Satanic Slave I

Author: jasfrmn12
Title: Satanic Slave I
Date: 10 September 2010

If Satan does exist, I know him. Intimately.

Years ago, back when I was a person and the best way to find other guys was either in a bar or club or through the personals in a local gay rag. I was at home, mulling over the latest issue of one such journal that I'd picked up at the RamRod the night before. And that's where I came across this little life-changing gem:

LOOKING FOR COCKSUCKERS WHO KNOW THEIR PLACE IS BETWEEN A MAN'S THIGHS,
REVERENTLY NURSING HIS COCK FOR AS LONG AS THEY ARE PERMITTED. FAGHOLES
WHO KNOW HOW TO WORSHIP PRICK AND NEED NO ATTENTION, AFFECTION, OR
VALIDATION OTHER THAN THAT WHICH A MAN PROVIDES THROUGH HIS RELEASE.

Yep. That caught my eye. And my libido. There was a phone number there,
but a toll-free number. What the fuck? This has got to be some strange
crusade from some well-meaning religious group or something. So I put the
thing aside and went on with my day.

But I couldn't get that damn ad out of my head. That night, while watching
TV, my fingers kept twiddling and rubbing around that ad on the page,
practically massaging the damn thing all evening long. My dreams that
night were filled with, yes, me worshipping cock. After cock. After cock.
I'd wake up throughout the night humping the mattress like a madman. The
words just ate into my brain: "NURSING ... COCK FOR AS LONG AS
... PERMITTED ... NEED NO ... VALIDATION OTHER THAN ... A MAN'S
... RELEASE."

This was kind of a revelation to me. I was old enough (20) to know what
turned me on. I loved a lot of kink. The more the better. But I never
really thought about it as anything more than play. And this was serious
shit. There was no way I was going to let this go. I knew if I did, I'd
always wonder what would have happened if only I had the balls to at least
make a fucking phone call.

So the next evening, as soon as I got home from work, I grew some balls and
made the call. Well, it wasn't quite that easy. I mean, I sat on my bed
dialing the number and thought, "Wait. I gotta be prepared for this. I
don't want to sound like some amateur dumbfuck. What's the man who wrote
this going to want to hear?" I paced back and forth trying to figure that
out. How to respond to this in a way that's going to give me what I want.
"And, while I'm at it," I wondered, "just what the fuck DO I want from
this?"

I really had no goddamn idea. I just knew I needed something that I'd
never found anywhere else before. It was as if this ad, these stupid
words, were an IV drip instantly making me an addict to a drug I'd never
known or even suspected existed.

It was then that I knew what to do. I stripped off everything, got on my
knees at the side of the bed, and dialed.

"Yeah, cuntface?"

Holy fucking shit. Just hearing this guy's voice made my dick drip. I was
somehow able to turn off all the instincts that were screaming inside me to
hang up the phone and let my dick be my instinct.

"Yes, Sir. I'm a cocksucking faghole, Sir, and I'm responding to your ad."

"Whereabouts are you, fuckface?"

"I'm kneeling beside my bed, Sir."

"That's nice to hear, asswipe, but I meant where in the fucking country."

Jesus. This guy's got ads nationwide? "I'm in Chicago, Sir."

"Good. So tell me, dickbreath, why am I getting this call?"

"Sir, I wish I knew. All I know is since I saw that ad, I can't think of
anything else."

"Alright, cumwhore. Tomorrow evening, 6pm. Lincoln Park. South of
Diversey, east of Sheridan. There's a large monument for Alexander
Hamilton there. Be on the Southeast corner of the monument, kneeling like
you say you are now."