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: Transgender, Interracial, Supernatural, WS, Anal, Snuff, Abuse, Incest, MC, NC, Blasphemy, Devil Worship, Transformation, Young Ones.

CREATED: 01.11.2023


The World 1


The World is the twenty-first card of the Major Arcana. The naked dancer celebrates the freedom to explore the world of the phallus. Sexually, The World is the ultimate tantra card. Sex is used as a tool for transcendence and self-gratification — whatever you desire. The balance between male and female energy combines to form the ultimate sexual being. Sex is both a means and an end. The World is balanced and complete with the ebb and flow of sexual energy. The World encompasses a sublime sense of freedom to do whatever you please, no matter how kinky or perverted. 


Babylon is an independent state. It has laws of its own, including decriminalizing slavery, torture, murder, prostitution, dark pornography, rape, and underage sex.

It is, of course, a Mecca for human trafficking and sex tourism of the worst kind. A place where every sensation … every vice, and evil fantasy is possible with its twenty-four-seven adult entertainment.

It is rumored that they openly advertised their “devil-inspired theme parks” and “round-the-clock sex clubs” … where the streets are named after demons. It is a pervert’s paradise for its rich and famous visitors … a safe haven for its evil co-conspirators … and like Dante’s Inferno for its victims.

Why did it exist? Good question. Because evil exists … some say that it is governed by the Devil himself and that there is a preternatural force that keeps everything in order.


  • Bartholomew — Guest in Babylon / Husband of Angelina Lala
  • Angelina Lala — Guest in Babylon / Trans-wife of Bartholomew 
  • Sedgwick Thresh — Guest in Babylon / Psychopath 
  • Jesse North — Guest in Babylon / Gender-fluid / Celebrity Singer, Death Metal  
  • Courtney Feral AKA Raven — Influencer with twenty million followers / Vigilante
  • Aaliyah Death — Deejay / Lover of Courtney Feral / Lives in Babylon 
  • Inanne-Ishtar — Mythical character / Seen only by Courtney in a vision 
  • Genevieve Washington — Guest in Babylon / Socialite and heiress to her husband’s fortune 
  • Cynthia and Christina — Genevieve’s handmaidens 
  • Gloria Washington — Genevieve’s daughter 
  • The Doppelgänger — a double of Genevieve’s daughter, Gloria, supplied by Denton De Vile
  • Denton De Vile — Human trafficker, sexual demon



“Babylon World — come and visit for the experience of a lifetime that you’ll never forget,” invited the glossy advertisement, “Babylon World — It’s all happening here and now. Whatever your persuasion, lewd, twisted, bizarre, violent, or simply perverse, you’ll find it, times ten — Babylon World — famed for being beyond libertine.

Come and explore our forever-night depravity-themed amusement parks for all the kinks, thrills, and fetishes imaginable (and unimaginable) — Babylon World — stay within our dark playground, at one of our many nefarious resorts, or nearby, if you prefer — Babylon World — more than just the sum of our glittering massage parlors, immoral luxurious brothels and clandestine bathhouses — Babylon World — come and have a devil of a time, and find malevolence with no limits!” 

Bartholomew and his trans-wife, Angelina Lala, sat back in the plush leather seats of their private jet en route to Babylon. Chilled champagne on ice. It wasn’t Bartholomew’s first visit. No, he was somewhat of a regular. He studied the map of Babylon World which detailed all his favorite locations in the independent state of Babylon. The colorful map depicted the various nefarious attractions on offer at this twisted “adult amusement park”.

Each perversity was marked on the map with its own individual icon. An icon for everything on offer — rape, sodomy, bestiality, bondage, incest, vampirism, sadism, coprophilia, necro, underaged, castration, vore, and even snuff — it was all there.

He looked out of the window as they came in on the jet’s final approach. Babylon was a magnificently gothic city. Majestic black towers pointed skywards in the “forever night” sky. They called it the “forever night” as Babylon was perpetually in darkness. It was a renaissance of architectural pandemonium. Sharp spires, flying buttresses, horned steeples, and ugly gargoyles — as if competing demons had attempted to out-design each other in the illumination of evil antiquity.

Upon arrival, they would be met at the fortified airport in a bulletproof stretch limousine, to be whisked off to their ostentatious resort hotel, aptly named, the “Infernal Spire” — designed to look like a 300 story fortress, most suitable for the likes of bloodthirsty vampires. It was ultra-lux, with all the creature comforts, to satisfy their outrageous sexual tastes.

Soon they would be both sipping on long champagne flutes of fresh “boi urine”. Their cocks would be balls deep in the virgin anuses of the most exquisite of young femboi sluts. There was a weekend of complete debauchery ahead. Rituals, sacrifices, orgies. Yes, Bartholomew knew many of the delights that awaited him and his trans-wife in this place of hellish sin.

The grand entrance and lobby were more than just ostentatious. Enormous phallic columns, pornographic statues, and explicit painting adorned every surface. Dark red and black in theme, its satanic finery suggested necromancers and haunting romance.

”Mr. Bartholomew. Welcome back,” said the bowing negroid man-servant, “Your suite is ready. May I take your bags?”

Bartholomew just nodded in acknowledgment at the ritually-scared face of the ugly man-servant. He’d heard about some guests that took enjoyment in the castration of such men — slicing off their nigger cocks whilst fully erect— rather ghastly and bloody fetish, he thought. Ms. Lala simply looked past him as if he wasn’t there, her sexy eyes hidden behind her large-framed Gucci sunglasses, despite it being completely dark outside.

The man-servant bowed gracefully again and brought them to the express lift. 159th floor. The view over the “forever night” of Babylon would be spectacular.

There was never any way of knowing if it was late here in Babylon. Bartholomew preferred the darkness. It seemed to talk to his immoral and wicked soul. Here, the darkness was furtive with malicious intent. He felt it was evil. A place where every dark fantasy could be realized. Without any consequences.

Their suite flickered with the changing illumination from the huge wall-mounted, two-hundred-inch screen. Bartholomew played with the remote control, flicking across the various illegal pornographic channels. The sound of wet, slapping flesh, sexual moans, and cries of abuse, tempted his senses. Every Babylon channel featured the most extremes of sexual behavior — on a spectrum of one to ten — ten being the most violent and degrading — everything here was an eleven.


Sedgwick Thresh was a loner. He’d always been a loner. It was to be his first visit to Babylon. He was a man who had become a multi-billionaire from very dubious means — mostly upon the misfortune of others.

A deeply disturbed individual with no conscience — he was, what the psychologists would have described simply as — a sexual psychopath. Unable to have a successful relationship, Sedgwick had had a life dreaming of promiscuity, but in Babylon World, he hoped to find an outlet for his impulsive hostility, aggressive extroversion, and a measure of sexual relief for his personal form of extreme anxiety.

He had become a master of manipulation. Power turned him on. In his mind, power over someone was the greatest of sexual pleasures. And here, in Babylon, where everything was permitted … the pain and suffering of others, could be such a natural aphrodisiac. And he hoped, in Babylon World, he would be free to take things as far as he had always desired.

He stood completely naked. His flaccid cock hung between his legs, as he looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window of his darkly appointed hotel suite. The view on level 106 of the Infernal Spire was awe-inspiring. He looked out over the blackened towers, steeples, pinnacles, keystones, and finials … it was a vertical landscape of dark gothic cathedrals, all dedicated to the celebration of hell’s most darkest of pleasures.

He’d requested something with a BDSM theme, not knowing that most of the suites were and provided for in-room entertainment options, such as bondage, discipline, and even torture, with a wide range of sadistic tools at the guest’s fingertips.

There was a discrete knock on the door. Sedgwick picked up his black silk dressing gown and looked through the peephole in the door. A negroid man-servant stood in the hallway. Sedgwick hated black people. But then again, he hated Jews, Pakis, Asians, and Mexicans, too. Hatred was something that came naturally to him. He made sure he’d fastened the door chain and opened the door just wide enough.

“What do you want?”

“Good evening, Mr. Thresh,” said the man-servant politely, “Your package has arrived.”

Package? Sedgwick frowned.

“What package?”

“Your welcome package, Sir.”

Sedgwick noticed a second figure standing immediately behind the man-servant. It was a young girl. Demure. Petite. She was dressed in a school uniform. The man-servant held her with a dog collar and leash around her thin, delicate neck. Sedgwick unlatched the door and the man-servant ushered the girl into Sedgwick’s suite and handed him the end of the leash.

“Call down, when you’re done, Sir, I will come and collect the body.”

Collect the body? Interesting, he thought.

Sedgwick said nothing. He pulled the girl forward into his suite. He then closed and locked the door behind them.


Courtney Feral was something of an online sensation. Also known as “Raven”, recently the male-to-female pre-op transgender changed pronouns to “they” … Feral was only eighteen, but as an influencer with some twenty million followers, Feral had pull power and had become independently wealthy through a myriad of endorsement deals (and inducements from those with a dark agenda).

Some of the Raven’s fan base claim Feral had even preternatural powers. Like a witch or wizard. Some fans claimed that they regularly had sex with Raven, astrally. Lies? Bullshit? Mass hysteria? Who could prove it or disprove it?

Feral was physically petite, and feminine in appearance, but had a real attitude. As Raven, Feral wasn’t the usual trendsetter type. From Feral’s regular online appearances, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that Feral was street smart, with a cunningness that seemed to enthrall Raven’s fans. They hung on Raven’s every word.

Some compared Feral to a perverted sex demon. There were many such occult stories — but here in Babylon, Feral was able to elk a fantastic living from this evil reputation. As Raven, Feral neither confirmed nor denied these outrageous claims.

Feral had lived mostly in the fringe. It was the outer ring of Babylon. Many of those who sort the fast track to fame or fortune lived on the fringe. It had been squalid, but now Feral had moved uptown in the land of the “forever night” where it was relatively safer. There was nothing really safe about living in Babylon. It was a violent and merciless place. Dog-eat-dog or rather, human-eat-human. 

Evangelizing, as Raven, was Feral’s focus.

“I hope you’re all naked in front of your computers,” she said, “With your cocks in hand, or your fingers in your cunts. I’m whipping up a storm. Calling upon the demon, Lilith, to give her dark blessing and bring us all orgasmic bliss … Yes, Babylon is beautiful in its darkness. A hell of a place. Later tonight, I’ll be making an appearance at the Golden Calf … come and join me and the nymphets of the goddess of lust …”

Her fans followed her every move. 


Twilight at the Golden Calf.

It was one of a myriad of pervert clubs found in the bowels of Babylon — Like the famous “SS Club” for rubber-loving Nazis; “Klub KKK” for those cross-burning nigger-haters; the “Sanctvm” for beautiful people in masks (it helps if you’re a billionaire, actress, musician or a model; the “Labyrinth” for wet-sex, fisting, and leather-wear; the “Boudoir de Norferatu” for fans of vampire fangs and blood fetishes; the “Return To Eden” for those who expect more theatrical sexual performances, religious-themed cabaret with plenty of soiled crucifixes and desecrated statues of the Virgin Mary.

There was a club for every vice. Everything was permitted here, under the dark skies of Babylon.

The Golden Calf was frequented by mostly the younger crowd of queers, faggots, cross-dressers, flat-chested fembois, t-girls, and their male and female admirers. It was also dedicated to the idolatry of apostasy, sin, and sodomite fornication — also known as the “First Temple of Ishtar” — a pseudonym for the demonic entity, Lilith.

By the time Raven arrived at the club, it was already in full swing. A rowdy crowd of half-naked clubbers filled the dance floor — bumping and grinding their hips against one another.

Courtney looked over the promiscuous crowd and caught the gaze of the androgynous deejay, named “Aaliyah Death”. Courtney climbed into Aaylah’s booth next to her and they kissed passionately mouth-to-mouth. They had been lovers for just a few months. Relationships never seemed to work out here in Babylon. It wasn’t that kind of place.

“You made it,” shouted Aaliyah over the thumping music.

Aaliyah quickly donned her headphones and returned her attention to throwing down the mix. A smooth operator. Courtney watched her lover work the dance floor. Aaliyah preferred the old-skool style of spinning the wheels of steel with vinyl and scratch-mixing using her classic low-tech Technics turntables.

The demonized beat was “Tribal Techno” and “Afro-House”. Arabic Panther. Pagan Sector. Do Shook Booze. Disciplines Ov Gaia. D Func … The polished transition from one song to the next, with just the right amount of overlapping overtones, yet introducing the distinctive riff of the new track — brought cries of delight and appreciation as the dancers bumped and ground against one another — seemingly caught up in ambient hell of Aaliyah’s hypnotic tempo.

“Aaliyah Death! … Aaliyah Death! … Aaliyah Death! …” their drowned chanting was only just audible over the deafeningly loud music. 


At thirty-eight years of age, Genevieve Washington was a socialite of a certain reputation. Like her or hate her, she was always at the right parties, seen in the right places, and of course, knew all the right people (of influence, power, and wealth). Her charitable contributions were many … especially her support of some of the poorest orphanages in the state. She was the darling of the social elite. Since the unfortunate death of her late husband, William Washington, she also became the heiress to his business empire and to billions of dollars. Her bank account was bottomless. There was some talk about poor William’s demise — killed during a botched robbery at their Manson home — despite their almost impenetrable security.

But there was another side to Genevieve. A dark side. A secret side … that she shared with only a very few confidants. If the truth be known, William’s death was not due to being in the wrong place and at the wrong time, during the course of an unfortunate robbery. No, this was all planned to perfection. Genevieve’s alibi was watertight. The robbers were never found. The murder weapon missing. Without any physical evidence to the contrary, the so-called robbery held up to scrutiny and Genevieve became one of the richest widows in the world.

She had been patient. And long after her husband’s funeral, nothing drastically changed. There was nothing suggesting foul play. Not on her part. But Genevieve had been brewing. Of course, she had her vices. Terrible vices. She had one of her proxies book her stay in Babylon, for she had heard many stories … deliciously evil stories … about others, like her, and how their most deviant of dreams could be realized.

Genevieve rarely traveled alone. There was usually a small number in her entourage. The trusted ones. Those who had been with her from the beginning. They had all been rewarded handsomely. Untraceable and seemingly unrelated to Genevieve’s fortunes. There was Cynthia and Christina. Both were dedicated to their mistress, even willing to die for her, such as their misguided love of this psychic vampire. They knew that Genevieve had no love for her late husband. He was a means to an end. Her preference had always been for females, and not any female … her secret passion was for her own daughter, Gloria.

Gloria had been eight years old at the time of her father’s death and away in boarding school. She was a delicate and attractive young thing. Of course, her mother knew that it was too easy to be exposed — if her daughter wasn’t compliant with her wishes for the intimacy of mother-daughter incest. So she hatched a plan, and with her husband out of the way, she organized her handmaidens, Cynthia, and Christina to find her a doppelganger. Where better to start than Babylon?





“Babylon World — we’ve added many new and exciting attractions — each a world of sin, all of its own,” stated the copy around the guide map that displayed the almost cartoon-like renderings of the horrors and atrocities on offer, “Babylon World — the den of iniquity, since the beginning of time — Babylon World — visit the back-lot, for a glimpse into the darkness and suffering, behind the scenes — Babylon World — each attraction has been curated with its own deviant experiences and perverted exploits, especially for you, our discerning libertine visitor, to enjoy — Babylon World — here’s a sampling of what we have to available …”

“Execution’s Square — see our central podium at the heart of Babylon World. Come experience a real execution every hour on the hour! Voodoo Village — join in the mambos dance. Come and enact with the strange and perverted loa (spirits) as they possess the weak-minded. The Pedro drums are calling you for the sacrifice of the ‘goat with no horns’. Demon’s Domain — for all those who love a good satanic black mass. Join the themed sex orgies performed continuously for your deviant delights. Cannibal Cove — have you a hankering for the taste of human flesh? Well, hanker no more. Get a taste for the real thing.”

Bartholomew stood naked. He was masturbating himself as he made a call to room service.

”Yes, two of them … as usual,” he said, “Make sure they are both very small and very pretty. Excellent. Thank you,” he hung up the hotel room phone.

Angelina Lala lay across the soft black rubber sheets of their huge circular bed. The entire suite had been functionally designed especially for their piss, shit, and blood play.

She toyed with the distinction bulging outline of her girl cock covered by only her thin, black-lace camisole. She watched her husband christen their suite, casually urinating over the couch and the thick-pile carpet, as he talked on the phone. They both were addicted to the stench of piss and shit whenever they played together with young ones.

Ms. Lala wasn’t very tall. Something below five foot in fact. She was a tiny dynamo of a sex-bomb. Highly perverted. Of mixed blood, she could have been mistaken for Asian, Icelandic, or even South American. It was impossible to tell where she was from … except the give-away was her Russian ascent.

“Hurra daaar-ling … I need za taste of frezz boi pizz!” she said, holding out her empty champagne flute.

“Soon my dear. Soon.”

He looked for a moment at her. He admired her exquisitely make-up face, especially her dark reddish Egyptian eyes. She looked exquisite as usual. Her long black hair was tied in two school-girl ponytails, that contrasted her pure lily-white complexion. In fact, Bartholomew loved his pretty trans-wife’s child-like physique. It was something about the combination of her blackish nipples cresting her hard-fist-sized implants, and her devil-infested four-and-an-half-inch clit that never seemed to go limp. She was a demon in bed.


The sound on their door announced the arrival of their first special room-service treat. Bartholomew thought nothing of answering the door completely naked and fully erect. Ms. Lala watched him closely as the two young sissy boys were escorted into the room and her lover closed the door behind them — not before tipping the man-servant with a more than generous gratuity.

Ms. Lala got up from the rubber-covered bed and strutted over to the twin sissies in her six-inch stilettos. It gave her the impression of height, though her stature was tiny in comparison to her husband, Bartholomew.

“Twinz?” she asked.

“I believe so my dear.”

“How sweet. Incest is so delicious.”

She inspected the two young preteen fembois who were dressed in short arm-less tunics that barely covered their groins. Her small fingers ran along the hem of their tunics so that her fingertips brushed against their sensitive parts beneath. They smiled sweetly, showing their eagerness to please her.

She pulled the first of the two closer to her and kissed his small mouth. He responded by kissing her back. Yes, he tasted so young and sweet. She placed her hands on his hips and drew him closer so that her erection pressed against the front of his short tunic.

Bartholomew watched eagerly. He adored the way she seduced her prey. She loved giving him a show.

Her leg pressed between his so that the tunic was drawn upwards, exposing the young boi’s genitals. She lightly frotted against him. Then, without turning, she pressed her camisole-covered backside against the other boi’s groin. He pressed himself against her, frotting his aroused penis against her bottom. His hands held her hipbone and he leaned forward and kissed her exposed neck.

Ms. Lala, pushed the first boi back onto the bed so that he sat on its edge. She picked up the empty champagne flute and pressed its opening against the young boi’s erect penis so that it pointed downwards into the empty glass vessel. He intuitively knew what she wanted. She grinned evilly as she smelt acrid yellow urine. Soon the glass was full. She brought another flute and his twin filled that too.

Bartholomew took the first of the two champagne flutes and held it up the light. He sniffed its sour bouquet like a connoisseur would evaluate a fine wine. They both drank until their flutes were empty.

“Ahhh,” sighed Ms. Lala in satisfaction, “So delicious. More?”

“Of course. But I prefer to drink from the source.”


The tiny girl looked very scared.

Her eyes were already beginning to tear up. Her breathing ragged from hyperventilation. Obviously, she was expecting the worst. For the first time, he realized that she was, in fact, human trash. He could do anything he wanted. Here and now. She meant nothing. She was nothing. If he raped and murdered her, there would be no police involvement, no investigation, no missing person report. He could take her to the balcony and throw her off if that’s what he wanted.

He didn’t. But the sensation of power made him physically quiver. His cock had never felt harder. 

He pulled her towards him. Though there was nowhere to run, he felt her resist, ever so slightly. She feared him. He knew it. She feared for her meaningless life. Sedgwick put his strong hand around her delicate throat, just above the dog collar, and squeezed gentled. A tear ran down her freckled cheek.

“Please mister … please mister … don’t hurt me.”

He felt his heart quicken with the rush of power he had over her.

Of course, he was going to hurt her. He was going to punish her. Hit her hard in all her most vulnerable places. He would play and abuse her for a while … and then he was going to rape her in all her pathetic little holes.

Sedgwick felt his cock dripping beneath his gown. Normally he found it hard to get or to sustain an erection, even while looking at extreme porn — but this was a very different situation — this was a raging hard-on, that throbbed and dripped with malicious intent. The promise of violence excites him beyond his expectations. 

“If you do what I say … everything I want … without hesitation … maybe, I will let you leave.”

Hope. It was the cruelest of all deceits. Yes, he would give her a glimmer of hope in return for her compliance. But of course, it would be a lie. She would be leaving in a body bag. That was the nature of his game. Control. Power. Destruction.

He wanted desperately to touch himself. To hold his throbbing organ in his fist. His seed desperately needed an outlet. But he didn’t … not yet. No. Not yet. The delay was glorious. He felt furiously alive, as if a fire had been lit, that threatened to burn everything and everyone.

Sedgwick kissed her mouth. Yes, he could taste her fear. He pushed his thick, ugly tongue into her small mouth. She tried to move backward, ever so slightly. He squeezed her throat harder. She began to gag as his tongue pushed further and deeper and harder into her little orifice.

He broke the choke-hold. She coughed and inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath.

“Everything I want … without hesitation.”


He slapped her face hard. So hard she fell to the ground. But Sedgwick still held the dog leash. He pulled it hard, bringing her to him on her bare knees. Her face was red with his finger marks. She was sobbing. Her small hands held the end of the leash in an effort not to fall down on her face.

With his free hand, Sedgwick opened his black silk gown, exposing his raging fuck pole. His cock veins throbbed with blue blood and the crowned purple head was completely exposed as his foreskin had rolled back down his shaft. Pearls of clear precum glistened at the sensitive tip.

The young schoolgirl looked up at him as if she’d never seen a grown man’s penis, let alone, one that was erect and dripping with precum.

“Kiss it,” he demanded.

She didn’t move. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of repulsion. 

Sedgwick laughed and pulled the dog leash hard. He raised his palm as if to hit her again across the face for her insolence. How dare she.

“Kiss it. I won’t ask again.”

“Please mister …”


Sedgwick hit her again. Much harder this time. She fell side-wards. He didn’t wait for her to get up. Instead, he pushed her onto her back and knelt over her. His cock flesh inches from her tearing babyface.


Around the domed ceiling of the electric dance floor, which glowed with the illumination of black lights and strobes, were open booths of voyeuristic youngsters in different stages of undress — before the glowing eyes of the idol of Inanna-Ishtar, depicted as an androgynous demon … the goddess of sex … it was said in ancient antiquity that her priests were gender fluid with both the reproductive organs of both sexes.

Courtney watched the dance ritual. It seemed like time was slowing down. The music seemed to almost come to stand still — as if caught between the rhythmic beats of Aaylah’s black magick — so slow that she saw the grotesqueness of the moment. The sheer lusting of the crowd, their excited groins, if not fully exposed, tented or wet with anticipation. A water droplet of sweat just hung in the air.

Inanne-Ishtar was speaking to her in this frozen moment. Between the stroboscopic beats. The goddess was calling her name. She was singing to the Raven. Her androgynous idol seemed to move with elegant stealth, while everything else stood still in time.

“Raven. You are my emissary to the world beyond Babylon.”

Courtney could not look away. She was completely mesmerized.

The goddess was so beautiful. So radiant. She was the beginning and the end. Her reign over everything was creation and destruction. The maker and the destroyer. Male and female. Yin and Yang. Light and the dark.

The message was clear.

Unspeakable acts must be performed to honor her. The goddess showed her the image of a middle-aged man whom she described as unworthy. The unworthy one must not return from Babylon. It was her responsibility to make the offering. A blood sacrifice. Nothing else mattered. How you do anything, is how you do everything. The unworthy one must not just die — he must die in accordance with Inanne-Ishtar’s wishes.

“Raven. You honor me. You are my most powerful disciple.”

And then the moment was gone. The dancers. The beat. The strobe lighting. The lust … all returned. Courtney said nothing to Aaylah. For this was her task and her task alone. Inanne-Ishtar, the twin-sex goddess would show her the way.


Cynthia and Christina were both troubled by the journey to Babylon. They had heard many things, disturbing things, about the place. It was Satan’s domain. But their search for a doppelgänger to their mistress’ young nine-year-old daughter, Gloria Washington had brought them to this place. Undeniable was the fact that it seemed to be an unlimited source of dark wishes.

They had met briefing with a man, called Denton De Vile, who claimed to be the procurer of human assets. He meant slaves. His business was human trafficking and he supplied many of the brothels, massage parlors, and other institutions of human unpleasantness with their “livestock.” For the right price, he claimed he could solve their problem. The two handmaidens had furnished, De Vile, with details, photos, videos, and articles of clothing from the girl in question. De Vile had requested hair, blood, and DNA samples … they didn’t question it, they just supplied it.

Genevieve Washington was to arrive that evening and this was the moment of truth. De Vile looked smugly at the two apprehensive women.

“She is exactly what you’re looking for. Have no doubt. Right down to her voice, her demeanor, her walk, and the intimate parts of her nine-year-old body.”

Surely they would be able to tell the difference, as they had known the child from birth? Denton brought out the merchandise. She walked like Gloria. Her height, weight, and pasture were like Gloria’s. Her innocent face beamed just like Gloria’s.

“Hello, Ms. Cynthia. Hello Ms. Christina.”

It was Gloria’s voice. Gloria’s smile. She gave off the notion that they had both been known to her for a long time. The two women just looked stunned. Speechless. They smiled at the young girl.

“I … I … don’t know what to say … she’s … she’s …”

”Perfect, right.”

“How?” asked Cynthia.

“A Babylon trade secret,” answered De Vile, “So, we have a deal?”


Excited to share their news, Cynthia and Christine met their mistress, Genevieve Washington, at the Babylon airport. Genevieve’s usual cool demeanor seemed shaken by the veracity of their story. In the back of the stretch limo, they talked incessantly and proudly showed her a short video of the girl that seemed to be more like Gloria, than Gloria herself. They complained about the extortionist price that Denton de Ville had placed on the so-called merchandise — but Genevieve showed no concern. It would be paid.

The forever night seemed to hold many mysteries in Genevieve’s mind. This was her first journey to the secretive shores of Babylon. She hoped that the handmaidens were right. The provision of hair, blood, and DNA had been rather thought-provoking — was there some kind of black magick involved? However, the perverted video provided by Denton had been very convincing and it had sent an undeniable throbbing deep inside her cunt … a yearning that could only be satisfied by the most debauched of acts.

After arrival at the Infernal Spire, several negroid man-servants handled the mistress’ luggage. The handmaidens went to their respective rooms located on the lower floors — where Genevieve was taken in the personal lift to her penthouse on the 300th floor. They had provided their mistress with Denton’s contact … the rest of the details, Genevieve wanted to take care of herself.





“Babylon World — abuse, rape, and torture are our middle names … Babylon World — find your true sexual psychopath here with us … Babylon World — whatever your vice, you’ll find it at the home of the beast 666 … Babylon World — the blacker soul, the more rewarding the outcome … Babylon World —

Babylon World — here’s a sampling of what we have available …”

“Haunted House Of Wrath — explore the dark and terrifying mausoleum of evil spirits. Have you ever wanted to experience sex with a succubi or an incubi or maybe both? Convent Of Baphomet — join our corrupt clergy, those sexually depraved nuns and priests, as they bow down to a different god. The god that demands young boys and girls to be deflowered and then castrated. Carnival Of Sins — why not enact the Seven Deadly Sins in style? Belphegor’s Inquisition — sufferance has never been so cruel with the demon of filth. Inhale the bouquet of rancidness. Pray to the god of toilets, of piss and feces. Hell’s Flames — hot and roasted, flayed and tortured. Be a night demon and explore your darkest side.”

Bartholomew and Lala discussed the choices of evening entertainment. Bartholomew suggested the Carnival of Sin, which came highly rated for the extremes of the seven deadly sins … Lala seemed to prefer the Convent Of Baphomet as their first pit-stop. Bartholomew let her decide. The Convent Of Baphomet was a blasphemy-themed theatrical production. They could both relax and take in the cultural “Shakespearean-inspired” tragedy. However, it promised more than sword fights and young star-crossed lovers, as it boasted of much lust, perversion, and a real bloody crucifixion. 

The Convent Of Baphomet was hosted in a gothic-monastery-like theater. The play’s theme seemed loosely based upon the “Second Coming Of Christ” — where the Son of God, — the Messiah gets crucified again, but not before he’s abused, raped, and castrated by the cruel judgment of the church. 

Lala was very excited about the plot … Bartholomew wanted her to witness her first castration ritual.

It seemed like only hours before the debauched pair had been fucking the twin preteen boys — fucking their tight little boi-cunts … sucking their tiny boi cocks … and eating their watery boi cum … but with the forever night, one quickly lost all sense of time.

Upon arrival at the theater, the audience had all been given themed outfits to wear. Long black robes covered their nakedness with pocket slits that gave them access to easily touch themselves beneath their gown, should they feel the urge to do so.

There were about fifty other guests, all dressed for the twisted performance. Finger food and fine champagne were flowing, served by near-naked waiter bois. Even before the performance had started, some of the guests showed signs of sexual arousal. After their refreshment, they were all ushered inside the finely appointed theater that was decorated in crimson upholstery, black leather, and real-gold trimmings. It was intimate, yet spacious for the audience. Each couple sat on velvet love seats positioned around the low, semi-circular stage. Each of the love seats featured strong vibrating functions so that their genitals would be constantly stimulated.

The lights softened to complete darkness.

The eerie music set the erotically-charged mood as the curtain began to rise. The excited audience clapped loudly as the opening scene unfolded, set against the backdrop of the gothic architecture, fake stained glass windows, and a huge cross.

A single cone of light shone down on the narrator. He was an effeminate boi, bare to the waist, with only a simple loin cloth to cover his genitals. The audience became silent as he began to speak.

“T’was the eve of Halloween,
In fair Babylon, we set our scene.
That the Baphomet sort to sacrifice,
the second coming of Jesus fucking Christ.”

The stage became brighter as the narrator stepped into the wings. Seated upon a high-backed, thorn-like chair was the Abbess. She was dressed in black shiny leather and her crucifix was conspicuously inverted.

The naked Jesus was brought forward for judgment before the Abbess by two young boi monks dressed similarly to the audience. Jesus looked battered and bruised. He had a crown of thrones upon his head and blood ran down his neck. It looked real.

“They claim you to be the Son of God,
Healing the sinful world — what a fraud.
A great messiah or a wanna-be?
Sent to fair Babylon, to set us all free.
What trickery and deceit,
Such blasphemy you dare to speak.”

The sexy Abbess spoke her lines as she strutted like a dominatrix on spiked thigh-high boots — her revealing gown barely covering her buxom breasts and upper thighs. Behind her, the huge cross began to rotate until it was inverted.

The actor that was supposed to play the part of the naked Jesus, didn’t seem to realize the outcome of this tragedy would involve his actual castration. His head was lulling, as if he’d been drugged.

Lala thought it was a great performance.

One of the boi monks spoke.

“A prankster. A trickster. A cheating dog.
He’s no angel. No Son of God.”

”Yer. He’s no messiah. Look at his limp cock”

Replied the other.

“For forty nights, he refused the devil’s pleasure.
A test we use. His resistance, we thus measure.
If he cums — he’s no better than we,
Sodomize him. Rape him. Castrate him … I decree!”

The audience stirred with anticipation as the Abbess knelt before the naked Jesus and began to suck his limp cock. Her fingers gripped his shaft and testicles, masturbating him into her wanton mouth. Jesus soon became fully erect. Pleased with her work, the Abbess stood back. The two young monks continued to masturbate the fake Jesus, who seemed to enjoy their sexual attention.

Lala’s cock throbbed beneath her gown. The vibrating love seat purred as she began to masturbate faster.

“See, his cock betrays his fire.
Hail the lust of his truly perverted desire.
You’re no savoir or shining light,
You’re just another filthy sodomite.”

The young boi monks eagerly bound the naked Jesus to a large inverted cross that lowered from the stage above. The actor playing the naked Jesus seemed to take difference to being bound, but it was all too late, as he was quickly immobilized by the strong young monks. 

The Abbess kissed the mouths of the two boi monks. They opened their gowns and began stroking their eager hard boi cocks.

“In God’s likeness, he may have created thee.
But, it’s the devil’s form, that you will see.”

With those words, the Abbess opened her gown to reveal her true sexual identity to the audience. A transsexual with large, full breasts, hard, long nipples, and a huge erect cock and low-hanging testicles.

The stained glass windows disappeared and in their place was an enormous effigy of Baphomet — its huge phallus seemed to glow behind the Abbess. 

The Abbess stroked her wet, flesh-stick up and down, as she strutted to the front of the small stage. She looked out into the masturbating audience and her eyes came to rest on her choice.

Her fingers pointed at Lala …

“Come hither, young plaything, with gilding knife.
Come suck his cock, then take his life.”

Lala let out a squeal of delight.


“P-please Mister … [sob] … P-please Mister … [sob] … D-don’t hit me … [sob] … D-don’t hit me … I’ll do what you say …[sob] … Just … Don’t hit me …”

The tiny girl was bleeding from the lip and her nose. There were other cuts and abrasions across her face, neck and upper body. She had blood on her hands, and she’d tried to wipe herself unsuccessfully. Her tears wet her cheeks and her hair was damp from both blood and tears. She looked a mess, but Sedgwick didn’t seem to mind it. Maybe he got off on it as he pressed his thick cock head into her face while kneeling over her. His hands gripped her in a vice-like grip, so she couldn’t move, even if she wanted to.

“I’m glad you finally understand … you fucking little slut! It’s all your own fault, you know … little flirts like you … always using your sexy little bodies … pretending you don’t know the effect you’re having on men like me … all the time, teasing and tempting us with your fucking elusive virginity … as I see it, you’ve got it coming!”

He aggressively pulled her legs apart. Pressing his precum-coated cock against her tiny bald slit, he thrust into her.


Courtney was Raven. She saw herself as a vigilante. She was on a mission, making no apologies for her bloody actions. She quietly stashed her motorbike in a dark alley and dropped down a fire escape exit from the Infernal Spire basement. The car park was filled with a plethora of exotic expensive automobiles. She scoffed at the showiness of these decadent and conspicuous forms of consumption.

Hiding in plain sight. She blended in with all the darklings, goths, reprobates, prostitutes, pimps, and the underbelly. She dressed darkly boyish. Her deep hood concealed her true identity. Though the security cameras blinked with red lights everywhere, she knew the semi-darkness would make it impossible to trace her. In two minutes she’d hopped past any detection, broken through the encrypted door codes, and was in the VIP lift roaring upwards toward floor 106.

The goddess, Inanne-Ishtar, had given her an assignment. A test, no doubt, of her willingness to do her every bidding. The victims were always the rich, powerful, and evil. They came to Babylon to feast at the banquet of the weak. To rape and murder without consequence. Inanne-Ishtar sought to cleanse Babylon of its rot. Who was he or she or them? Did it matter? She was “consequence” …


Though Sedgwick had always been a loner, tonight he craved to share. And Babylon was filled with perverts and deviants, just like him. And wealth, in a place like Babylon, can buy you anything you want … even buy kinship — should you be of that persuasion.

He’d enjoyed the solo fun with his first school girl. Her resistance had been most enjoyable, but in the end, Sedgwick had gone a little too far and now she lay silent on the floor of his room on the 106th floor. He’d cleaned himself up and called down for one of the negroid manservants to remove the girl’s lifeless, bloody and defiled body. The first of many, he told himself.

Yes! Babylon was turning out to be just wonderful.

In the bar, he’d met a young man by the name of Jesse North. Their eyes made contact and Sedgwick felt a twinge in his balls.

“I’m new to Babylon,” confessed the effeminate Jesse, “It’s difficult to get reservations this time of the year.”


“Well, I’m new here too. But I know that money can get you anything we want here. Anything.”

Young Jesse was the lead singer in a death metal band, called Corpse Lovers. He was somewhat of a minor controversial celebrity. Sedgwick had heard his songs and actually liked his music. It had inspired many an orgasm. Sedgwick found Jesse’s gender fluidity refreshing as they excitedly talked about ritual rape, snuff movies, and the taste of human flesh.

“I love your satanic groove,” gushed Sedgwick, “You’re so fucking talented. And your voice gives me such a hard-on when you sing about ‘masturbation mutilation’ — fuck those lyrics really talk to my soul.”

”Yer, thanks, man. Of course, most of the fans take it as just dark fantasy … unlike you,” Jesse’s hand stroked the outline of Sedgwick’s cock as it pressed against his trouser-front, “It must be so cool to do whatever you want, to whoever you want, when you feel the urge to kill. That gives me a hard-on.”

“Why don’t we finish our drinks? We could go upstairs and party together. I’ve already killed one young whore today — maybe it would be more fun to share a kill together … with a real demonic artist? I’d love to look into her virgin eyes, as you strangle her from behind, and we fuck her in a double penetration.”

”Cool. Yer. Fuck, man. What do you fancy next?”

”Boi or gurl, I don’t mind, as long as they’re young, petite, and helpless,” answered Sedgwick.

“Let’s do a boi together.”

Jesse kissed Sedgwick full on the mouth, their tongues (like two evil serpents) danced and entwined, as Sedgwick’s hand stroked the hard lump in the front of Jessie’s pants.

“Fuck, all of a sudden, I want to suck femboi dick and drink his piss!” groaned Sedgwick into Jesse’s mouth.

Jesse closed his eyes as Sedgwick’s fingers gripped his erection and masturbated him through the loose fabric of his Hammer pants.

“Hey, afterward, there’s a vore party at the Sanctvm … but I heard it’s very exclusive … strictly members only …” Jesse moaned.

This was music to Sedgwick’s murderous ears. Vore. Cannibalism. Another of his taboo fantasies. Snuff and the taste of human flesh. Another Babylon highlight, maybe? That would be something to savor.

”Then we’d better become members.”

“It’s not that simple,” joked Jesse.

”Oh, yes it is. You’re famous. And I’m obscenely rich.”




“Since Babylon World first opened its bejeweled gates, it has become bigger than just a playground for the rich, powerful, and famous. It is so much more than the sum of its gambling houses, exotic entertainment, luxurious hotels and resorts, and extraordinary architecture. It continues to be a world-first. Forget the naysayers. Babylon World is the new frontier for those seeking pleasure beyond the boundaries of the ordinary — because it was here that you will find your real freedom of expression in the forever night.” 

“The rumor mill around the true nature of Babylon is always writhed with stories of demonic intervention — these so-called theories suggest that the ‘forever night’ was created by Lord Satan himself, to be the birthplace of the ‘End Of Days’ — that this harbor of sin, lust, and death — will soon spread and engulf the entire world. Religious zealots have tried to forbid their people to travel to this twilight world — that they say is the spawn of the Devil’s loins. Be it true or false, you can buy your tickets now, online. No need for passports or visas, as long as you can pay, you can play! And there are no rules to this game.”

The moment of truth had arrived.

Denton de Ville was to arrive within the hour and deliver on his promise of a doppelganger of Genevieve’s young daughter, Gloria. In the hour or so leading up to this moment, Genevieve had been masturbating furiously at the thought of committing incest with her daughter (be it a doppelgänger or not). The fantasy made her shudder like an earthquake and squirt like a fire hydrant. She’d played the video of the young girl who was identical in every way to her young Gloria. Genevieve was both surprised and delighted at the girl’s likeness as she masturbated to the video over and over.

At Genevieve’s request, Cynthia and Christine, her handmaidens, had met with Denton in the hotel lobby. Now, with the doppelgänger, they ascended in the private lift that would bring them up to the 300th floor of the Infernal Spire, where Genevieve awaited their imminent arrival.

“Madame Washington,” said Denton, “I am pleased to introduce to you … Gloria.”

The pretty young girl was dressed in white Bobby socks and brown school shoes. She wore a plain white school shirt with a skimpy blue and red plaid skirt. It was Gloria’s boarding school uniform. Her hair was tied back in two ponytails, the way Gloria always tied her hair, and over her shoulder, she carried a small backpack. It was as if Mr. Denton had picked Genevieve’s daughter up from school on the way over to Babylon.

Genevieve was silent. She couldn’t move. She just stared at the young girl standing five feet in front of her. The video didn’t do her justice. How could this be? She was looking at her daughter — identical in size, height, body shape, hair, and skin tone and her features were exact in every way.

“Mommy,” said the girl with Gloria’s sweet sing-song voice.

Denton edged her forward as if to say, “Hug your mother.” The girl did exactly that. Genevieve was trembling as the young pretender put her arms around her and hugged her for the first time. The girl kissed Genevieve’s tearing face.

“ Mommy … I love you,” she said, brushing a stray hair from her pretty face, “Mommy, I’m feeling very tired. Can you put me to bed?”

It was like a lightning bolt hitting Genevieve. The reason they were here in Babylon. The deal she’d done with Mr. Denton. The explicit video showed the young girl naked, aroused, and touching herself. Genevieve had marveled at the young girl’s flat chest and coin-sized nipples. Her body was delightful with just a wisp of light brown fur above her virginal vagina.

It was time.

“Yes, of course, my dearest,” answered Genevieve, her mouth was dry and her timbre couldn’t disguise her extreme excitement.

The two handmaidens, Cynthia and Christine, knew intuitively that it was the cue to leave. They quickly and quietly ushered Mr. Denton out the door to leave their mistress and the young girl alone.

“Mommy,” said Gloria, “I’m afraid. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Yes, my dear. Tonight and every night. It’s rather warm, let’s sleep without our clothing. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course I am, Mommy. You’re so beautiful. I missed you so much. I love to look at your naked body. It makes me wet between my legs.”

Genevieve stroked her daughter‘s beautiful long hair that was still tied in ponytails. She pulled her delicate child closer and kissed her gently. Gloria kissed her mother back. As their lips touched, Genevieve could no longer control her aching incestuous passion. It had literally been years that she’d spent fantasizing about molesting her own child. Her kiss was wet, open-mouthed, and hungry. Gloria returned her wantonness. They French-kissed for what seemed forever, neither stopping to breathe as they devoured one another.

“Why don’t you undress? I need to taste your cunt, darling. In fact, I have thought of nothing else since you were born.”

Gloria smiled at her mother’s incestuous words.

”Mommy, I’ve been a very naughty girl …” Gloria pouted, “I think I might have wet myself.”

How did Mr. Denton know about Genevieve’s wet sex fantasies? More dark magick. Genevieve quaked again. Her juices were running down the inside of her legs. She watched Gloria remove her tiny white knickers and hold them up in the light. They looked semi-transparent and soaked in yellowish pee. She dangled them on the tip of her middle finger.

“Let me see,” groaned her incestuous mother.

Gloria smiled evilly and willingly complied. She shyly handed the wet undies to her mother, who immediately brought them to her face. She felt the piss-wet fabric against her skin. Covering her face, she inhaled deeply. Not satisfied, she sucked the soaked fabric in her mouth, eager to taste the sourish flavor of her own daughter’s urine.

“Mommy! I’m so sorry. My bladder is so full. I have to pee-pee …”

Mother and daughter moved quickly to the bed. The silky, black rubber sheets would pool any liquids at the center of the large round bed. Nothing would go to waste. Genevieve found it incredulous that her own daughter could be so perverted at such a young age. Like mother, like daughter, she mused.

The nine-year-old was like an expert wet-sex slut. As Genevieve lay back on the warm sheets, Gloria stood immediately above her mother’s face, looking down, as she held her tiny piss-lips apart, to expose her urethra.

“Mommy, I cannot hold it any longer. I … I just cannot,” the little girl acted out the words that Genevieve had fantasized about a hundred times or more, “Mommy, oh, Mommy, I’m going to wet myself …”

”Oh my fucking gawd,” Genevieve moaned.

The cascade of hot salty piss literally sprayed like a fire hydrant from her daughter’s cunt. Genevieve’s oily fingers moved vigorously in and out of her own juicy cunt. Her forefinger and thumb, squeezed her bullet-like clitoris, as she opened her mouth to swallow as much as she could of her daughter’s urine fountain.


“Come hither, young plaything, with gilding knife. 
Come suck my cock, then take his life.”

Lala let out a squeal of delight. She turned quickly to Bartholomew. His eyes told her what she needed to know. They simply said “Do it” as the transgendered Abbess beckoned her presence onto the stage with her pointed finger. Up until this point, Lala hadn’t realized that audience participation was an integral part of their storytelling. Her cock was throbbing hard with the unexpected excitement of this surprise. 

“Stand before me and remove thy frock, 
It’s time to pay homage to baphometic cock.”

Lala allowed her long black gown to fall from her shoulders so that everyone could see her delightful androgynous form. She couldn’t help but continue to stroke her stiff, wet cock as she nervously stepped up on the low stage. She could see for the first time that the entire audience was also in a state of near nakedness — and that all the so-called females in the audience were, in fact, all transsexual — everyone was watching her as they pounded their precum-dripping cocks.

Now the entire theater smelt of cock. 

Lala knelt naked before the sexy Abbess and began to eagerly suck the crown of her nine-inch phallus. It was so much longer, thicker, and harder than Bartholomew’s. She imagined taking it in her tight, little ass-cunt. It would hurt, but she didn’t care. 

“Christ be fucked. We’re the Devil’s own.
Transgendered demons. Upon the queer throne.
Sodomise Jesus, the son of god.

With thy jagged blade, sever his limp rod.” 


Jesse North and Sedgwick Thresh had returned to Sedgwick’s resort suite on the 106th floor. All signs of what had transpired earlier in the evening had gone. His suite rooms looked perfect. Everything was in place. There were no signs of the struggle, the violence, the blood and body fluids. No dead body. The porn channel was on when the pair of them entered. They were greeted by the erotic sounds of wet, slapping flesh and sexual cruelty that filled the void of the empty room.

In the time that Sedgwick had taken at the bar, had been enough to restore his abode, and to restore his own private lust. He liked this new companion. A loner, Sedgwick, for the first time, felt a sense of evil camaraderie. He’d never had a friend or co-conspirator that enjoyed his love of the obscene.

All that talk about murderous sex and snuffing of young ones, had made him so fucking hot. They obviously enjoyed many mutual lust for the corruption and abuse of those less able to defend themselves. Murderous rape was on both their minds. Jesse was as depraved and twisted as he was. they’d talked incessantly about their love of inflicting pain.

Sadists at heart. Perverts in soul.

They’d both gotten off on sharing their deviant sexual desires that included, among things, the entire journey of sexually abusing, raping, and destroying young pretty things. Jesse and his band, “Corpse Lovers”, had sung about it. He’d written lyrics about it but had yet to actually enjoy the real thing. Sedgwick had fantasized about it, but had experienced the rush it gave him, firsthand — he was eager to experience it again (and again, and again).

“It’s a feeling like no other,” intimated Sedgwick, “You feel like a god! Or maybe the Devil himself!” 

“I know. I write about it. I sing about it,” confessed Jesse, “But … this is my first real experience, I’m kind of nervous about it — I’m all jittery inside.”

Sedgewick had called down to order some refreshments and had requested that they send up a young boi for their continued evil entertainment. Both had ideas of what they’d like to collectively do, once they were alone with this new victim, who, like the previous young girl, would most probably leave in a body bag.

“Yer, I know what you mean. I’m the same. My cock is so hard thinking about how we can do it together,” conspired Sedgwick.

“Mine too,” agreed the younger pervert singer.

The doorbell confirmed the arrival of their refreshments and the delivery of their entertainment. Sedgwick answered the door. The first negroid manservant carried a large tray of drinks and an assortment of finger foods. A second negroid manservant brought a fresh-faced youngster in tow. The boi was very pretty, effeminate, and small, just as Sedgwick had ordered.

“Good evening, Sirs,” said the same ugly black man who had brought the girl up to Sedgwick’s room earlier.

He noticed the two excited perverts, dressed only in their black satin bathrobes. He knew exactly what they had in mind for the young boi. He’d been the one to remove the girl’s bloody corpse earlier that evening. It was business as usual at the Infernal Spire. The menu of sexual cruelty, torture, and death was nothing new. He was just one of the purveyors of many taboo delights in the thousands of hotel suites, filled with evil perverts just like Sedgwick and Jesse tonight and every night in this den of twisted iniquity.

“Everything is to your satisfaction?”

“Thank you. Yes … Here … Er …” fumbled Sedgwick.

Excited, Sedgwick tipped the manservant’s as they left. Sedgwick licked his fat greasy lips. As he closed the suite door, the feeling inside him began to rise … it was almost overwhelming. Pure evil. Sex and death. The devil was inside his loins. The evil pair removed their bathrobes and stood naked on either side of their prey. Both were fully erect and eager for anal and oral penetration.

“Very pretty,” said Jesse, as he fondled the young boi, who was dressed in just a short tunic, without shoes or any undergarments.

“Yes. He’s perfect,” agreed Sedgwick, ”I am beginning to really enjoy this place.”

Turning his attention to the boi, he ordered, “Now, boi … Take it off.”

The boi obediently did as he was told. His thin body looked undernourished. He appeared to be less than four feet tall with dirty-blonde, shoulder-length hair. His small testicles were hairless and his penis hung flaccid. This was in sharp contrast to both Jesse and Sedgwick, who were horny as hell and had both begun to masturbate their drooling cocks. Both Sedgwick and Jesse had consumed a large amount of drinks and now the bladders demanded a release.

”I need to take a big piss,” said Jesse.

”Yer. So do I,” said Sedgwick, “Let’s make the little fucker drink it like a fucking human toilet.” 

“Fuck yer,” agreed Jesse. 

Sedgwick pulled the young boi closer and roughly kissed his mouth. The man’s thick tongue penetrated the boi’s mouth. The boi didn’t seem to object but didn’t really seem to be into it either. Sedgwick actually didn’t care. In fact, he liked that the boi wasn’t exactly enjoying it. Resistance only made it more desirable. He would have his way and then destroy the evidence.

“What like, piss in his mouth?” asked Jesse, grinning ear-to-ear at the idea of using the boy’s mouth as a urinal. 

Jesse watched Sedgwick closely as he masturbated himself. His bladder was aching. He couldn’t hold on much longer, but as he watched Sedgwick, he couldn’t help but feel the corruptive power of this evil man. It turned him on, as much to watch, as to participate.

Then, it was his turn.

Sedgwick pushed the young boi towards him and Jesse followed Sedgwick’s lead. He gripped the young naked boy, pressing his erect cock against the boi’s genitals. He frotted against the boy’s flaccid penis. Jesse’s hands closed around the boi’s tender throat as he began to kiss his mouth hard. The feeling of power was extremely intoxicating. He knew he could do anything he wanted to the small, defenseless boy. 

In the center of the luxurious suite was a large round, black rubber “paddling pool”. Though it contained no water in, its soft-padded base and low rubber walls would provide the threesome with the perfect urine-friendly playground. 

“Let’s soak him down.” 

Jesse dragged the boi over the soft wall of the “paddling pool” and forced him to his knees. 


The Raven watched. Inanne-Ishtar was with her.

She saw the two perverts kissing. Mouth to mouth. Their erections rubbed against each other. They’d returned to their suite on the 106th floor and soon reappeared dressed in dark bathrobes as one of the many niggers delivered them a young boi for them to presumably rape and kill.

However, tonight would be a different outcome.

Raven didn’t question who they were, or what they had done in the past — they had been chosen and the unworthy ones must not just die — they must die in accordance with Inanne-Ishtar’s wishes.

She watched them drag the unfortunate young boi into the center of the large rubber paddling pool. They both took turns forcing the unwilling boi to fellate them and drink their urine. First, it was the younger man. He laughed loudly. He hit the boi in the face, before forcing him to suck his adult-sized cock. The cruelty and non-consensual nature of this act seemed to excite the two men even more.

She saw the man urinate into the boi’s mouth. She could tell that the young naked boi wasn’t into it. He tried to turn away and was slapped again, even harder. Reluctantly, the boi took hold of the man’s throbbing cock. He masturbated the man and guided his cock into his small mouth. The urine went everywhere. She guessed that this was the whole idea of the paddling pool.

Then, the other man took over. He hit the boi several times. A lot harder than the first man. His sadistic nature was very obvious. He looked like a hungry wolf, about to devour his victim. He gripped the boi’s head between his hands and began to fuck his face. They both laughed loudly. He began to piss down the throat of the boi, who tagged and choked. 

Yes, it was time to make her move. She stepped out of the shadows.

“Who the fuck are you?” said the man with his stiff cock still down the choking boi’s gullet.

The Raven raised her hand. Everything began to move in slow motion (just as it did in the Golden Calf. The middle-aged man seemed paralyzed in her presence. A ghostly blue mist expelled from her lips — its vapor trail snaked toward his widened eyes. The grip he had on the boy loosed and the child shrunk away. The man’s penis was still erect, dripping with pearls of wet precum and glistening with the boi’s spittle. The mist reached him a gasp and as time began to move faster, he momentarily made a strange choking sound as it penetrated his mouth. He clasped at his own throat and fell to his knees. 

“What the fuck?” said the other younger man. 

The Raven turned to the younger man. Everything slowed again to almost a standstill. He too seemed unable to move. Naked, erect, and rooted to the spot. The blue mist reached him too. His eyes stared back disbelievingly at Raven. Time began to move again as the younger of the two men fell, also to his knees.

The crying boi looked up at Raven. Fear. Relief. She wasn’t sure.

“Inanne-Ishtar has spoken,” said the Raven, “The true Goddess of Babylon demands your souls.” 


To be continued?


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