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

CREATED: 01.03.2024

SYNOPSIS: This is a story about the continuing escapades at St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary. Remotely located in an old monastery, St. Andrew’s has become renowned as an institution for being dedicated to turning unwanted sissy boys back to the ways of Abrahamic God. Unknown to most, this is simply a front for the opposite; as it is a corrupt place filled with cross-dressing pedophiles that parade themselves as the “nuns”. These sexual predators use a three-stage process that they call “XXX” — Xpose, Xcite, and Xperience — to systematically abuse and molest their willing prey. What’s more is that St. Andrew’s harbors more sinister secrets; where the young sissies will learn that the true god is not benevolent nor holy; and that they have been enlisted to all serve the darkest of Gods who demand only the most depraved of acts to satisfy their carnal lusts.

Seminary for Sissies 6


  • Miss Stella Jarvis (27) — a small bookish woman, Mark’s Sunday school teacher
  • Father Bethlehem (45) — a homophobic priest
  • Father Samuel (36) — An effeminate priest and sexual predator who runs the St. Andrew’s Seminary School
  • Peter (12) — boy, effeminate and bisexual
  • Mark (12) —  an effeminate boy that Peter meets at the seminary school
  • Coleen Gallop (36) — Peter’s mother



“And there were also male cult prostitutes in the land. They did according to all the abominations of the nations that the Lord drove out before the people of Israel.” — 1 Kings, chapter 14, verse 24.

Miss Stella Jarvis was the parish’s relatively tiny, bookish, and bespectacled, Sunday school teacher. Though she was twenty-seven years old, being less than five foot tall, she sometimes had even been mistaken for one of her young students. She took it as a compliment. She liked to be seen as youthful and young. 

Stella’s demeanor had always been pleasant, open, and friendly. Was she hiding something? Of course, she was.

Working in the local parish had always been so easygoing until Father Bethlehem became their resident priest. Maybe it had been her experience, serving under Father Bethlehem, that had almost caused her to quit teaching altogether. He’d been at the parish only a month or two, before she had a few run-ins with him, over this and that. He was a very stern religious zealot. Father Bethlehem seemed to take an instant dislike to Stella and her free and easy style.

He thought her lightweight and frivolous. 

She thought of him as petty, prejudiced, and completely homophobic.

He’d proceeded to browbeat her, with the staunchness of his Godly doctrine, especially his unnecessary aggressiveness towards any kind of effeminacy in their male students. It was her opinion, that he really didn’t seem interested in the plights of women of the parish or of their children either. She thought that he obviously had his own spiritual issues — and he’d made it his goal to make Stella’s life a living hell.

Around this same time, she’d been teaching Peter Gallop and Timothy Williams. These were two boys that she’d found very attractive — though she never would have admitted it to anyone — least to herself. But, alas, it had been her, who had exposed the truth about these two sinful lovers.

She’d caught them making out in the back of the refectory. Well, more than just making out. She’d watched them, as they mutually masturbated, and then performed oral sex on each other. She’d just stood there. She’d been transfixed, as she watched like a voyeur. She had been sexually aroused by it.

But in confusion, she’d confronted them. Humiliated them both. Stella had even proceeded to punish them for their actions (that she hesitantly found deeply erotic) — maybe it had been her inner conflict with Father Bethlehem that had brought about this sudden intolerance.

Had she regretted exposing Timothy and Peter to their parents? Maybe. However, it had been a situation that had brought her into the limelight with the enigmatic Father Samuel of St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary and with Peter’s mother, Coleen Gallop. Meeting Father Samuel and Coleen Gallop had been a cathartic experience that had forced her to face her own subconscious pedophilic desires — and in many ways, this had shown her that she was not alone in her taboo thoughts.

So, she’d finally returned to her duties after a short leave of absence — but she wasn’t the same Stella. Far from it — she was a changed woman. A total pervert. Firstly, Stella had lost both her vaginal and anal virginity, to a pair of twelve-year-old boys. This had really transformed her perception of reality. Then, to have sex with other women and with transgendered lovers. Now, she knew who she was. A pervert. A pedophile. A molester. An abuser. A dike. She had not only embraced her own bisexuality, she’d celebrated her newfound sexual perversity — and had also transformed herself through the worship of a new god — Satan.

Being aware of her pedophilic yearning, feelings, and wayward desires had made her less self-censoring of her evil and twisted thoughts. In fact, as she remembered it, the torturous conflict between belief and wantonness had only been compounded by Father Bethlehem’s past criticisms — now she utterly loathed him for what he’d put her through. He was her enemy.

Revenge was a dish, best served cold.


Father Bethlehem watched from the refectory window.

He didn’t like that damn wimpy Sunday school teacher. She made his blood boil. She was limp and lame, and far too accepting of a world going towards the Adversary. He made the sign of the cross.

What was her name? Stella … Stella Jarvis. He wanted her to leave his parish and not come back. He really didn’t like her. There was something not right about her. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was, that she was too lenient; too eager to please; too friendly and open.

To him, the children of his parish had to learn, from an early age, the hard lessons of life. Evil was everywhere. The Devil’s Hand could be seen in the media, in computer games, in modern movies, in pop music, and in entertainment. It was shameful and blasphemous.

As he saw it, his parish had a responsibility to its worshipers — to bring their children up with the truth — and a real “Fear of God” — there was no point in all these soft love, nurturing, and accommodating behaviors. He especially loathed homosexuality — the Bible forbids it — it was a shameless sin and a perversion. Sex was only right between married couples, seeking to procreate, for God’s blessing of children. Same-sex couples were an abomination to the natural order of things. This whole LGBTQ thing was demonic. 

He believed in severe punishment. He saw the solution was always to use the stick across the back of their legs; or a hard wooden ruler to wrap them across their knuckles, or put soap into their vile little mouths. Now, that was the formula!

Finally the last of the children had left. He stepped out onto the refectory veranda.

“Miss Jarvis,” he called out, “Miss Jarvis … See me in my office. Now.”

His tone left no room for negotiations. This was it. He’d had enough. If she wouldn’t leave — he would force the issue.

“Ah, Father Bethlehem,” replied Stella as she drew closer, “How wonderful was your sermon today,” she lied.

“Oh, well … well … mmm … Thank you,” he muttered unconvincingly.

It wasn’t the response he’d expected. 

“Of course, the young one must learn the value of our faith … of God’s righteous judgment — Spare the stick and spoil the child — Proverbs, chapter thirteen, verse twenty-four.”

Father Bethlehem looked lost for once. It seemed that Miss Jarvis had taken his words right out of his mouth.

“And, as for tolerance. Well, that’s another word for weakness. Yes. We must punish them to protect them, Father. We must not allow these faggots and queers to water down the veracity of our faith. God knows what perverted things they get up to. Buggery … Stone them. Sodomy … Stone them all!”

It was quite a performance from the young pervert, espousing the philosophy of her bigot preacher.

“Yes. Yes … Well said. Yes … Er, Miss Jarvis,” he managed to muster.

Father Bethlehem looked rather rattled. Confused in fact. Maybe he’d misunderstood her. She seemed aligned with how he’d wanted to run his parish. Maybe he should have not been so dismissive of her — as just another brain-dead female. He could even admire a strong woman who obviously hated queers and blasphemous deviants as much as he did. Stoning them to death. Yes, that would make his day.


Stella didn’t live far from the church. In fact, her small home was only a few minutes walk. There had been changes there too — not obvious to the unknowing eye — and if you’d just walked into her abode, the first impression would have been of a single female living a simple life.

But a closer inspection would have revealed some more unusual traits.

There was an eclectic collection of bizarre wooden artworks — that appeared to be more at home with some kind of horror movie whose narrative involved a primitive cannibal tribe that worshiped an evil phallic god. Were they real human teeth and bone? Did she actually kiss them? Did she rub her naked, wet genitals against them? Did she bow down before these ugly idols? Did she masturbate upon their phallic appendages? Yes, she did.  

A close look at her library would have revealed some more unusual, if not blasphemous publications. Among the more spiritual books upon the bookshelf were titles that suggested an unhealthy interest in the occult, black magick, Satanism, and Devil worship.

Her study desk looked pretty normal, but her hard drive was filled with the worst kind of taboo and even illegal pornography — and some from the dark net — some of her own making. Her browser history would have shown her frequent visits to a lewd site called Littlesally666.com, with many vulgar messages between her and its owner, XP.

Opening the locked filing cabinet you’d probably discover her collection of illegal magazines — with explicit titles like “Younger Boy Love” … “Incest Fuck Family” … “Anal Mommy Slut” … “Piss Drinking Children” … “Tiny Cunts For Satan” …. “Pervert Priests Of The Cannibal God” … and “The Devil Loves Incest” …

If you ventured into her bedroom, you might have missed that the bedsheets of her oversized, four-poster bed were specially made of silky rubber. Waterproof. For her wet night games. Had the cross on the wall must have fallen on its nail, as it strangely hung inverted? You may have asked, why were there literally mirrors everywhere? Did this hint at a bizarre kind of voyeuristic and masturbatory self-love?

As a visitor, you probably wouldn’t have opened her wardrobe doors either — because that would have revealed a fetish for bizarre demonic outfits, horns, tails, evil masks, and a huge assortment of perverted sex toys, dildos, vibrators, and other phallic devices.

Furthermore, If you’d taken the time to check out the attic — which was securely padlocked — you’d have noticed the dungeon-like black and red walls, the black phallic candles, the huge pentagram on the floor, and the obscene demonic altar dedicated to the twin sex demon, the Baphomet. The smell may have told you of what Stella did in her evil little attic. Its pungency, a mixture of bodily fluids, human waste, and incense, would have suggested something vile and unnatural about her nocturnal activities. Its dark magick, suggestive of occult ritual and the burnt offering, of sexual demonology and the potential of supernatural possession.


It was late that evening that Father Bethlehem recounted Stellar’s words. He couldn’t help but take it to heart. The very idea of stoning those queers and perverts to death was very refreshing. It was as if she’d read his mind. She had stirred something in him, that he’d not felt for the longest of times. The loneliness of his path was sometimes just too much. He was dedicated to the cause but had regrets … sometimes. He rarely dared to think of companionship. He’d buried these unwanted emotions deep in scripture, prayer, and penance.

The priest felt tired after his usual evening Bible reading, so he got ready for bed early. He lay down and within minutes was snoring loudly. He had been accustomed to dreamless nights, but tonight things were a little different. His mind seemed to replay his conversation with the young Sunday school teacher.

“Miss Jarvis,” he called out, “Miss Jarvis … See me in my office. Now.”

His tone was overly aggressive. He felt a deep anger towards this woman.

“Ah, Father Bethlehem,” replied Stella as she drew closer to him, “How wonderful was your sermon today.”

Yes, he thought, his sermon had been very forceful. His words had a terrible purpose. Cannot have all these queers and faggot boys in my church. They should be stoned to death, like in biblical times. Stone them to death. Let their faggot souls be condemned to hell.

“Of course, the young one must learn the value of our true faith,” continued the young teacher, “God’s righteousness comes at a cost! And, as for tolerance. Well, that’s another word for weakness. Yes. We must punish them to protect them, Father. Buggery. Stone them. Sodomy. Stone them all! The queers and faggots must die. We must see to it that they never leave our beloved church alive.”

The priest had never noticed how animated she was. There was something untamed and wild about her. Her shy and bookish looks hid her inner angel. An angel of vengeance. A true believer. Just like him.

She took his hand in hers and led him through the heavy church door.

The sound assaulted him. The sounds of young boys having sex with each other. All groaning and moaning. The smell disgusted him. It was the aroma of sexual sweat and semen. The sight affronted him. There, between the overturned church pews and even on the holy altar — there were dozens of them. Gay boys, queers, and faggots. Most of them had long hair and wore feminine make-up. Some were very young … even preteens. They were all naked and sexually excited. He could see clearly that they all had hard cocklets that seemed to drip with precum. It was an obscene orgy — right there, in his holy chapel.

The young boys were all masturbating or fucking or sucking. Their lean white bodies pressed against one another, all eager to reach their climax. Everywhere he looked he saw vice, perversion, and sin. They’d even inverted his altar crucifix — as an invitation to the Devil.

He turned to Stella, who placed a hard stone in his palm.

“We must do the right thing for our Lord, Jesus Christ. They must be all exterminated like the vermin they are.”

Father Bethlehem felt the sharp edges of the stone against his fingers. It could seriously hurt someone, but, she was right. The faggots must die. No matter how young they are — their corrupted souls already belong to the Devil. Their impure thoughts and blasphemous actions must not go unpunished — it was his duty. His calling.

“Go on. Kill them. Let’s kill them all …” cried the bookish teacher.

She grinned at him, angelically. Egging him on. It was as if she was bloodthirsty. As if she got some kind of wicked pleasure from making them suffer. She nodded affirmatively as if she could read his thoughts. Her lips moved, mouthing the words silently … Kill the queers. Kill the faggots. Kill the sodomites.




“If a man practices homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman, both men have committed a detestable act. They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense.” — Leviticus, chapter 20, verse 13.

Father Bethlehem had awakened from another dream, in a cold sweat.

Confronted with that which he detested most, and given the opportunity to do the right thing, he’d backed out.

It was a thought that affected him very negatively. He was usually the one to take the action. But as his eerie nightmare unfolded, it had not been him that struck the first blow. No. It had been Miss Jervis. She’d seen him hesitate. Why had he procrastinated?

“Give me it,” she’d simply said.

She meant the stone. And Father Bethlehem had surrendered his only weapon.

“You fucking weakling,” she said, accusingly. 

She took the stone and threw it at the nearest young boy. She hit him in the face. It made a terrible cracking sound. Blood went everywhere. There was screaming. The next thing was that the place erupted with naked young boys scattering as began to run left and right. She threw another stone. More blood. And then another and another and another. The bloodied children had tried to escape her wrath, but the doors were firmly closed and bolted. There were bodies on the floor. Broken teeth. White skin. Red blood. Everywhere. There was wailing and crying. It was like a horrific war zone.

“That’s what I’m talking about! God hates you fucking queers!”

Father Bethlehem just stood there among the chaos. Stella’s face was a grimace. A demon, not an angel. Blood had splattered over his white ceremonial gown. He could even taste the iron of their blood in his mouth. There was the smell of fear. The odor of urine and feces.

He couldn’t explain it. It was totally inappropriate, but he was profoundly turned on by her. She’d stirred something diabolical inside of him. He’d become sexually excited — And it was the last thing he remembered before awakening.

He sat upright. His body was drenched in his own perspiration. His fingers were still clenched in tight fists. He was panting — as if he’d been running full speed uphill — and was almost out of breath. But strangely, he found his penis was rock hard. Without another thought, his hand closed around the shaft of his erection and he began to manically masturbate himself. Masturbation was wrong. He knew it was sinful, but he didn’t stop. He literally couldn’t stop himself. He stroked faster and faster as he recalled the look on Ms. Jarvis’ face. He still saw the splattered blood. Queer blood.

“Aaarghhhhh …” he groaned. 

He began to buck violently against his own hand and his semen spurted over his stomach and chest. He groaned out loud as five ropes of semen squirted from his cock head.

”Aaaarghhh .. Yea!” 

What had got into him? He lay back down. Wet and satisfied. What the hell had happened to him? 


The phone rang. Stella picked up the phone. It was Colleen Gallop, Peter’s mother.

“Hi, how is it going?” asked Colleen casually.

Stella lay naked. In the mirror, she could see the long black crucifix dildo stuck up her soiled, oily cunt. 

“Well, it’s begun. The spell has been cast,” replied Stella in almost a whispering voice.

“You don’t sound confident?”

Stella stroked her rigid nipples. The pleasure signals made her moan out loud.

”Aarghhh …” she groaned, “Oh, nothing of the sort. Actually, I’m supremely confident. I saw the old fucker today. He asked me to join him for a bible reading. A fucking private bible reading,” she paused and laughed, “The stupid fucker was almost foaming at the mouth.”

“Mmmm … he wants you … And I miss you, darling,” said the voice on the phone.

“I miss you too. And everyone at the seminary. Will you come by soon? Bring Peter and Timothy. They will put the icing on the cake.”

Stella fucked her itchy cunt with her soiled crucifix. 

“As we planned, my dear. As we planned!”


Father Bethlehem paced. He never paced. But tonight he paced. He’d invited Miss Jarvis to a private Bible reading. She’d agreed to come. But she was late. Why was he so nervous? He continued to pace. He’d had yet another strange daydream or maybe daymare about her. After the first, rather violent encounter, he’d been relieved that it had not involved any more bloodshed. But there were other details about his daymare that bothered him just as much, if not more, than the violence.

He felt so hypocritical. He’d been the first to advocate killing queers — but experiencing the actual process in his dream — had been a shock. Yes, upon waking, he’d realized that it wasn’t real. But it had seemed so real. And then there had been his refusal to act upon his desire — to cast the first stone. He’d chickened out. Again, it was just a vision, but Stella seemed far more willing to take matters into her own hands — she had made him feel like a wimp … a complete coward … maybe he was?

The second dream had occurred in a daymare, again, involved Miss Jarvis. As he recalled, they’d been in the chapel, but it hadn’t been filled with queers and faggot this time, it had just been Stella and him — they were supposed to be doing a Bible reading — but the Bible was the furthest thing from his mind.

She’d been dressed provocatively in a tight singlet without a bra. You could clearly see her tiny walnut-sized breasts and stiffened nipples. She looked more like one of her young students than like a mature woman. She’d worn a very short dress that barely covered her groin. Her hair was pulled back in a single ponytail and she wore high-heeled open-toed sandals.

She looked so young. She was a temptress. A Succubus. Her intent was to instigate something sexual with him. He knew it. He should have been shocked and disgusted — but he wasn’t. In fact, he’d willingly participated in her wicked little seduction on consecrated grounds.

The details still swam around in his mind. Her hatred of perverts. Her supposed love of God. His cock hardened in his pants as he paced back and forth. It was wrong. It was lustful. It welcomed the devil’s temptations. To even dream of such things was behavior unbecoming of a priest. Yet he felt compelled to see her. He tried to ignore the sexual tension that the dream had brought him. Sin and sex.

He needed to pray.

“When I was at Catholic girls’ school,” said Miss Jarvis, “The nuns would tell us all about men and boys. They said that men with shiny shoes used them to look up our skirts. The nuns said, never to stand near puddles when it rained, as men and boys were all perverts and deviants, and would use the puddles to look up our skirts. Do you want to look up my skirt, Father Bethlehem? Or are you like those queers, faggots, and perverts? Do you want to stick your big cock inside my baby mouth … my tight little cunt … my virgin ass?”

He recalled her expression in his daymare. Sexy. Demure. And something twisted. It was that of Lilith, the seductress. A demoness of Babylon. He should have run … but he didn’t. He couldn’t resist.

He looked at the clock on the refectory wall. He let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t going to happen. And just as he’d given up on her actually turning up for their private Bible reading, there was a knock on the refectory door.

Knock, knock.

It was her. He answered the door. His heart was beating way too fast.


Stella was excited by the imminent arrival of Colleen, her twelve-year-old son, Peter, and his lover, Timothy. She was looking forward to touching their smooth, hairless, young bodies. How she loved to suck their entire rampant little cocks in her mouth. Their semen was so sweet and they seemed to never tire of being hard.

She’d grown very attached to both of the boys after her early pedophilic experiences. This accelerated her lust for the pleasures achievable through boy-sex and alleviated any fears of retribution by the non-existent Abrahamic God. Stella was quick to adopt her new religion. And like a perverted zealot, she was now a devoted follower. Satan was now her God. Hail Satan. Sex was her religion. Hail lust. Pornography was her Bible. Hail cum-dripping-porn. And indulging in every kind of filth and perversion was her unholy duty. Hail filth and depravity.

She fully expected that the incestuous mother, Colleen, and her son would waste no time in sexually pleasuring Stella in the way of their Dark Lord.

“Hail, the Dark Lord,” she prayed.

It was already planned that the four of them would indulge in sex with sacred goats — as they saw these special animals as Satan’s chosen beasts. Colleen would bring such an animal with her. Stella had been told that the male beast had been groomed by the boys of the Seminary for such special activities and with the up-and-coming St. Winebard Day, where it was expected, at the Missa Niger, to offer either animal or human sacrifices — it would be appropriate that they prepare for the carnal ritual of sex and slaughter.

Colleen had mentioned that Peter and Timothy, besides being eager students of St. Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary, had more recently become Sacred Temple Prostitutes in one of the Vatican’s many satanic brothels. Under the Pope’s new Confessor, Cardinal Angelo Becciu, there had been a huge surge in the secretive support for The Fallen Ones and their extreme activities that had included many forms of Devil-worship, violence, homosexuality, and pedophilia in the dark places of the Holy City.

Stella was eager to hear more about their wayward adventures and thrilled at the corruption of weaker Christians. She also looked forward to introducing the boys to her nemesis, Father Bethlehem — whose fall was going to be epic, she hoped. 




“Don’t fool yourselves. Those who indulge in sexual sin, or who worship idols, or commit adultery, or are male prostitutes, or practice homosexuality, or are thieves, or greedy people, or drunkards, or are abusive, or cheat people — none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God.” — 1 Corinthians, chapter 6, verses 9-11.

“Father Bethlehem, please excuse my tardiness,” said Miss Jarvis, in the most innocent of voices, “I was having problems with one of my boys. But it’s all sorted out now. Am I too late? We can do this another day … if you wish?”

Father Bethlehem’s eyes cast a slow and obvious stare at the young Miss Jarvis. He hard swallowed. She was dressed almost identically to the seductress that had appeared in his crazy daymare. He was cotton-mouthed and began to shake. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own — it had hardened and dripped with precum beneath his thin gown.

”Are you okay, Father Bethlehem? I think you need to sit down?”

“Pardon me, Miss Jarvis … I was having a little dizzy spell … please … please … come in …”

Even as the invitation left his lips, he felt regret. He felt excited. He felt guilty. He felt lustful. His eyes had cast over her thin white singlet. Her nipples were clearly visible through the sheer fabric.

“Please take a seat. Let me get my Bible.”

They sat down to oppose one another. As she sat down, the fabric of her very short plaid skirt rode up her pale thighs, showing that she wore no knickers either. The priest blinked. Her shaved cunny was on full display.

”You … you … you mentioned a problem with one of your boys?” stuttered the hapless Father Bethlehem.

”Oh yes. I did. There was a problem with little Nigel. He needed to be punished for touching himself. Of course, I will keep a very close watch on him from now on — that’s how they all become perverts and queers — touching their own genitals. Masturbation is such an awful sin don’t you agree, Father? I caught him rubbing his little cock and ejaculating over himself.”

The words “cock” and “ejaculation” hung in the air, as Father Bethlehem recounted his own masturbatory activities after both his dreams of this woman. How hard he’d cum after those crazy-fucked-up dreams. He pressed the heavy Bible down against his lap. His cock throbbed beneath.

“Yes. I agree. Totally. Thank God you caught him in the act … what … what did you do to punish him?”

Miss Jarvis smiled at the priest’s question.

She held the hem of her skirt and pulled it higher. He could see that her clit was erect and stood out clearly from between her parted, wet labia — like a tiny boy-cock.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Father,” she replied, “First, I made him eat his own cum, as all queers and perverts eat their own cum. He did as I told him. Then I told him that it wasn’t all his own fault. I said that it was the Devil that had made him do it. That he’d been tempted by the Devil. I said that the Devil preys on our weaknesses. Hd’d agreed that it was the Devil and that he was very sorry.”

Father Bethlehem subconsciously moved the heavy Bible back and forth against his raging hard-on as she spoke.

“I told him that there was no need to apologize. As it was too late to apologize. The Devil was already inside him. He was an instrument of the Devil now … that he’d been infected with evil … and that he would become a sissy, a queer, and a faggot … that he’d get on his hands and knees and suck other boy’s cocks and want to be sodomized by them … because the Devil was inside his impure body.”

Miss Jarvis began to stroke the edges of her vagina, which glistened with her juices.

“Father, correct me if I was wrong, but I told him that I would have to beat the Devil out of him. He began to cry. The naked little pervert cried — I said that the only other way to redemption would be for him to lick my cunt and make me cum all over his face.”

The fingers on her left hand gripped her erect clitoris, rubbing it much like a little cock, while the fingers of her right hand slipped into the plump flesh of her reddish gash. Her ripe cunt was dripping with her oily vaginal secretions. One finger first. Then two. Then three. She continued to masturbate herself as she looked directly into the priest’s tormented eyes.

“Mmmmm,” she let out a little moan, “Was … was that the right thing to do, Father?”

The priest was quaking all over. His cock had never felt so hard and aroused.

“Do you feel the Devil inside of you, Father? Does the Devil fill you with his evil desires … are you in danger of becoming one of his faggot followers — a Devil-worshiping queer — Father? Maybe you should undress. Kneel naked before me. Lick my juicy cunt, suck my clitoris, and pray for forgiveness? Is that why you really asked me here?”


Knock. Knock.

There was a knock on the door. Father Bethlehem opened his eyes. He’d dozed off for a moment. He sighed in relief. He’d been dreaming again.

Knock. Knock.

Another knock. It must be her, he thought.

He shook his head and made the sign of the cross. What was wrong with him? His heart was beating fast … and he was in a cold sweat. His cock was rock hard. He adjusted himself to hide his erection beneath his robe. He got up and opened the door. 

“Father, sorry for my tardiness. I was having trouble with one of my boys. Young Nigel. I brought him over to get your advice on what to do.”

The priest opened the door and beckoned the two visitors in. The Sunday school teacher pushed the miscreant boy forward and strutted on her open-toed, high-heeled sandals. The Father noticed how pretty her toes looked as they both walked in. An inappropriate thought of rubbing those toes against his cock, crossed his mind. Being masturbated by those toes. Cumming over her pretty feet. 

Father Bethlehem closed the door to his private chambers.

”Pay respects to the good Father,” she prodded the boy hard, “Well …”

Little Nigel was a sprite of a boy. Maybe eleven or even younger. He had been dressed in his Sunday best, but for reasons unknown, he was bare from the waist up and he wore no shoes or socks on his feet. His hair looked bedraggled and his little black-framed spectacles appeared to have been steamed up from recent tears. His head hung low and his naked shoulders told the story of a boy in deep struggle.

“I’m … I’m … sorry … Father … I have sinned,” wept little Nigel.

”What exactly are you sorry about?” asked the priest, “Where are your clothes, Nigel?”

Father Bethlehem looked at Miss Jarvis who simply grinned. Her expression wasn’t one of severity — there was a wicked glint in her eye. Mischievousness. She too looked undressed. Her simple boob tube and short skirt looked unbecoming of one who was supposed to guide young minors. Dressed like a cheap harlot. A Jezebel. She looked more like a slut than a Sunday school teacher.

“I caught him, Father.”

Her make-up emphasized her twinkling eyes that invited the Father’s uneasy stare. She licked her black-painted lips inviting his tongue or even his cock to invade them. Cock sucker, he thought. She stirred something inside of him. Something he felt deeply ashamed of. Something sexually sinful. He was a man of God not her “John” … but his body craved to see more of her as his mind already undressed her — his eyes were already sucking her tiny walnut-sized tits, licking her naughty brown flower and sucking her cock-like-clit.

“Father, I caught Nigel touching himself. Playing with his hard little pecker. Rubbing it and moaning out loud. The vulgar, little queer boy was supposed to be praying to God, but instead he was masturbating himself … I told him that masturbating was, like, praying to the Devil!”

Stella pushed the boy onto his bare knees before the unsettled priest.

“Show the Father. Filthy faggot! Show him what you were doing to yourself. SHOW HIM!”

Father Bethlehem hated faggots and queers. He wasn’t sure where the Sunday school teacher was going with this. But for unexplainable reasons, his priestly cock seemed to react to it. Was he reacting to her … or to him … or to the both of them? The slight of the sobbing boy, reluctantly pulling his shorts down around his knees, seemed bizarrely arousing. 

The naughty boy looked up at the priest. His misty eyes said that he had lied. He wasn’t sorry at all. His small boy penis was already semi-erect. His thumb and fore-finger began to stroke the pale flesh of his penis and immediately it stood upright, hard and thin as a pencil.

“Filthy faggot! Look at him, Father. A fucking dirty, queer boy. A Devil-worshiping sissy.”

Yes, he was all of that. The priest had said that queers and sissies were the servants of the Antichrist. He’d said eloquently in his sermons that they should be all stoned to death. He’d shared these extreme thoughts and ideas with Miss Jarvis, who’d expressed a similar, if not even more extreme view — but here he was with this twisted slut, with a naked young boy who was masturbating himself on his knees before him.

It was only then that he realized that Miss Jarvis was touching herself too. Her hand was already beneath her flimsy boob-tube top. He could see her fingers gripping vigorously, beneath the delicate fabric, at her tiny tit-flesh and stiffened nipples.

“Beat him, Father. BEAT HIM,” she encouraged, “Take him onto your lap, Father. You need to beat the Devil out of him. Beat him hard and save his soul from the corruptive demons that stir his cock to queerness.”

The priest knew that he shouldn’t want anything to do with this. It was completely crazy. As he watched the small boy continue to masturbate himself, he felt aroused by it. His mind reeled. As the Father wore no underwear beneath his cassock, his cock thickened in arousal, pressed visually through the thin fabric of his robe.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he grabbed the naked boy and pulled him onto his lap as he sat on the edge of his bed. His robe was open at the bottom, such that it parted just below his waist so that the naked boy lay directly across his bare thighs. Their flesh touched in a way that made his priestly cock spurt with precum.

”That’s it, Father,” spurred the teacher, “He’s a dirty little queer fuck. A faggot. A homo … A Devil-worshiping pervert. Punish him. He’s got it coming. Beat his ass with your bare hands. Show him no mercy.”

The young boy squirmed weightlessly upon the hairy thighs of the older priest. He felt the wet tip of the boy’s hard penis and testicles pressed against his thighs. His own erection rose up between his legs and pressed directly against the boy’s. Their cocks rubbed hard against each other. He brought his strong hand down, hard against the boy’s naked backside.

“Aawwwww …” cried the boy.

The redness of his pale bottom was clearly finger-marked with the priest’s blow. The priest hit him again.

“Aaaawwweeee …”

The boy only moaned louder and twitched stiffly against him. The sensation was incredible. The boy wriggled to ease the pain, but that only animated the priest further. He hit him again … and again… all the while Father Bethlehem’s cock pressed rigidly upwards against the boy’s tiny body. His hand rested on the boy’s delicate bottom and rubbed it. His thick finger began to press against the boy’s anus — his intention to penetrate his oily little sphincter was met with the soft moaning of the excited boy. He pressed his middle finger into the queer boy, right up to the second knuckle. He moved it back and forth, finger-fucking the boy as their cocks pressed against one another.

“Queer boy … queer priest!” muttered the slutty little teacher.

Father Bethlehem looked up momentarily at Miss Jarvis. Maybe in shame. Maybe seeking affirmation for his wayward actions. That when he saw her short skirt was pulled up over her childishly thin waist. Between her fingers, he saw her cock. She was no woman. She was a “they”. It looked bigger than his own cock. Thick, long, and very hard. Drooling in precum. She was pounding her clit-cock as she watched him pleasure the boy.

His eyes followed the movement of her thin wrist. Up and down. Up and down, and up, and down. His eyes marveled at how the thinness of her foreskin as she drew it back and forth over the wet bubbled crown of her cock head — as her precum flowed in dribbles as it lubricated her vigorous wrist movement. Up and down. Up and down.

It shook him to the bone, but he wanted it in his mouth. He remembered that he was supposed to hate queers, faggots, and homos … they were abominations in the Bible … they inspired the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah … they were evil and wicked … the Devil’s play-things … but he was far too excited by it all …

“Oh, Father. The Devil is in your loins. See how your precum flows. You feel His dark seed inside your testicles. It’s time to give this faggot the ultimate in punishments, Father Bethlehem. Take him like a sissy bitch. Show him what a real man is like. Sodomize him. Use your lust to fill his tight little queer hole.”

The priest was beyond any reprieve. He’d past the point of return. He wanted the boy. He wanted his faggot body to dance upon his rock-hard cock. He wanted to feel what it would be like to savagely thrust his throbbing meat up the young boy’s bowels. It seemed to be the only thing that mattered. 

“Ave Satanas!” cried the young school teacher as she played with her own shecock.

The priest gripped the slight boy tightly, lifting the wriggling boy upwards above his fleshy sword.

“No, please,” bemoaned the boy.

But the priest took his words to the contrary. Yes, he would invade the boy’s anus. Yes, it was wrong, wicked, and blasphemous — Yes, this was what he longed for most of all. The boy let out another long whimper as his delicate body slid down the Father’s rampant cock. The pleasure of his anal canal contracting around his man-sized cock was simply divine. This pleasure, the priest thought, he could get used to.

“Aargh …” the boy bemoaned, as the priest began to fill him.

Finally, the boy’s tiny bottom was seated upon the priest’s hairy lap as his cock was now balls-deep inside him. The priest licked the boy’s neck and face, tasting his little boy’s sweat and tears.

His Sunday school teacher began masturbating the boy, as the priest began to thrust upwards into him. Her rhythm matched his, rubbing the boy’s hard little pecker against her own (much larger organ). They were face-to-face. She pulled the priest’s head to hers and kissed him deeply. her tongue penetrating his mouth — as if it were her cock, fucking his face.

“You are mine now. You belong to the queer Devil.”

His eyes had been momentarily closed, but now they were open wide. She had horns on her forehead. She was preternatural — a Succubus — that had his soul in her grasp.

This was just too much. He could no longer hold back the dam. He felt the onset of a massive orgasm exploding inside his loins — but just as he shook to this realization — his daymare seemed to collapse upon itself. The priest felt his entire body quivering violently and then suddenly stiffened — the endorphin rush filled his awakening mind.

“Oh my fucking gawd!” he groaned out loud as his untouched penis ejaculated spectacularly over himself. 




“And there were also male cult prostitutes in the land. They did according to all the abominations of the nations that the LORD drove out before the people of Israel.” — 1 Kings, chapter 14, verses 24.

When the phone rang, Father Bethlehem answered. He’d awoken from yet another sexual daymare. It was as if he’d run a marathon.

“Hello,” it was a voice he didn’t recognize, “Father Bethlehem, is that you?” 

“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?” asked Father Bethlehem.

He was still breathing deeply.

“This is Father Samuel from St. Andrew’s Seminary School. We haven’t met before but a member of your church, Miss Jarvis, asked me to give you a call. She was concerned about you. She said that you had arranged for a Bible reading but never answered the door — is everything okay?” 

“Yes. Yes, thank you, Father Samuel,” he answered trying his best not to pant, “My sincerest apologies to you and to Miss Jarvis. I feel terrible about this. It seems I just dozed off.”

“I see. I will let her know. She was very worried about you. God bless her.”

“Please. And I will endeavor to connect with her soon. I haven’t been myself lately. Daymares in fact. Terrible daymares. I have been falling asleep at inopportune times. I was in the grip of one and just never heard her call. I don’t know what has come over me lately.”

“Oh dear. Daymares. How terrible. We’re all soldiers, you know. God’s army against the sinister dark forces. Daymares can be a form of demonic attack, you know? I have heard other clergy who have reported similar incidences to me at the seminary. Forgive my forwardness, but may I ask … what kind of daymares are you experiencing?” his voice sounded sympathetic and very concerned.

Father Bethlehem paused. How to describe that his dreams involved the very person who was concerned about him? That Miss Jarvis had been like a sexual demon in his daymares. She’d visited him several times this way — each progressive daymare, more sinful and disgusting than the previous. A shemale demon with a huge cock. He’d been tempted and had failed spectacularly in the face of his own queer arousal.

“Well, I don’t know where to start?” he eventually answered.

“Many attacks take on very a sexual form,” replied Father Samuel, edging into the subject.

“Hmmmm … Yes … it went against everything that I believe in.”

“I fully understand. It isn’t easy talking about these sensitive things. Temptation is all around us. The Devil uses sex to pervert us. To trap and deceive us. I am visiting Miss Jarvis tomorrow. May we meet? We can talk more plainly face-to-face?”

Father Bethlehem was really unsure. His first reaction was to hide. He wasn’t going to discuss this with anyone. This wasn’t something he could explain without self-incrimination. He felt guilty and ashamed. Yet, at the same time, he felt deeply aroused and excited.

It just wasn’t natural. These were queer thoughts. 

“The attacks will only get worse. I assure you they will. You need help, Father Bethlehem. And I can help you.” 


Father Bethlehem was really not ready to share anything with anybody, but when Miss Jarvis called later, he relented to meeting up with her and Father Samuel. How could this temptation be resisted? The young school teacher seemed very worried about his wellbeing. The other priest had been right. They were the work of the Devil. His daymares seemed to just get more twisted and perverted as time moved on.

Stella suggested that Father Bethlehem meet them at her house. It wasn’t far from the church. Naturally, he was curious how the young woman lived. His daymare version of her, as a cock demon, did little to deter him — in fact, this vile and evil creature only tempted the pathetic priest even more. He shook his head trying to dispel these thoughts. He felt that he was playing with fire. 

“Father Bethlehem. I am so relieved to see you. We were so worried,” lied Stella, as she pretended to welcome him to her humble abode, “This is Father Samuel, from the Seminary.” 

“Father Bethlehem,” acknowledged the mysterious Father Samuel.

He was much younger looking than Father Bethlehem had expected. Handsome and somewhat effeminate. Running such an esteemed institution, like the Seminary, required so much experience and a high standing in the church ranks. 

“Father Samuel,” he said as he shook his hand, “You’re a lot younger than I had expected.” 

Father Samuel’s hand felt wet and limp, almost queer in its feel. He could explain why, but he found the priest attractive and demure … a sexy queer priest … almost as alluring as Stella.

“Doing the Lord’s work keeps us all young and virile,” pretended Father Samuel. 

Father Bethlehem’s eyes sparkled. He liked this priest but for all the wrong reasons.

“We are here to help you,” lied Stella.

Father Bethlehem couldn’t help but notice how sexy Stella looked. She was dressed in a way that reminded him of his predicament … the reason why he was here. His daymares had stripped her of her clothing. He’d seen her most intimate parts. He’d even tasted her genitals. They’d fucked a young boy together. He’d even seen her transform from a pretty young woman to an evil transgendered Succubus. A cock demon. There were things he couldn’t un-seen. 

That’s when he realized that he must have been staring and quickly turned his attention back to Father Samuel. 

“Father, I am sorry to waste your time on my trivial matters.” 

“Daymares are not trivial, Father Bethlehem,” his hand held Father Bethlehem’s arm, “This is not the first time that a fellow clergyman has been under a sustained attack from sexual demons. They know our weaknesses. They use sexual perversity to tempt us to all kinds of shocking desires. Sins of the flesh, queer desires. Faggot sex. Homosexuality. Sodomy.” 

Father Bethlehem let out an unconscious sigh. 

“I don’t know what to say?” 

“Let’s sit down for a while, if we may?” suggested Father Samuel, “Have some special tea.” 

Father Bethlehem sipped the sweet warm tea. It tasted delicious. He drank more.

“Relax. You are safe here. You must tell me everything,” his voice seemed to echo, “Everything … Everything … Everything …” 

As they sat opposite one another on Stella’s couches, Father Bethlehem began to notice her rather bizarre-looking wooden effigies. They seemed strangely out of place in a Christian household. Pagan or tribal, they looked rather hideous. Penal effigies. The ugly things were undeniably phallic and highly sexual.

“Tell me about your demonic dreams. Your queer dreams. What happens when you close your eyes?” 

Father Bethlehem tried to ignore the ugly idols. He looked at the cross on the wall. For some strange reason, her crucifix had fallen … it was upside-down. He was suddenly very thirsty and drank more tea. Stella poured more special tea, refilling his cup over and over. His bladder was full. He needed to pee, yet he kept drinking her special tea. He felt =lightheaded. He felt giddy. Things began to spin a little.

”Drink your tea, Father Bethlehem, and confess your wayward thoughts,” said a voice that strangely sounded like two voices one on top of the other. Dark and alluring. It was as if both the priest and the woman were saying the identical same thing at the same time.

“Tell me about your evil desires … your queer yearnings … your faggot fantasies,” said the echoing voices.

The wooden demons appeared to be stroking their erect cocks as the intertwined voices spoke to him. 

“Tell me what you do with Miss Jarvis? Do you suck her tits? Fuck her in the ass? Does she fuck you with her Succubus cock? Tell me all about the perverted things you want to do with young faggot boys …” 

The room was really spinning. He could smell incense, urine, and sex. 

“I need to use the bathroom … I need to lie down,” Father Bethlehem muttered pathetically.

He was no longer in Stella’s lounge, but he found himself in her attic.

The walls were black and red. Yes, he wanted to lie down. His bladder was uncomfortably full … close to bursting. The floor was painted with a five-pointed star. A large pentagram. Red paint on a black floor. Candles everywhere. Phallic-shaped candles. There was another ugly idol of a goat-headed that appeared to be almost life-sized. He recognized it as the Baphomet. The dreaded “god of witches”. Where was his clothes? When did he undress? He couldn’t explain it. He desperately needed to use the toilet …. Yet, even more, he just needed to lie down.

That’s when he noticed the sexy young Stella with the handsome young enigmatic, Father Samuel. He wanted them both. He watched as they kissed mouth-to-mouth. They looked back at him. He could clearly see their tongues moving in and out of each other’s mouths. It excited him to watch. They were both completely naked. He could see Father Samuel’s cock was fully erect. It looked wet-tipped. He wanted to suck it. 

His own cock twitched. It felt very hard and needy of attention too. His bladder hurt. He was overcome with the urge to masturbate.

“Masturbate yourself,” echoed the twin voices, “Pray to Satan …” they encouraged.

There were two young boys with them. Two very sexy young boys. They couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen. Both of the young boys were naked too. Touching their own penises. Their penises touched each other.

What was going on?

He remembered that he hated queers. He hated faggots. This must be another daymare — This couldn’t be real — Yet it felt different. It did feel real. More real than before. 

The attic was still spinning slowly, as he lay in the middle of the five-pointed star and began to masturbate. His bladder felt so full. He needed to urinate as he continued to touch himself as he watched the sinful acts that surrounded him. This was Devil worship.

“Ave domine inferni! Ave domine inferni!” they were all chanted.

He could see Father Samuel being sucked off by one of the pretty young boys, while Stella knelt and sucked the erect penis of the other boy. They swapped partners. They swapped again. 

“Ave domine inferni! Ave domine inferni!”

Another naked woman appeared. It was Colleen. In tow, she had a dark-furred animal. A goat. The animal’s significance had not been expressed, but the group stopped their lewd behavior and seemed to form a loose circle around the edge of the pentagram. 

“Ave domine inferni! Ave domine inferni!”

Father Bethlehem seemed detached. In a strange world all of his own. They watched his urine flowing, warm and wet, over his chest and face, as he masturbated. He opened his mouth and tasted his hot, salty spray. It felt vulgar and perverse … as he rapidly approached orgasm.




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