Feature Writer: Unknown /
Feature Title: The Nine Hells /
Story Codes: Supernatural, Evil, Demonic, Young, Fantasy, Witch, Scat, WS /
The Nine Hells
Chapter One
I must have been about ten the first time I remember masturbating. I was in the bath at the time, alone of course, and laying on my stomach. My tiny little dick was being pressed against the bottom of the tub and then all of a sudden it got hard and the rubbing felt so good. Surprised and curious, I rubbed it against the bottom until a strange, exhilarating warmth grew from just below my little balls and spread until it reached all through me, even outside me. I had cum for the first time, and I couldn’t believe what had happened to me.
It only took that one time and I was unstoppable. I took a bath every night, and every night I played with myself a little. That bathroom had such immense power. It was my only sanctuary from the unsatisfying world outside it. There, with the bright light, cold linoleum and hot water. It was also the only door in the house that locked. It was my private world, and as such, I fast began to build a mythology around it. By the time I was done, I decided, it would be mapped and plotted, peopled and planted. It would be another world.
This divine act of creation began mundanely, simply. I had long been fascinated and enthralled with action figures. I was obsessed with buying and hording the things, and most especially the villains. See, these toys all have some pop-culture genesis, but I ignored that every time.
I loved to take them out of context and construct my own story. Every bent-back monster, every reaching alien and roaring dragon was my subject and they all had some vile purpose in this world. For whatever reason, my immature mind projected its new found sexuality onto these creatures, this world. I had never looked at pornography, I had no understanding of sex, outside the feelings I had when I played with myself, so they were my only playmates in a growing psycho-sexual fantasy world.
Every night I selected a few of my subjects to follow me through that wide, wooden portal into the light and heat. My favorite was the Witch Queen. She was an impressively tall redhead, decked out in skimpy, dominatrix armor and ever brandishing her massive, phallic halberd. She, of course, was a member of the first group to come into the bath with me after I made my discovery.
With her there was stupid Goliath, a huge, hulking man with ropey muscles and spikes, curling like horns, from his back. There was Morae, a crooked, ugly little gargoyle woman that clung to and rode on Goliath’s back. And last, but not least, there was the undead god Krull. He was as tall as Goliath, but with better posture and not two but six, thin arms. Tonight would be their first journey into a brand new world, so only the best of them dared come.
I got in the bath as usual, pulled closed the curtain and set my followers up along the edge of the tub, as if they had scaled it near my feet and were now looking out over the landscape that was my body.
“Its true then” -came the voice of the Witch Queen. “He lives after all”.
“Yes my queen”, replied Krull, “but he is in a deep sleep, waking him may prove difficult”
With a sudden leap, the Queen was swimming and calling back to the others, “let us swim to him and begin the waking ritual, he is our only hope against the Light.”
Now I could see the grimy, rusted texture of the huge tub that I lay in. I could see the green, stringy moss that hung from the top of it and the filth that clung to its bottom, the piss and shit that seeped out of their dark lord during his hundred year slumber.
The Witch Queen was first to reach the shore, climbing up onto the knee and down the thigh of her lord. There she cast off her breastplate, exposing small, firm breasts. They were like the breasts of a young girl, and they were beautiful. They had no nipples, of course, but where the nipples should have been, there were holes instead.
\They were there so that her skimpy breastplate had something to connect to. When she removed her loin-cloth there was a similar hole where her vagina would have been and she has the most deliciously perfect ass. She began the ritual but standing on my prepubescent balls and rubbing her little breasts against my young cock, which to her was truly massive.
I could not help but feel that there really was some force, no, some will that was begging from far away for this to happen. Some creature of darkness, some demon that wanted to, and perhaps would be, awakened by this playful ritual. But that demons distance was impossible and what feeling of it I had, was hopelessly remote. I wanted badly to reach it. I felt sorry for it, sleeping for so long with no playmates, like the ones I had. It too, wanted to play, I knew that much.
I decided, with high hopes, to carry on with the ritual and see if it got me any closer to the thing in the darkness. The Witch Queen had made my little prick stand straight up. She rubbed her perfect ass all up and down it and I imagined smelling her ass, but I could not yet move, the ritual was still incomplete. The Queen turned to Krull now, saying it was his turn. At that, he tore his skeletal torso from his legs and began to crawl on his six arms, like an insect. When he reached my anxious little erection, he scaled it and deposited himself atop it, like some kind of idol.
Looking down at the scene was the most exhilarating thing I had ever felt. My childish erection slid perfectly into and through his rib cage so that his chin was resting on the purple head, grinning lasciviously. I could feel that there was dark power inside him, this deceased evil god who had come back from death to share his power with me, his lord. He had never looked so alive as when my pricklet filled him.
My fantasy world, though, was now nearly lost to pure ecstasy. I grabbed Goliath and pressed his face, hard, into my tiny, hairless balls and with my other hand, started jerking myself off with the rib cage. Krulls grinning face came down again and again on the head of the penis I had started to love the look of, and his stiff ribs rubbing against my shaft felt wondrous and painful. Suddenly a powerful spray of clear, sticky liquid shot out of my dick and onto the villainous skeletal face that was riding it.
I knew I had failed the thing in the darkness. I could no longer sense it in even the remotest way.
Chapter two
As the days wore on, I found that, in fact, I could always sense it. I began doing little things to draw it closer, to romance it, so to speak.
School was a wide, flat, ugly place like a dungeon. No, not a dungeon, a doctors office or a corporate chain store that was going out of business. Run down but clean. Broad and open but seeming to lack oxygen and always bathed in, sick, clammy light. I hated it. Still, I found ways of keeping myself awake and interested, if not in the academic, then in the carnal.
Strangely, I never fantasized about other people, students or teachers, but I looked always for places where the world grew thin from stretching and darkness. Places where the air folded in on itself and opened like a fat, dripping orchid to breath on your neck.
I could never quite reach my other, realer world, which by now I had taken to calling “Ginunga”. The name had been filched, for a reason I was not, and still am not entirely aware of, from a picture book I had about Norse myths. It was a brown, dirty looking thing full of wretched illustrations of trolls and giants and serpents. That book told me the story of Ginunga, the lurid, grotesque creation myth of that world whose stewardship I had haphazardly inherited.
In the beginning, as these things go, there was darkness. But that wasn’t all. No, there was emptiness too, slithering, palpable emptiness, and there was terrible cold. Reading it now, I felt that I could quite see through it, and that kind of sight, pregnant with ambiguity, gave a feeling of floating, as if through soft and viscous nothing. A gap was gaping, I read, and found that it was true. I had been there, though it was much changed now, it was certainly a kind of fissure, a canyon, a yawning orifice: Ginunga Gap; it was mine now.
Now, to get on, I was able to come close to touching it outside of my bathroom. I found now, in memory, a crystal clear reflection of the very first such instance. I knew what I was looking for, smelling for, and I found it in the boys bathroom on the second floor of the school. I had walked in, having left class for no particular reason other than vague boredom, to find one stall door swinging ever so subtly. I moved toward it apathetically, obliviously but perhaps given to a dumb curiosity.
There I found an old toilet, one of strange, rough texture that reminded me of the tub in which, in The Gap, I slumbered. Curiously, I closed the door and, not having to use the thing, stood staring at it. There where layers of hard water deposit ringing its interior. Because of its darker color, something like egg shell, they where quite apparent. It had been used recently too.
The water was a warm yellow and there was an obese turd, like a snake, looming across the surface of the bowl. The snakes head, which pinched off to a point like a tongue, rose just above the water line, and its almost bulbous body disappeared into the broad hole at the bottom as though into a burrow, a den, a gap. I notice two things then that struck me as most odd. First, there was not a scrap of paper floating there, and second, the seat was left up.
I cannot say what possessed me to do what I did then. I was not thinking at all about the thing in the darkness, it was far from my mind. No, I operated only by some unknowable instinct at that moment that spurred me to take my pants down to the ankles and drop to my knees. Once there, I put my hand under my testicles, which hung as low as they might for they had presently been cocooned in the warmth of my little underpants. I lifted them gently onto the yellowed rim of the toilet bowl.
Promptly, I removed them, knowing somehow that there were rules at work and I had miss-stepped. I bent down then, so that my face was close to the rim, and drew a slow breath, to partake of the pungent incense. There was piss there, hardened to a kind of thin layer of gel, not dry, but not quite wet. In it, there where a few scant, curling hairs caught.
Furtively, I licked it. That was enough. Now I knew how to proceed. I took my short, flaccid penis into my hand and scraped it across one side of the bowl, the dirtiest side, next to the wall. Half the bowl now appeared clean and across one side of my little organ there was a thick, almost opaque yellow residue, broken by those looping lines of hair. I positioned myself between the wall and the now-clean side of the bowl.
I wiped the other side with my hand and deposited the grime in a neat pile just in front of where my dirty little prick hung. Again, I lifted my little balls to the rim of the bowl, this time placing them just atop the little pile I had made. I looked down at the scene, swallowing down the aberration, the wrongness, with fervor.
Then I did something I expected even less than the rest. I brought the toilet seat, slowly mind you, down to rest on my sex. The cold hard surfaces on either side of me felt alien and exhilarating. I pressed down on the lid a little and found that it hurt. I pressed harder and found that in it, there was great pleasure. Finally, I pushed it down until I heard the hard and final sound of the seat making contact with the rim. My back arched and I pressed myself against the wall.
After a moment I stood up. It took some time to catch my breath, and once I did, I smeared the filth I had collected all over my genitals and left it there for the remainder of the day.
Chapter Three
You have seen now, how I began to lead my double life. At times, the times I remember the least well, I was a child and a poor student, at other times I was a kind of queer extension of some obscure detail. Something imperceptible but swollen to in finance. I do remember coming home the day I had my near-life experience in the restroom. I couldn’t wait to breach the portal to Ginunga, where I was still but a sleeping king, and see what conditions my work in the staleness of normal life had evoked there.
The cast was the same, as I knew we must necessarily pick up where we had left off. I did, though, bring with me the book I earlier spoke of, and two candles. Darkness, I now knew, was of prime importance in the pulp-ability of my kingdom. It was night-time, as it must be, and I was determined to play only by candlelight. The effect was perfectly natural. The subtle, wavering light breathed a new life into my companions.
The Witch Queen was smart. She understood better than I did the rules by which rituals operate. She understood the importance of symbolism, of process.
“Tonight”, she told my sleeping body, “you shall wake and you shall make me real!”
Despite everything, at her words, my cock began to stretch and harden. Krull took his place on his seat and suddenly, I knew what I must do. I knew that I was awake now, and that if I could bring the Witch Queen to life, if I could reach her in that way, then maybe the thing in the darkness could reach me!
She lay herself, arms folded over her abdomen, in the toilet and waited for the full breadth of my recognition. I decided to risk everything. I had to. The only precaution I took before leaving the bathroom was to close the lid of the toilet. The Witch Queen would sleep in the dark, as I had.
I knew my parents would be asleep, and the sound of snoring that lurched down the hall confirmed it for me. I crossed the hall to my bedroom nude and with a persistent little erection. There was something larger at work here, and my abandon was a part of the process.
Leaving my bedroom door open, I began sifting through boxes in the closet. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I found it just the same. A friend of mine, Sean, had given me a whip for my birthday. His family had gone to Mexico and he bought it there for me, a flimsy black thing, hardly suitable for anything other than looking vicious. For my purposes, it was perfect. If I couldn’t have a trident or a halberd, I would have a whip.
That wasn’t good enough. I left my room and rounded the corner to my older sisters. Good. She was gone for the night. There I searched her drawers for something sexy, something to make me more like the Witch Queen. I found a pair of black panties that seemed suitable and, beneath them in the drawer, the most important discovery of my life. “The Nine Hells”, an ugly old book about witchcraft and demonology. This was too good to be true. I took it and ran back to The Gap.
Behind the closed and locked door, by the candlelight, I dropped my other things and opened the book. On the first page was a black and white line drawing of Baphomet. Like me, she was holding a book, and her goats head above those breasts, perfect round little breasts like the Witch Queens, was the most arousing image I had ever seen.
My tiny little cock was aching and stretching and swelling as big as it could get. In this particular rendering, Baphomet had an anatomical penis, rather than a scepter, rising from her lap and she was sitting in lotus position, having lifted herself into the air with her thin devil-tail. This was the Witch Queens true aspect! Now I knew what to do. We had to change places.
Without another thought, I took the whip by the bulbous, handled end and inserted it, slowly, into my bum. It was like being plugged in to some unbelievable wellspring of power and lust! The warm leather stretching and scraping my little anus and, in the end, becoming my devil-tail. I stood up on the counter above the sink to get a closer look at it in the mirror. Hail Baphomet! It was simply magnificent!! I flexed my anus and watched the tail twitch. I took the whip out and, parting my round little cheeks, stared straight into my own pink, twitching hole. It looked so soft, so innocent, save for the brown smear I made in taking out the whip.
I thought of the Witch Queen. If we were to trade places, I realized, her tub must be as filthy as I had imagined my own. Feverishly, I got down and took her out of the toilet. For whatever beautiful reason, I did not choose to sit on the toilet and relieve myself. Instead I stood over it, flexing until a tiny stream of piss spilled about the rim and into the water, yellowing it. I had to poop. It came so naturally to me then.
I just held my hand beneath my anus and caught the warm droppings as they came. I took the first handful and smeared it around the inside of the toilet bowl. There, much better. The Queen was returned to her previous repose and I caught another soft, pungent gift for her in my little hand. This time I set it on the rim of the toilet, recalling my ritual at the school, and bent down to christen her with it. I smeared it on her hard plastic breasts, her sinister face, her perfect bum. I let most of it fall from my hand in to the water, making it murkier still, but it was not yet enough.
I reinserted the whip, a little farther this time and took to walking on all fours after that. I was almost myself! My one filthy hand made shitty prints wherever I walked. What was missing? The water in my vision of myself had been not only been murky and shitty, but slimy. The stink had been sharper.
I looked at my hand. Whenever I wanted to ditch school, when I was a little younger, I would make myself throw up. I had been sick enough times as a child that it didn’t terribly put me off to do this. I probably smiles then, like a little goblin. Two shitty fingers – they had been inside my bum, on the toilet, in the toilet, on the floor, around the bathtub – two shitty fingers made their way, with a pragmatism that bewildered me, straight to the back of my throat and slid and smeared filth across as much of my tongue as they could. I didn’t puke. I only pressed the bitterness, the nearly medical bitterness against the roof of my mouth and closed my eyes. My little dick felt a mile long.
I brought the vomit up like a Disney chef, some woman in a blue apron and bonnet, bringing fresh baked bread from the oven. It was the most natural thing! Perfectly comfortable and easy. It just slid out of my smiling face like a snake into a pool. I savored the tang. I let a rope of yellow spit hang from my bottom lip to the water, linking me to the filth beneath. A second tongue.
Now she was real. Now she was beautiful.
THE END