341 lines
20 KiB
Plaintext
341 lines
20 KiB
Plaintext
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #133 |
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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
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- The God -
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by Arifel
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This, the latest in a succession of places to live; a library. An
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ex-library, to be more precise; an ex-primary school's children's
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library, to be exact. After I'd dusted it out and stacked the
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disassembled shelves in one corner, it looked quite presentable.
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I was lucky to get this place; after the school had closed, the main
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rooms were being rented out to clubs, the tiny gymnasium to sports
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groups; the library was the only room that wasn't laid out for
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meetings. The caretaker had been glad to hand the place over to me
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for fifty dollars a fortnight. Officially, he wasn't supposed to do
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this; the place wasn't zoned as residential, but he wasn't about to
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complain, being a hundred bucks a month richer, and no-one noticed
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that I was getting free power from the school's main supply, and
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(until someone started asking questions), three free phone lines. In
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the dead of night, I'd shifted a refrigerator in; there was an
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octagonal pit that had been a kind of class-reading area, which I'd
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filled with mattresses, pillows, cushions, blankets and continental
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quilts. It served as a bed. The place no longer smelled of dust and
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disuse.
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I'd arranged candles on nearly every horizontal surface, and late at
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night, I'd light them all and turn off the overhead fluoros. It gave
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the place a medaeval atmosphere, like some old monastery. I walked
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over to the centre of the room where I'd ripped up some of the old
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carpet, revealing a patch of concrete about six metres across. Faint
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blue chalk marks drawn on the rough grey surface marked out the
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arcane symbol I'd found in the book, a rotten old almanac - one of
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many that Jerry had looted from the Vatican library shortly before
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he'd burned it to the ground. I knew why he'd given it to me; he
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knew that I was the only one game to try the summoning detailed
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within.
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For all that the work had been written in german-flavoured latin, I
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couldn't tell which particular faith had inspired this nameless
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book. I was reasonably certain it wasn't Hebraic or Cathar or
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Waldensian or Egyptian; it wasn't Celtic or Arabic or Druidic,
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although some of the illustrations contained a few elements of the
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Horned God. I was thankful for the translations and annotations; I
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could recognise perhaps one word in ten of the original.
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I put on the thick metal-studded collar which had been anointed with
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musk oils; a thick D-ring at the back attached to a loop of leather
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with a two-foot length of metal chain. I started the CD player:
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`Hybrid', by Brooks, Lanois and Eno, a sensual, rhythmic piece with a
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vaguely eastern air; then I arranged the incense at the quarters,
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sprinkled the powder in the burner and stood back as the grey smoke
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mushroomed out across the ceiling. It smelled rank, like animal fur
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after a rainstorm, simultaneously repellent and oddly seductive. I
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stood at the centre of the cleared space, hefted the one-pound bag of
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pure heroin and hacked a hole in the bottom with the athame. The
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white powder began falling to the floor in a three-hundred-dollar-
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a-gram dust storm. I grounded, centred, cleared my mind then filled
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my consciousness with the note, a bass F-sharp and began tracing out
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the symbol in heroin.
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Once it was complete, I went over the pattern again and again until
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the bag was empty, then tossed it aside. I took off my loose robe
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(the cold metal chain brushing against my nipples), went to the
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centre of the roughly elliptical form, raised the athame and (I
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always felt embarassed about this - what I imagined as the
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"performance-art" aspect of ceremonial magick) recalled the words.
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This was something of an experiment, really; the scribe who'd made
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the notes in the original book had mentioned that the effect was the
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same no matter what they chanted, as long as they said it with
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feeling. In keeping with the spirit of the original text, I went for
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a german invocation, using the words I'd first heard Blixa Bargeld
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declaiming at the Old Greek Theatre:
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Meint Ihr Nicht:
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wir koennten untershcrieben
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Auf das und eins biz zwei prozent gehoeren
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Und tausende uns hoerig sind;
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I couldn't be sure if I had all the words correct, but, as the book
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said, it was the feeling rather than the text, and I'd found an odd
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fascination with the power in that invocation. Belatedly, I thought
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about the sense of the words, and realised that they might be
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appropriate after all.
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Very quickly, I felt it: the air was charged as if lightning was
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about to strike. I continued with the invocation, the words ringing
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out proudly in the silence. The air thickened as if someone had
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turned on an array of fog machines; I finished the speech, the
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gutteral German syllables seeming to spark off my back teeth:
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... nur noch kleine kriese ziehen.
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Wir Koennten, aber -
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There was a pause, a silence distrubed only by a faint crackling
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sound coming from the incense burner; then a hand fell on my
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shoulder, a hand the size of a dinner plate. I turned in that
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direction, steeling myself for the sight of what I'd summoned...
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It wasn't Cernunnos, but it may as well have been. He was well over
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two metres tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, carbon-black hair
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gathered in a ponytail over one shoulder a contrast to his pale skin.
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It was bound by a silver ring which was the only item of clothing he
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wore; his features stern, regal, the attitude of a king, or a God.
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Awed, I fell to my knees before him, which conveniently brought my
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face level with his crotch. The book had made mention of a demand
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for sexual favours, but using typically obscure latin
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circumlocutions, so that it wasn't clear exactly what price this
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summoning would exact. He was obviously used to being paid homage,
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however; he smiled down at me tolerantly and brushed my face with his
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fingers as if acknowledging my worship. I became aware of the smell
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of his genitals, an intensified version of the scent from the
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brazier; it reminded me of deep forest air, of wet ground after a
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storm. It made my heart race.
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He spoke, then; soft bass words that sounded, to my untrained ear,
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like Welsh. A question; all I could do was peer up at him
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apologetically. He glanced around the room, taking in the CD player,
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the dead fluoro lights, the modern bookshelves and furniture, then
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smiled down at me again. I felt a surge of warmth every time his
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attention was turned to me, like having a spotlight turned on you,
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like the smile of someone you love. To my surprise, he kneeled
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(still towering over me) and, his hands going under my arms he lifted
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me up, drew me closer to him, the warmth of his body radiating
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through me, dark eyes glittering in the candle-light, his lips
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meeting mine, his arms wrapped around me, their irresistable strength
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evident, enfolding me in his heat, my hands barely able to reach
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around and trace the subtle curves of his muscular back, down to his
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hips, over his corded thighs and around to where his penis was
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dangling almost to the floor. Boldly, I grasped it where it met his
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body in a thatch of unusually soft hair, squeezed gently; I felt his
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lips on mine smile, and I felt that incredible warmth again, almost
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like a reward. I squeezed again and felt the shaft swell, rising to
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press against my thigh. I squeezed harder, sliding my hand up and
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down the length (my God, I thought - Wilson was right about
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ithyphallic Gods! He would have to be at least fifteen inches long,
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erect) while he kissed me, slowly forcing me over until I fell back,
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this incredible being kneeling over me, looking down with what seemed
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like genuine affection; intensified by whatever magickal influence he
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had, it was like rising on a surge of warm air. My head fell back;
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my chest rose as I inhaled his scent. I wanted to keep breathing in
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until I burst.
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The insistent pressure of his growing erection against my side
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reminded me of what I was supposed to be doing here; as subserviently
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as I could, I pushed his arm out of the way, rolled from underneath
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and led him over to the octagonal bed area. He sat on the uppermost
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step while I kneeled between his legs and worshipped his phallus, the
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body of it as large as my forearm, barely able to fit the head in my
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mouth. I wrapped my hands around the base, squeezed and licked along
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the underside up to the head, kissed the end, slipped it between my
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lips and sucked gently. I ran my hands lovingly up and down its
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length, squeezing it between the open palms of my hands, gently
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grasped his testicles, carefully tugged his scrotum downward; felt
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him swell in me, forcing my tongue flat against my mouth, my lips
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straining to hold him. With care I could take about half his length;
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yet holding onto the base and sliding my lips over the end, licking
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and sucking desperately didn't satisfy him. After a while I sensed
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his growing impatience, something I didn't want to be responsible for
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causing. I wasn't pleasing him. There was only one thing to do, and
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I chose it despite the thought that it would most likely kill me. I
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carefully extricated the end of his erection from my mouth; stroking
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him with one hand, I reached out and found a flask of massage oil
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with the other; then, repressing my fear, I turned and knelt before
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him, my feet angled apart.
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He took the flask from me and I felt a trickle of cold liquid on the
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small of my back, running down between my buttocks. He traced its
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path with his finger, following it down, rubbing the tight knot of
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my anus with his knuckle, circling it then pressing his index finger
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against it, gently opening me. Lubricated by the oil, his finger
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slid in easily, rotating to press downward, bending to widen the
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entrance, allowing his thumb and a second finger to join the first;
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he picked up the end of my chain with his other hand, looping it
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around his wrist, one finger through the D-ring, holding me up before
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him. He probed me with care, gently fucking me and adding more
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lubricant until he felt that I was ready; he withdrew his fingers and
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pressed the head of his penis up against me, forcing a fraction of
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the end in, then pulled out, giving me time to accommodate his
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massive form. I recalled it as it had been a few minutes ago, in my
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mouth; the channel along the underside as thick as my thumb, bulging
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veins snaking out of his pubic hair, wreathing the shaft like vines
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around a Doric column; the flanges of the head sharply defined when I
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forced the foreskin back with my lips. When I'd grabbed the base and
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squeezed, it had swollen until it was as big as my clenched fist, and
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now he was forcing it inside me, one inch at a time.
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Each short thrust brought me to the very limit of what I thought I
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could take, and yet he continued, stretching me painfully. I
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imagined my anus distended like my lips had been previously; then he
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began fucking me with longer strokes, adding copious amounts of
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massage oil to ease the way and tugging my head back with the chain.
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I didn't think I was ready, but he grabbed my hip and increased the
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length of his strokes until he forced the entrance and in one burning
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rush, slid the head into me. I gasped with shock and relief, my ass
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contracting over the relatively narrower shaft behind the head.
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With one arm under mine he half-lifted me from the mattress until I
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was lying against his body, his thighs bracing me on either side;
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arching my back in ecstacy, I reached behind and felt at least six
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inches of bulging erection still waiting to be inserted, which he did
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with a cruel lack of haste, holding me above him, allowing me down to
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be impaled on his shaft. I felt entirely ineffectual; a toy, my
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right leg dangling to one side as he slowly fucked me, pushing
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further in each time until I felt the huge head of his cock pressing
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against the entrance to my colon and my ass was stretched around the
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base, which felt as wide as a lamp-post. He sat me down in his lap
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and gripped my own erection, holding it still in his massive fist,
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not jerking me, just holding me and giving the occasional squeeze.
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I could feel something building, like before, magick potential being
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raised; I wriggled from side to side, aware that it was stimulating
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him, bringing him closer to whatever climax was coming. He held my
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painfully engorged erection in one hand and held the other - chain
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looped around his wrist - flat to my chest, pressing me against him.
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I could feel premonitory twitches in his thighs, his chest pushing
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against my back as his breathing grew deeper, his penis swelling even
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larger (I imagined it forcing the bones of my pelvis apart); then he
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started lifting and dropping me again, in time with his breathing,
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which was growing faster. I tried to squeeze on the down-strokes;
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the twitching in his thighs grew more pronounced, he pushed me up,
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letting go of my erection; I fell forward on my hands and knees and
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suddenly, I found myself wondering: what the hell was I doing? Just
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as quickly, the sheer outrageousness of the situation crystallised
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around me, like a collapsing building falling down over me: I was on
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all fours in an abandoned library, being fucked by a God. My one act
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of arrogance had been in daring to summon Him like a servant; now, I
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was paying the price of that arrogance by serving him without
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question.
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He was racing towards climax now, pulling back until the head of his
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erection tugged at my ass, then shoving forward, pressing me into
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the mattress; back and forth, dragging me with him helplessly. The
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strokes slowed with a kind of inevitable fatalism, almost a
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desperate kind of last-ditch attempt to hold on for a few seconds
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more; I imagined that I could feel each vein as it slid into my ass.
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Each time he thrust, his cock pressed up against me inside and my own
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erection shuddered and swelled.
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For a brief moment I crouched there with his cock shoved all the way
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inside me, his balls slapping against the back of my thighs; there
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was a momentary silence, then I felt him jerk and spasm within me. He
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threw his head back and - thankfully, he didn't shout; I think it
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would have burst my eardrums - he gave a long, bass moan of ecstacy
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as he came. My own climax was a minor explosion in comparison, a
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building knocked down by the shock-wave he'd generated. I could feel
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pulses of fluid as they coursed up the channel along the underside of
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his shaft, into me; I imagined him pumping me full -
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His semen felt warm, then hot, and then it was burning me. Having
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done this before (albeit with humans), I was used to a degree of
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discomfort; but this was entirely different. It was as if he was
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pumping me full of liquid fire, a kind of energy that humankind
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wasn't designed to accept; yet with his firm hold on my collar I had
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no choice but kneel before him and accept it, coursing into my body,
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seeking out every crevice and cranny, flowing through me, suffusing
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me. I imagined beams of light coming out of my eyes, molten metal
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dripping from the end of my own cock.
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I was distantly aware of him pulling out of me, a sharp twinge of
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pleasureable pain as his head popped out and hot liquid pouring out
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of my distended ass as I lay there, shaking. He moved around to my
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side and cradled my head in his lap, murmuring words of sympathy in
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that odd-sounding language, my chain still held in his huge hand.
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Despite my overwhelmed state, I still wanted him; my hand reached
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out to touch his still-hard cock, bending it towards my mouth,
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thirsty for more of the energy he'd given me. He kneeled before me
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and allowed me to suck him again, trembling hands massaging his
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magnificent tool, feeling the energy coiling within, feeling it grow
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almost too hot to touch; the head swelling to the point where it was
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trapped behind my teeth and pushing hard against the roof of my
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mouth. This time he helped me, grasping the base and forcing more
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blood into it, my relatively small hands tugging and squeezing next
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to his, but it wasn't until I dared reach down, encircle his scrotum
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with thumb and forefinger and tug down hard that he came again, the
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torrent of blinding white energy filling my mouth. I hung on
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desperately, drinking the hot fluid as it came, sucking hard until he
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was drained and my chest and throat were a glass-thin crucible filled
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with the God's love and light. Just before I collapsed, I felt him
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let go of my chain.
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After a few minutes, I felt that I could move again, my body shaking,
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my arms unable to support my weight. I rolled onto my side and
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gazing up at his contented expression, a deity who had been
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worshipped as he wanted. He stroked my face again, bent down to kiss
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me and I lost consciousness, fading into a deliciously warm darkness
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with a soft glow within and the worn-out feeling of having been well
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and truly fucked. My last coherent thought before I sank into sleep
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was, `What DO people see in Christianity?'
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> TANJ Mailing Address <20> <20> <20> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> PO Box 174 <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> Seaside Hts, NJ <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> 08751 <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>; <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>ݲ<EFBFBD><DDB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۱<EFBFBD><DBB1><EFBFBD>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> tanj@pms.metronj.org <20> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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TANJ Distribution List: Send mail to talmeta@cybercomm.net to be
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added to the TANJ-DL!
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