Feature Writer: Vetis & Moloch (XP)

Feature Title: We giveth this young boy to Satan

Published: 18.06.2020 / Written 31.05.2008

Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Religious, NC, Rape, WS, Scat, Under-aged

Synopsis: A short except from a online chat I had with a close friend (Vetis) many moons ago … where we shared our evil fantasies together, chatting and edging—my favorite thing to do. Hail Lvst! Hail Satan!

We giveth this young boy to Satan

Only the most devout could enter. And to be chosen for such an arduous task beyond their years was unheard of within the Exorcism Seminary. Lofty vaulted ceilings ascend into darkness, twisted wreathed columns, it is a cathedral of fortitude, a bastion of infernal reflection, of learned theologians, esteemed abbots and archbishops.

The distant sound of the bells echoed across the battlement and merge with sharp choiric voices in a surreal melody of the faithful. They followed, in single file, up the steep newel at the entry to the Baptismal, its archway framed by ancient statues of dark prophets. Each of the two novices—Vetis and Moloch—gestured the sign of the cross, their lips soundlessly mutter solemn prayer, as they kissed their chained crucifixes.

The hooded Schemamonk, chosen for his life of dedication to constant prayer, unlocked the ornate heavy wooden door of the outer chamber. Time had stood still inside the Baptismal Library. A muster dank smell of staleness filled their nasals. Dusty leather-clad volumes, tools of exorcism, a simple low cot and wooden study furniture, mark the gravely profound purpose of this isolated place.

Once inside, they awaited instruction, but there is no words from the Schemamonk. Instead, he steps back across the threshold. The door creaked closed behind him and he was gone, leaving the two young novices alone. They look at each other and then around the long narrow chamber.

Upon the Episcopal credence table laid a single closed publication with metal hinges and elaborately embossing—Baal Peor—The unfamiliar words sound strange and unassuming, but for some unknown reason, also carry dread and danger.

Vetis ran his nervous sweat-damp hand across the surface and was shocked to find that it had a texture very similar to that of human flesh. His hands trembled as he opened the ornate phallic clasp. His heart was in his throat, but even stranger still for reasons he cannot explain, his penis strained beneath his flimsy tunic, urgently erect and dripping with excitement.

He hoped that his novice colleague hasn’t noticed this, but he was totally consumed with his private curiosity for what secrets lies in the Baptismal—and more urgently—what this secretive book contains. Turning the heavy parchment pages adorned images never seen before by these pure young eyes, the words and pictures—of sexual satanism—filled their minds … depictions of perversity after perversity of the Baal Peor Black Mass. Soon their arousal turned to an unbridled lusting.

Vetis could almost hear the mocking screams of —Belphagor, Belphagor, Belphagor!—of Christian prayers being said backwards; smell black candles made from human fat; taste the urine drunk from chalices and human skulls—sacramental wafers drenched in spent semen.

It was as if he was standing among the priests, naked beneath sleeveless vestments decorated in perverted ornamentation; part-taking in demonic feasts of human flesh; of disgusting and perverted rites of frenzied sexual orgies with worshiper excrementing before Him; covering themselves in their own feces; of naked virgin boys bound between cock-poles in front of huge phallus; to be anally-raped in sacrificial offering to the evil Belphagor.

His dreamlike state was abruptly brought back to reality, finding his hand upon his dripping cock … and glancing across at Moloch, he saw his colleague in a similar hypnotic stupor—his hand is fiercely masturbating.

“Uncover yourself before Him; expose thy rectum; and bring forth excrement; for this is His worship—” Vetis said without realizing that he had said these words out loud.

Moloch smiles evilly at him in complete perverted agreement.

“We giveth this young boy to Satan.”

They saw images of the high priest plunging his shit-stained cock into a young boy’s chocking throat, fucking his face without concern for his ability to breath. The unholy congregation masturbated in time rhythm with his high priests thrusts crying, “Praise Satan! Prince of cocks!”

They saw the altar boy, with a challis of divine sacrament—of urine—in one hand and crucible of anointment—of steaming shit—in the other, kneels before the sub-prior ready for initiation. Vetis and Moloch found their heads were filled with the whirling beats of voodoo drums and cries for perverted human sacrifice—their bodies soaked in their own urine and covered in slimy feces.

Vetis and Moloch turn towards the opening door—almost shocked at the sudden silence in the chamber. The Schemamonk pushes a scantily dressed young preteen boy inside the door. The silent remains for a second, as if the eye of a hurricane was passing over.

The door closed firmly shut behind the boy, who looked in horror at the two naked boys—their enormously enlarged sexual organs, oozing precum by the pint. Just the smell of excrement alone, assaults his uninitiated nostrils and simply overpowering his senses.

As quickly as silence came, it is gone, lost in an orgy of demonic screams and rhythmic chanting. Vetis and Moloch look at each other. They know what they want. They know what their demon master, Belphagor, would have them do. They leap forward at the boy, tearing the clothing from his small, slight body and drag his to the rear of the chamber.

Vetis punched him hard in the stomach and as the boy doubled over Vetis used this helpless moment to restrain him in a kneeling position over the low polished-stone altar in front of the looming demonic idol with its massive erect phallus. His arms pulled apart and forward with chains against its base. Moloch attached a spreader between the boy’s legs and then fastens it to the floor. Vetis secured a primitive penis-shaped gag in his mouth, while Moloch pushed a wooden butt plug as far up his virgin arse as it can go.

It is over before quickly.

The boy squirmed in the awkwardness of the invaders at each end of his body, but to no avail. He was completely helpless. It was as if they had both done this before … many times, hands and legs move with practiced synchronicity—their eager cocks point upwards in phallic worship. Their hands worked quickly, turning the boy’s milky white flesh into streaks of odorous brown as they emptying their bladders over his head, back and arse—leaving acrid rivers of dark yellow urine—to cascade down his face and neck.

The young boy tried to look upwards at the grotesque effigy of Belphagor—his enormous erect cock extending upwards—from between his crossed legs that struck more fear into the boy’s weak heart.

Vetis and Moloch, once again rubbed their abnormally large cocks together, grinding their hips together, while exchanging shit-flavored tongue kisses.

A torturous scream reverberated in the vaulted ceiling and rings out from within the Baptismal. It was a sound similar to an animal being cruelly and painfully slaughtered. The hooded Schemamonk looked up from his desk in the library and then looked down again at his work.

Behind the heavy wooden door of the Baptismal, Vetis and Moloch looked on, without pity upon their young sacrifice.

“We giveth this boy to Baal Peor—our dark master of excrement?”

Vetis plunged his shit-stained cock into the boy’s chocking throat, violently fucking his face without concern for his inability to breath. Moloch masturbates in perfect rhythm with Vetis’s thrusts, crying …  “Praise Satan! Prince of Cocks!”

THE END