Leather Messiah

Neither drained nor sated, I yank my length out of him. A dollop of sperm escapes, but no more. He wants my sperm to percolate and stew in him, merge with his flesh.

"Jesus," he pants, "that was--"

A slap across his face shuts him up.We're not done.

One final task. I have a dark design to fulfill.

I start with one finger, slipping it into his bruised hole. He twitches; he is very tender there. The glistening ring is open, pouting, and shows purpled flesh like a dog's lips. A second finger. His anus, winking, trickles a streamlet of my brood-gravy. Good boy. He knows its not over.

A third. A fourth.

Progress comes swiftly. I feel his heart begin to race. His anus loosens on my hand. His flesh is hot, almost hot enough to scar my immortal flesh. My biceps bulge as I strain. His moans rise again, higher and higher. Who knew that my need--and his need--to breed could render such a male a soprano?

His butthole opens, and my fist squelches in, and then his butthole clamps my wrist. From inside he feels like hot liver. His heart throbs, a subterranean sensation, against my clenched fist. All the jism packed inside him shifts and move likes magma.

I open my fingers, scooping up my sperm, gathering it in my fist, packing it, slowly chanting the spell. The packed sperm forms wriggling, wormlike strands against my flesh. I join them inside him, each new strand adding to my child's nascent power. Counting his heartbeats on my forearm, I feel it come to life. He belches. A bubble of sperm grows like a bullfrog's throat on his lips. Urgently I knead his prostate until he thrashes his long hair about. A headbanger's ball, not for his pleasure but to complete my spell, an ensorcellment, not dissimilar to the one which brought this universe into being. His unleavened prostate rises beneath my fingers, swells, engorges, bursts.

Simple. The magic is done.

Now I fade like all the wights of imagination do. But I will not truly leave. I will watch to see what he brings forth.

Jason lays on the floor, conscious of the wetness between his legs, the sperm packed into his innards. His eyes are closed. It's over, but he feasts on the raw red pain.

"Are you all right?" It's Dwight. Dwight is a kind soul. A big man, full of mother's love, like Shub-Niggurath. His hair is buzz cut, his goatee shot with gray. He resembles Sergeant Schultz.

A shuddering breath escapes Jason. He opens his eyes. Sweat stings. His mouth tastes of copper. He smiles at Dwight, to show that he's OK.

But Dwight recoils.

"Yeah, yeah," Jason says. His teeth show crimson stains, as if his gums were bleeding. "Jeez...let me get up."

"No, you just lie there--"

But Jason doesn't feel like just lying there. He doesn't need to obey anymore. He's free of all that. He feels stuffed with life, about to burst with it.

He rolls over onto hands and knees. Sperm squishes in his jeans. The disco's smoky air caresses his ass, which protrudes through the ragged split.

"What happened?" Dwight asks. "I mean, you had some kind of fit, you were moaning and screaming and--"gulp "--cumming all over the place."

Jason cannot reply, because the cramp almost fells him, just as if something's slugged him in the gut.

Strange. It's rather soothing.

But there's immense pressure in his bowels. He's got to get to a toilet and shit out all the spunk percolating in him. It feels like three cellblocks have barebacked him silly.

"I'm OK, I just--" The second cramp strikes, too strong to contain.

A torrent of sperm fountains from his ass. Linda Blair and split pea soup had nothing on this. Glistening sperm, pungent with a demon's stink, coats everyone and everything within twenty feet.

"Jason! What's--"

The next cramp is far, far worse. The flood is the relentless flow of the Mississippi.

Somethinginside kicks, somethinginside twitches, somethinginside thrusts. Something hard and warm and alive is wedged in his rectum. He feels its heart beating, utterly alien and out of sync with his own. It excites him; his cock throbs. His asshole relaxes; another contraction strikes.

Dwight wipes the sperm from his eyes, bends down to per between those abused, pert cheeks.

Another contraction.

Jason cums, his gooey torrent nearly as massive as what his asshole gushed.

The maculate conception slithers free of his body.

"Christ! Shit! Oh my God! It's got tentacles!"