish bodies of the preteen acolytes, presented before him. “It is always good to be here again,” he added, “You never cease to amaze with the delights that St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary conjures up.”

“Thank you, your Eminence,” replied Father Samuel, “We do the best with what we have to work with. You remember, Sisters Angelina, Stacy, and Emmanuel?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course,” responded the Cardinal, as each stepped forward to kneel and kiss the back of his proffered hand.

“The night is young, your Eminence, and we have made special arrangements,” said the priest as he ushered the Cardinal to one side (away from his aides). “You would like to refresh yourself in the guest chamber, possibly? I can have the Sisters take care of your aides, your Eminence?”

The Cardinal grimaced.


“Then let the night’s festivities begin.”

Father Samuel and Sister Stacy escorted the Cardinal towards the specially prepared guest chamber, while Sister Emmanuel and Sister Angeline directed the Cardinal’s aides in the opposite direction, towards a banquet of food and drink. Their meals were laced with a potion to make them sleep deeply — they would awaken later unaware of any of the activities yet to come.

Once out of earshot of his interfering aids, the Cardinal turned and moved closer to his co-conspirator, Father Samuel.

“There is trouble at the Holy See. Many oppose the True God. While others usher in the dawn of the age of the Black Pope. I am in need of distraction. Tonight I look forward to celebrating that which I coven most,” expressed the Cardinal in nothing more than a whisper, “Place my aids where they will see and hear nothing … Hail the Dark Lord …”

“Hail the Dark Lord — it is already done your Eminence,” replied Father Samuel.


Cardinal Angelo Becciu entered the VIP guest suite as if he owned the place. The aged Cardinal removed his white skull cap from his balding head and patted down his stay grey hairs. He unbuttoned the front of his long gown and helped himself to a large glass of blood-red wine from the crystal decanter. He couldn’t resist gorging on some of the delicious finger foods that had been specially prepared for him (laced with powerful aphrodisiacs that further stirred his already deviant libido). They always knew exactly what he liked. Father Samuel had done or said little to prepare him — all he knew was that his depraved desires would be sate.

The decor of the suite was that of a gothic boudoir; darkly furnished in black and red; and accented with less-than-subtle touches of devil worship. The huge four-poster antique bed (with each bedpost ending in a blasphemous carved phallus), dominated one side of the suite; with a large entertainment refuge on the other. Everything about the boudoir was designed for fucking. The Cardinal admired the perverted artworks that depicted young naked boys having sex with black-skinned demons — their elongated cocks filling the boys’ eager holes.

Flickering light from a dozen brass candelabras reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that occupied one entire wall. Fat black wax candles, burned at different lengths, their long black stalactites of hardened wax hanging precariously from their brass fittings. The soft beckoning of Pan’s flute echoed within.

The Cardinal discarded his shoes as he sipped the warming wine. Usually, he felt his age, but tonight his appetites were raging (fueled by the psycho-stimulants in the finger food and the wine). At sixty his body had seen better times. Now he was grossly overweight and very unhealthy. All that fine wine, rich food, and privileges had made his stomach look like he was seven months pregnant. By all accounts, he was a very unattractive man; but also a very powerful man; and a wicked, corrupt, and sexually perverted man.

He made himself comfortable in one of the four large leather lounges that all faced each other. If the Cardinal could have seen through the other side of the one-way mirrored wall — he would have been very uncomfortable with the presence of Father Samuel and Sister Stacy. They had front-row seats to his sissy sex escapades. Several video cameras purred, as they were programmed with motion sensors — to record the events for future leverage. Black magick or blackmail … whatever got the job done.


Father Samuel stripped from his elegant long gown, letting it fall to the floor, revealing his smooth maleness. Sister Stacy removed her robe too. Her body already glowed with sexual sweat in anticipation of the night’s activities. Both the priest and the transgendered nun were both already fully erect — precum already pooling at the tips of their eager cocks in full knowledge of the depravity to yet to come. Father Samuel smiled to himself and thought about James, chapter 1, verse 14 …” But each is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desires …” How could the sinful Cardinal refuse? A trap so deliciously sweet … Father Samuel settled back into the leather Belle de Fleur loveseat; just as Sister Stacy knelt on the floor beside his open bare legs and reaching up with her painted fingernail, began to stroke his low hanging testicles and thick serpent-like cock-meat.


The Cardinal didn’t have to wait long before Peter and Mark appeared dressed in their skimpy little “angel” outfits … like two little pubescent cherubs with fairy wands and ballet pumps. The Cardinal’s cock stiffened immediately at the sinful sight of these lovely virginal offerings as they danced and cavorted around in time with Pan’s enigmatic flute; as if immersed in their own childish pursuits; and completely ignoring the presence of the excited Cardinal (as they had been instructed to do).

”Hey, children, stop for a moment and let me look at you,” said the amorous Cardinal, getting Peter and Mark’s attention.

”Hello, I’m Peter, and this Mark … we’re both enchanted faeries,” replied Peter, politely in his high-pitched effeminate voice, “And … who are you?”

“Why don’t you call me … Pan,” said the Cardinal.

Yes, tonight he would be — The Great God Pan —thought the perverted Cardinal to himself. Yes, to observe these two delicate pansy-ass-fuckers dancing on the end of his cock … now, would be truly “enchanting”.

“Pan?” Mark pretended to be innocent of the implications.

The Cardinal couldn’t help but notice how their delicate outfits hid very little. He licked his fat red lips at the sight of their ripe cherry nipples, bare tummies, bubble bums and plump little cocks.

”Yes, Pan … the Pagan God of Masturbation … Do you know what masturbation is?

“No,” lied Peter, “But it sounds like fun.”

“It is,” replied the evil man of God, “Come closer … that’s it.”

The two faerie boys had stopped dancing and stood only a few feet away from the fat old Cardinal.

“Why don’t you both stand right in front of me … and let’s play a game …” he suggested.

The Cardinal was well endowed. His big fat cock was now aching to get out from beneath his white robe, and without any underclothing, his hard-on pressed outwards, tenting upwards against the silky material in his lap.

”We like games, Mr. Pan …” remarked Mark.

“Excellent … Peter, why don’t you sit on my lap first, while Mark does a special dance for us?” suggested the Cardinal lifting his gown over his knees, so that Peter’s bare legs would be in direct contact with his.

“Yes, Mr. Pan,” said Peter, wasting no time jumping up onto the hairy thighs of the dirty old Cardinal.

Peter sat across the Cardinal’s white thighs with his back to him. He slid back and forth, pressing his sissy bottom against the Cardinal’s hidden, but rock-hard cock. Peter pretended to be playful and unknowing of what lay beneath the Cardinal’s bulging lap. His wriggling little ass made it hard for the old fuck not to blow his load right there and then.

“Oh … oh … oh …” exclaimed the excited Cardinal, “Yes, dance on my lap, boy … mmmm … lean back against me … let me touch you … mmmm … that’s good … suck my finger … rub against me … that’s … mmmm …”

Mark watched Peter closely. It excited him to know that they were both turning the dirty old fucker on. He liked teasing old men. Yes, he liked this dirty little sex game. And he wanted the old fuck’s cock. He wanted to suck it. He wanted him to stick his big man cock up his little bottom. His little boy penis was now quite stiff and clearly visible through the sheer material of his faerie skirt. Mark could see that Peter was hard too, as he frotted his backside harder and harder against Mr. Pan’s cock.

“Mr. Pan … what do I do next? What’s involved in the special dance,” asked Mark in his squeaky high-pitched voice.

The Cardinal’s breathing had become labored with sexual excitement with the young boy’s kinky lap dancing. The Cardinal’s hands slipped beneath the translucent fabric of Peter’s faerie top. The old Cardinal’s fingers groped that boy’s cone-shaped nipples … mauling him with a sexual urgency that he hadn’t felt in a longest time. This boy was ripe for his cock. They both were. Now he moved his eager fingers down into Peter’s lap, searching for the boy’s delicious little cocklet.

“Well, Mark … mmmm … it’s called the masturbation dance … and you have to hold your cock between your fingers … like this … mmmmmm …,” groaned the Cardinal as he desperately gripped Peter’s tiny erection between his thumb and his forefinger.

Mark stood very close to the Cardinal and gripped his cock exactly as the Cardinal was gripping young Peter.

”You then rub it up and down … mmmm … like this …” demonstrated the panting Cardinal.

Mark copied the slow and deliberate movements of the old Cardinal, as he slid Peter’s foreskin back and forth, exposing the bluish wet head of Peter’s small three-inch cock, drawing the foreskin back over it and then pulling it right back with each stroke.

”Feels so nice … mmmm … doesn’t it? …” groaned the Cardinal.

”Yer … fuck yer … it feels so good … but I need to pee, Mr. Pan … I need to pee desperately … oh dear, I cannot hold on …” moaned Mark.

Mark gyrated his hips and rubbed himself increasing faster and faster, with no intention of stopping, as the Cardinal watched and salivated.

“Then piss, boy … piss over us both … do it …. mmm … piss in my mouth … baptized the both of us … urinate over us … mmmmm …”

Mark grinned evilly as aimed his hard little pistol toward the Cardinal and Peter, Peter grinned back — Peter’s eyes begged him to soak the pair of them. Mark pressed down on his aching bladder. His dark yellow piss shot out, firstly at a funny angle, due to the hardness of his erection, missing this intended target, but quickly he aimed his piss stream directly over Peter and the Cardinal. Both were overjoyed with the hot salty rain, as it quickly soaked the Cardinal’s silky white robe and drenched Peter’s upper body. Mark held his cock firmly and aimed higher towards the Cardinal’s face … his strong piss stream now flowed over both of their upturned faces and into their open mouths.

“Delicious … mmmm … more … mmmm …” quacked the Cardinal as he tried to gulp the boy’s sourish fluids in his open mouth.

“I like playing this game, Mr. Pan … ah …” moaned Peter, as the Cardinal’s piss-wet fingers wanked himself faster and faster too, “I feel all ticklish in my balls!”

Peter was lying back against the Cardinal’s heaving body, trapping the old Cardinal’s cock between them.

“Yes … mmmm … this is what you do my acolytes … mmmm …. when you pray to the God of Masturbation … Do you like praying to Pan?”

“Yes! Oh, yes! Hail Pan! Aaarghhhhhhh … Yes! Hail Pan! We love worshiping you … Hail Pan … God of Masturbation,” cried Peter as his body stiffened and jerked uncontrollably — his boy semen sprayed upwards over his heaving chest as he climaxed like never before.



“Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God..” — 1 Corinthians, chapter 6, verses 9 to 10.

Behind the mirrored wall, the hidden video cameras zoomed in and out, capturing every detail of the explicit little sex show. Meanwhile, Sister Stacy’s mouth was wrapped tightly around Father Samuel’s throbbing cock as the priest eagerly thrust it into the back of her practiced throat.

“Aaaargggghhhhhhh … Christ be fucked!” the dark priest blasphemed.

Now the piss-wet Cardinal was completely naked. His obscenely fat and overly hairy body looked wet and gross. Both the twelve-year-old boys were naked too. Each of the faeries took turns in masturbating the old Cardinal, rubbing his thick Coke-can-like cock as he growled lewdly. Grabbing Peter, he pulled the boy’s face close to his and they began to wildly tongue-fuck each other’s piss-wet lips.

The dirty old Cardinal couldn’t wait to demonstrate to the young feminine boys how to suck his cock properly. As both they stood before him, the dirty old fucker greedily sucked upon both their little sissy penises. Both Peter and Mark looked at each other and grinned evilly, as they both pretended that it was their first time.

The Cardinal sat on the edge of the leather couch. The two sissies both kneeling in front of him. Peter was already erect again. They eagerly masturbated themselves as they each took turns sucking the Cardinal’s thick veined penis and heavy testicles. The video captured every vivid detail of their little pink tongues lapping the old pedophile’s cock, balls, and disdained anus. Momentarily their lips would meet with great gusto, they kissed each other, sharing the taste of sweat, piss, and precum; before returning to gobbling as much of the Cardinal’s oversized phallus as they could fit into their tiny mouths.

From the couch, they all moved quickly to the opposite side of the room. The boys eagerly climbed onto the black sheets of the oversized bed. Now the old Cardinal lay prostrate with the sweating fatty mass of his back against the silk covers.

Peter crouched over the Cardinal’s face and began to grind his perineum against the Cardinal’s open lips — dragging his tight little anus and testicles back and forth across the Cardinal’s upturned mouth. The greedy Cardinal began by licking and sucking at the boy’s genitals; then rimming his ripe little shit-hole as Peter groaned in his feminine soprano tone.

Mark lay across the bloated gut of the overweight Cardinal. Their cocks pressed together, frotting cock-to-cock with the Cardinal, as he slurped happily upon Peter’s hard little cock. Secretly, every moan and groan of threesome’s depraved pleasure could clearly be heard over the loudspeakers by those hiding from behind the one-way mirror.

Father Samuel and Sister Stacy were joined by Sister Angelina and Sister Emmanuel (who had successfully put the Cardinal’s aides into a deep sleep). They would not be disturbing the night’s entertainment as they lay comatose from the drug-spiked food and drink. The two shemale nuns slipped from their thin black robes and in no time were getting off on the perverted activities beyond their one-way mirror. All four of them watched and mutually masturbated each other’s precum-dripping cocks.

Sister Stacy got on all fours with her face almost up against the mirrored surface as Father Samuel knelt behind her and pressed his fat cock head against her rectum.

“Aaarghhhh,” groaned the evil priest, as his cock sank into the oily opening and upwards inside her willing bowels, “The Cardinal has some powerful enemies … who will love to get their hands on this,” grunted Father Samuel, as his plot thickened and Sister Stacy saw the genius of their priest’s evil scheming.


Now young Mark began to mount to old fat Cardinal, taking his impossibly thick member and pressing it into his virgin opening. Mark and Peter faced each other, kissing each other passionately. Mark was shaking as he took the first inch or so of the nasty pedophile’s cock inside his tight little shit-hole. He felt his anal opening being stretched beyond impossible measures — but he was still determined to get more of it inside of him. He wanted to feel that Cardinal’s girth fill him like nothing else would. Sodomy was the greatest of Satan’s sins. Fuck God. Fuck Jesus. Fuck the Holy Spirit. The eager old Cardinal began to get impatient for his pleasure and thrust upwards with his hips — but he was too overweight to really be effectual.

“Aaaghhhhhhh…” moaned the old Cardinal, “You’re so fucking tight! Fuck, my cock feels so good! AAaaghhhhh!”

Mark pressed down harder as he balanced on the Cardinal’s thighs. He gasped audibly as he managed to get three inches of the thick phallus inside his little sissy guts. He desperately wanted to receive Satan’s blessing through their sodomite ritual.

“Hail Satan. Hail Satan. Hail Satan,” he purred.

Mark raised himself up slightly and then thrust downwards as hard as he could. Over and over. Deeper and deeper. Harder and harder. Each time, more of the Cardinal’s enormous member slid further inside him. Mark felt pain turn to masochistic pleasure. His colon spasmed with the thickness of the Cardinal’s invading phallus. Mark’s little boy penis shuddered and had not lost its stiffness. It wept with copious precum. Peter’s fingers slipped around Mark’s erection, squeezing it tight and thrusting up and down, in time with the boy’s up and down movements — as he rode the Cardinal’s enormous cock.

With a triumphant look on his face, Mark finally thrust down on the Cardinal’s groin, so that his perineum reached its root. The full length of it was now buried to the hilt, filling Mark’s immature body. Mark began to spasm wildly, as its girth pleasured his sensitive prostate. Impaled on the entire length of this well-endowed adult — Mark’s cock spurted sissy juice and he cried out — lost in orgasmic delight.

“Aahhhhhhh … Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Hail Satan! … I’m cumming!” screamed Mark.

Peter’s mouth quickly covered Mark’s cock; just as the boy’s watery semen exploded from his pulsating penis … almost exactly the same moment as the Cardinal began to grunt, then howl, as he shot his heavy man load deep inside the sissy’s guts.


Exhausted after their night of perverted sex, Peter and Mark fell fast asleep in the huge four-poster bed. Peter’s mind quickly drifted into a continuum of their sissy sexual bliss …

… In his dream, he saw the fat ugly Cardinal bound upon the heavy wooden beams of a blackened St. Andrew’s Cross. With the front of his overweight body pressed up against the cross, his back and bottom were fully exposed. His giggly fat arms and legs were stretched painfully wide along the four uprights of the cross and held in place in heavy metal manacles. Both Mark and Peter were dressed in long black knee-high socks, black training bras, black cock-rings, butt-plug demon tails, and horned demon masks that covered the upper parts of their faces. It made Peter feel like he was a real demon succubus and that the Cardinal had been cast into Hell itself.

“Let me go … please … no more …” cried the distressed old Cardinal.

The boys were both schadenfreude — taking obvious joy from the Cardinal’s suffering. They laughed sardonically. The Cardinal let out a deeply felt groan. But his grunts and howls were not in sexual pleasure. No, his heavy perspiration came from the uncomfortable heat and saturated moisture that filled his lungs and made the air leaden and unbearable. The shuffling manacles lacerated his strained wrists and ankles, cutting into the Cardinal’s plump white flesh, as he tried to pull against them. Pulled downwards by his obesity — the Cardinal’s sheer body weight hung agonizingly — as he struggled to support himself. All his efforts to escape only added to the exasperation of the agony of his confinement.

Peter and Mark looked on unmoved. The little demons stroked their own penises in their evil joy. The Cardinal’s pain only excited them both more and more. Around Peter’s groin, he attached a long black strap-on. It was a cubit in length; like that of a horse’s phallus. A specially-made harness kept it firmly in place. Peter’s own little sissy erection fitted perfectly inside the hollow base of the elongated cock — so that as he thrust it back and forth — the soft, ribbed interior milked his tiny cocklet.

Mark continued to pleasure himself. He held a short riding crop that he used to whip the old Cardinal — making many short red marks that crisscrossed the Cardinal’s wide white back.

Wack. Wack. Wack.

Mark hit him again and again and again … the thin leather ride crop whistled through the air and made a satisfying thud as it hit the target … the Cardinal flinched, his body thrust hard against the St. Andrew’s cross with every stroke of the thin whip.

”Eeerrrghhhh … Stop! For God’s sake please stop! Have mercy! Eeeearrghhhh … Stop!”

The cries from the weak, flabby Cardinal, only intensified their sadistic pleasure.

“Hail the Dark Lord! Fuck Christ! Fuck God! Hail Satan,” Praised Peter and Mark together in unison.

“Fuck him, Peter! Stick it up the dirty old fuck. Make him bleed for Satan!”

“No … please … not that … Please let me go … I won’t say anything about this … just let me go … please let me go,” cried the Cardinal desperately.

Now it was Peter’s turn. Peter pushed the first six inches of huge fake cock into the arrogant pig’s non-lubricated anus. As the thick black cock pressed inwards, up his shit hole — the Cardinal began to scream …

‘Stop! Stop! Stop! … AAAARGGHHHHHHHHHH!”

The Cardinal screamed for him to stop, twisting against the manacles that only cut deeper into his wrists and ankles. But Peter had no sympathy. He gripped his victim’s sweat-coated shoulders tightly for more leverage; pressing the nobbled tip of the huge dildo up further inside the Cardinal’s bowels.

Mark laughed.

“Hail Satan. Fuck him harder! Deeper! Hail Satan!”

Mark yelped with wickedness as he began to beat the Cardinal’s flaccid penis with his thin riding crop. Wack. The thin material cut into his delicate flesh, making it bleed almost immediately. Wack. Another reddened stroke across his pubic area.

Wack. Wack. Wack.

“AAARGHH! For heaven’s sake, please stop! Oh God! Oh God!”

The Cardinal pissed himself. His urine flowed from his flaccid penis.

Wack. Wack. Wack.

The little whip sang as it traveled through the air — with the Cardinal screaming with every lash.

“Fuck God! Fuck you!” Spat Mark, readying for another blow.

Wack. Wack. Wack.

The Cardinal now wept pitifully, crying like a newborn baby as struggled against the pain of both the invading dildo and the sharpness of the whip together.

As Peter drew the fake cock in and out of the Cardinal’s bowels, Peter’s own pleasure was intense — partly because of the gilding ribs on the inside surface of where his penis was held — and partly from the satisfying screams of his prey. At this point he had pressed only the first six inches of the horse-like cock up the Cardinal’s overly stretched rectum … fucking harder he got eight … then ten .. then twelve inches inside the screaming man’s guts.

Peter stirred only briefly, in his dream state, his tiny little body jerking as he began to ejaculate in his sleep.


It was morning again and the Cardinal and his aids had left as unceremoniously as they had arrived. Everyone slept as the daylight continued. St. Andrew’s quickly returned to its routine of nightly classes and comatose days. The events of the Cardinal’s special visit were forgotten in the blur of sexually perverse activities within the wicked walls of the seminal school.

It was early in the evening of the third day after the departure of the Cardinal that Father Samuel called Peter and Mark to his office. Everyone else was still in their classes. They were unsure of what the priest would say. They hoped that they had performed their part well and that the Cardinal had been happy with them … that the priest would be pleased with them too. They both knelt before the evil priest.

“What you did … the both you … was an unholy thing … a disgusting, vile, and blasphemous thing,” commented the enigmatic Father Samuel, “Blessed are the unholy. The debauched. Blessed are the blasphemous! Hail the Dark Lord.”

“Hail the Dark Lord,” they both replied in unison.

The boys released a sigh of relief; as they wondered if the priest would punish them for reasons unbeknown to them.

“Tell me, Peter. Tell me about your dream …” asked Father Samuel.

Peter looked inquisitively. The evil memory of what they had both done to the fat old Cardinal was still so fresh and so real — the dream was crystal clear in his mind — vivid and raw. But he hadn’t said anything to anyone … he hadn’t even mentioned the dream to Mark. How did the priest know? Was this black magick?

“What dream?” Answered Peter, pretending innocence.

The priest smiled evilly. There was the familiar tenting in the front of his long black robe. He didn’t look angry. No, he actually smiled with a familiarity that made Peter realize that the priest saw through his lie … but didn’t call him out on it … not right away.

“The dream about what you both did to the old Cardinal? … how you sodomized him … how you whipped him … how you castrated him with the gilding knife.”

Peter blinked in disbelief. How did the priest know such things? Could he read minds? Was it the priest that had given him these wicked dreams? Yes, the razor-sharp gilding knife … Peter was just a little sissy … he would never actually want to hurt anyone … but the thought of offering a sacrifice to his Dark Lord, now that was very exciting … he remembered taking hold of that fat fuck’s cock … the cock that Mark has whipped mercilessly … how he had stroked it until the cardinal had reached an unwanted erection … the Cardinal had begun to moan … the blood coursing through the Cardinal’s circumflex veins making him erect and prone; and then as Mark and Peter chanted obscenely to Satan … Peter brought the guiding knife down upon it, cutting through the soft flesh; decapitating it clean off at the root just before the Cardinal had ejaculated.

Red flashed across their young sissy eyes. It drenched their little horned demon masks that covered their upper faces. Red spurted everywhere as they both reached their climax simultaneously.

The evil priest grinned.

”You are learning the way. St. Andrew’s is a school. The wickedness and depravity are just some of Satan’s gifts, bestowed upon his loyal followers.” Said the Father.



“Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil.” — 1 John, chapter 3, verse 8.

Coleen signed deeply to herself.

Things between her and William hadn’t really been much better since their young son had been sent away to St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School. But at least their constant arguments about his obvious effeminacy, his lack of manliness, his unacceptable sexuality — had seemed to have been put on hold.

“My poor boy,” she thought to herself.

Guilt welled up inside her. She hated who she was. A failure of the mother. A failure as a wife. Her son wasn’t like all the other “good” boys at church. William had been so scornful. So embarrassed by his own son.

Her husband truly thought that the seminary school could change him. Maybe change wasn’t the answer? Maybe it was God’s plan all along for him? Maybe it was the devil? She thought to herself. Maybe God was punishing her for her sinful thoughts. Coleen didn’t know for sure. She felt another unwanted sharp stab of guilt. She knew that she had not stopped her son. Had she been complacent or worse, had she been encouraging of this unnatural behavior?

When she’d discovered his strange sexual proclivity to masturbate in her most intimate of undergarments and nylon stockings — what had she done? And instead of being revolted by the thought, she actually found it sexually exciting — no sin greater than being excited in the sinful acts of others — especially her own flesh and blood. Incest was a powerful taboo.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she gasped to herself.

Those sinful thoughts made her very wet. Wetter than if she’d peed herself. The smell of her unholy arousal. How could she have these wayward thoughts? She was wicked. She was perverted. There must be a demon succubi inside of her.

Coleen prayed for these relentless feelings to pass … but they didn’t. In fact, they only seemed to get more and more exciting. It was tormenting? The devil’s work? And when William was away at work and Peter was at school, she found herself sniffing her soiled underwear that had been tarnished — used by her young son to ejaculate into. As she breathed in the bleachy aroma, her cunt was dripping wet.

She imagined him rubbing himself off whilst dressed in her knickers or tights. Prancing around in front of the dressing mirror. Feeling the sheer material against his upper thighs as he pulled the hemline higher and higher — so that the silkiness rubbed deliciously against his excited sexual organs. She envisioned his throbbing little hard cock rubbing harder and harder against the inside of the delicate fabric until the moment of release; when his young boy semen pumped up through his cock-head and spilled through the gossamer-thin mesh.

Her face burned with religious guilt and parental confusion, while her busy fingers touched herself inappropriately at these disgusting thoughts.

Then there was the day when imagination was no longer enough. She popped back early after shopping. She previously bought a number of new specially sexy items and had left them conspicuously inside her walk-in wardrobe. She’d left her son home alone (deliberately). She wondered about what he would be up to. Her curiosity peaked. She knew it was wrong, sinful, and even incestuous … but she wanted to see it for herself … to witness it … she wanted to watch him wank himself in front of her dressing mirror … to see his erect little cock inside that gauzy fibers … to watch his semen burst from his little cocklet … oh glory be … a fantasy come true … how she had imagined this so many times whilst fingering her hot oily cunt … twisting her clit until she orgasmed.

Returning home early, she had deliberately made no sound and was secretly rewarded when she heard obviously sexual noises coming from her walk-in closet. He would be there. In front of her large dressing mirror, inside the walk-in-wardrobe. As she approached silently, she could see the slither of light from behind the door. The door was slightly ajar, enough for her to glimpse her son’s near-naked flesh as he pranced around in front, in her lingerie. Her mouth had been dry. Her heart pounded as she secretly watched him rubbing his little boy rod through her sheer black underwear. She heard him moaning in sexual pleasure as finally, he ejaculated into a pair of her translucent panties.

His beautiful effeminate body, like a girl with a cock … mmmmm … She loved his androgyny. She wanted to stroke it. To take it into her mouth and suck it. She wanted her own son (dressed as a young girl) to cum in her wicked mouth. To taste his clear boy semen.

Seeing him enjoy himself in her panties was a dream come true … but as soon as he ejaculated she quietly slipped away undetected. She sneaked back to the front door, where she made out that she had returned. Announcing her arrival, she grinned evilly to herself. There was a scurry of movement upstairs as Peter realized that he might be caught in the act. He ducked quickly into their shared bathroom out of sight.

“I’m home,” Coleen announced, as she made a bee-line for her closet.

“I’m in the bathroom,” called her son.

You fucking liar, she thought, almost laughing to herself. Her heart was beating twice as fast as it should. Her mouth was all cotton buds. She couldn’t have replied to her son, even if she wanted to. Her body was sweating as if she’d just run a mile. She reached her bedroom and quickly looked around. Yes, she thought, she found the discarded soiled underwear still glistening with wetness. Delicious she thought. Locking her bedroom door … she silently slipped out of her clothing and retrieved her dirty panties that were still dripping with her son’s freshly deposited semen. She sniffed the gluey fluid and licked his semen from her pants. Her fingers plunged feverishly in and out of her sopping wet slit. “Fuck,” she moaned quietly to herself, almost passing out, as a powerful orgasm rocked through her entire body.


William and Coleen hadn’t heard anything from St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School.

William took a long drag on his smoke and then put it out. Across the way was a guy dressed in a pink shirt. The message read, “So I’m Gay. Deal with it.” Fuck. He knew how to deal with it — he pointed his finger at the guy (making it form the shape of a gun). “Bang”, he said to himself. “Fucking queers,” he thought to himself. How the thought of two men together revolted him.

It went against everything he knew. Everything Holy and righteous. How could they allow faggots to poison our community? William shook his head. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of update from the seminary? A report on their progress? The guy in the pink shirt blew him a kiss. Fucking faggots! Wouldn’t the school let them know about the changes in their son’s behavior? It gnawed at William. He hated having a poofter as a son. Why him? Was God punishing him for something? The pink shirt guy gave him the “L for Loser” sign. The only good poofter was a dead poofter he thought.


Peter lay in bed. The light of the day was obscured to create a false night. Mark was fast asleep; and so was Matthew and John. In the luminosity of the single candle, Peter noticed how they both cradled each other; John’s groin pressed against Matthew’s small posterior.

Peter wandered about the dark priest. Could he be a demon with a handsome face? A truly evil creature that knew no limits. Peter secretly hoped he was. The thought made his little cock stiffen. He stroked himself thinking about the time that Mark and himself had been called to the dark priest’s office. They had been scared that they had not pleased the dirty old Cardinal enough. Many thoughts had passed through his mind as they waited on their knees before the handsome devil.

Father Samuel has been erect. They had both seen the bulge in his black robe. Only a demon could read his mind. And Peter’s dream seemed to have aroused the demon’s curiosity. What would he do to them? Fuck them both. He hoped. His little fingers gently stroked himself faster. The priest had asked him about his dream. A dream about the Cardinal. About how they had tortured and sodomized him. How they had conspired to cut the Cardinal’s cock off — as a gift to Satan.

Yes, thought Peter, it felt good to stroke himself and think about these wayward things. The pleasure grew. He fingered his dirty little ass and then sucked his finger — tasting his nasty ass fudge. He was tempted for a moment to awaken Mark so that they could do sexual things together, as they lay naked upon their meager bedding, but he didn’t.

The priest has undressed. His long black robe seemed to fall in slow motion revealing his cock that curved like a serpent. Not straight like a sword. Its bulbous head was already fully exposed, as the foreskin was fully drawn back, but not circumcised. It had a purple hue and was as thick as Peter’s arm. The dark priest stoked it as they both knelt before him.

“How did it feel torturing the Cardinal?” asked the grinning priest.

Peter had been afraid to speak his mind. Mark looked at him, not understanding this thing, between the dark priest and him. What dream? What had they done?

“There is nothing wrong. It is simply a dream — a dream gift from Satan,” added the dark priest, “Peter, would you like to punish someone for real? One of the local village boys, maybe. A miscreant that has trespassed onto the school property. They had all been warned to stay away from the Seminary. But of course, you know that naughty, curious boys can’t resist. He’s ten years old. A non-believer that needed to see that Satan is God and that he must do as Satan commands.”

“But what if he tells on us. What if someone finds out about the seminar?” Asked Peter.

“You think that a mind cannot be influenced … to forget whatever I want them to forget? Now … will you do as I ask and punish him?”

Peter thought about it. Yes, he liked the idea of punishing a miscreant boy. A young thing that he and Mark could manipulate. Would they get to fuck him too? Use him for perverted sex stuff?

“Yes,” said the dark priest, “Of course.”

And with that, the dark priest told them to follow him through a small door into an antechamber at the rear of his office.

The boy in question was in a tiny cage that stood only two feet high. Even though he was small, the tiny cage made the boy crouch low inside on his hands and knees. He was completely naked and shaking with fear. Peter looked at him. He was a miscreant that needed to be punished. He needed to know that Satan was God and must be obeyed. Maybe it was their role to make him into a believer? To obediently worship their Dark God, Satan.

The dark priest continued to stroke his crooked serpent cock. He told Peter and Mark that the boy must be thirsty — that they should give him something to drink. Peter smiled.

“Yes, we should give him some hot salt piss to drink.” Peter and Mark both were hard as nails.

“Excellent,” remarked the dark priest.

Mark pissed over the boy’s face, his dark yellow flow of urine splashed over his eyes and mouth; but the boy turned and tried to avoid Mark’s tangy piss flow.

“That’s no good,” said the dark priest, “You need to hold him down and force your cock in his mouth … then he will have to drink it.”

The dark priest gave them the key to the cage and Peter and Mark worked together to pull the boy out and force him to lay, face up, on the stone floor. Mark held his legs, while Peter sat on his chest. The boy struggled for a while — then Peter slapped him hard across the face.

“Stay still and do as I say. It’s Satan’s will. Otherwise, we’ll hurt you.”

The boy was obviously scared out of his wits but seemed to understand his predicament. He shivered and continued to sob loudly.

“Please don’t hurt me … let me go … I … I won’t tell … promise … please stop …”

How the pledging reminded Peter of his strange and perverted dream. The babbling Cardinal … all obese and ugly … how Peter had felt a strange power fill him as he ass-fucked the old cunt.

“I like this game,” said Peter.

The dark priest said nothing in return. He didn’t need to. It was obvious that both Mark and Peter were getting off on this new phase of their training. The dark priest let out a long moan as he stroked his evil cock faster and faster. Now, his fist was a blur of movement, while he watched Peter and Mark begin to abuse the young boy for his amazement.

“Please stop … Please let me go …” whimpered the ten-year-old.

Peter remained seated across the boy’s heaving chest. He looked down on the helpless child. He wasn’t going anywhere and both of his tormentors knew it.

“Get … get off of me … I … I … I can’t breathe …”

Instead of heeding to the boy’s plight. Peter rubbed his hard little cock across the boy’s face — mashing it against the boy’s eye sockets, lubricating it in the boy’s tears.

“Open your fucking mouth … bite me and I will cut your dick off … understand?”

The crying boy continued to moan but reluctantly nodded.

“Good … Open your fucking mouth now and drink my piss … spill any and I’ll shit in your mouth next … got it?”

The boy panted but complied with what Peter told him. Peter pressed his cock between his victim’s lips.

“Suck it you fucker! Suck my dick!” Insisted Peter. The boy sucked gently. His face contorted in distaste. “Mmmmmmm … Fuck yer …. Mmmmmmm … Suck it harder!”

Peter thought about all the cruel kids at his old school. How he had been victimized for being a queer. How they had teased him for his obvious effeminacy. Called him all sorts of unkind names. Pushed him around. He thought about his father. How he had hated his own son for being a homosexual. Hated his own son … It actually felt really good to be the tormentor — to be who he truly was — without excuse. He was a faggot. A queer boy.

“Make him drink your piss!” Cried Mark, enjoying the boy’s discomfort as much as Peter was.


The end?


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