It’s empty today. Other Disciples crash here, but today they’re out. The Leather Messiah spins a web, and none of His Disciples know what His final design is. The Disciples obey the Leather Messiah.
Snake waits, recumbent on the tattered couch, a fat blunt smoldering between his fingers. A mass of golden hair ensnares his shoulders. On his shoulder is a tattoo of unspeakable evil: tentacles and cocks writing in unwholesome bliss.
He’s stripped naked. His fat boner leans over his hard stomach, dripping liquid like molten diamonds. His nuts are ripe plums, eager to burst.
He waits, eyes bloodshot and dreamy. The heavy air, like held breath. The heat of a North Carolina summer. Thunder booms like the cannons of the gods at war.
Alone, except for television’s comedy of fear.
An announcer pauses, wipes slavering lips, plunges on. There’s been an outrage, a travesty, a disaster. Some insane country held elections–but America’s candidate was resoundingly defeated. How can this be? Electoral fraud, must be; no one could have any genuine objections to the American way of life. Poor benighted third-worlders, wallowing in their ignorance. Who will bring them shopping malls? Democracy? Doritos? Diabetes? Analysts debate strategy. The crucial question: shall we correct the electoral returns through starvation, by conventional bombing, or a traditional nuking?
Snake laughs uproariously. Demons rule this world. It’s just a matter of finding one most in accord with your personal tastes.
He hawks a huge wad of spit, languorously masturbates. He’s got a gutsplitter of a prong. Thick and long, with a fat urethra capable of vomiting cup after cup of hot biker semen. Apple-sized cockhead. Urethra thick as your finger. Veins web the shaft.
Do you like him?
Snake starts, relaxes, takes a long drag, holds it, soars higher and higher, a dizzy eagle reaching for the unobtainable sun. “Hot fucker. I’d like to plow him.”
Good. Maybe I’ll let you fuck him later.A pause.Do you love me?
The golden afternoon thrusts between the slats of the blinds, Apollo’s fingers caressing his lithe form, reaching for his fat cock.
“You fuck like a god,” Snake says. “But I don’t think I love you. How could I love someone like you? You’re not human.”
I am the Leather Messiah. Is that not enough?
“Love ain’t nothing but a good hot fuck.”
A chuckle like boulders falling in a cavern.Let me teach you what love is, then.
A sound burbles like slow boiling wax from the old furnace grate.
A frisson of excitement shivers up Snake’s cock. Heart beating fast, he stubs out the blunt, props himself up on his elbow to look.
Enter the Leather Messiah.
A mound of flesh lifts itself through the grate. It resembles, if you the uninitiated could bear to look at it, an octopus: bruise-colored flesh spotted with mushroom-colored circular blotches. The flesh is liquid and seemingly sentient, flowing smoothly around the grate bars as if the Leather Messiah is a colony of independent, sapient cells.
It shapes itself into a stump of slimy flesh, quivering. Pseudopods rise from the mass and form eyes. Roots ooze across the floor. Cilia rise like cat’s whiskers.
“You are beautiful,” Snake breathes.
He lifts his knees. The purple lips of his butthole beckons the beast towards the warm delight of human ass.
In other times, in other situations, Snake’s a top. But this is the Leather Messiah, for whom all life bottoms.
Like racing snakes the slender roots of the Leather Messiah’s shapeshifting flesh course across the carpet. They brush lightly at Snake’s feet, slithering around them. The Leather Messiah’s flesh is cold, cold as the Jello you’ve forgotten in the refrigerator. But it quivers with life, almost as if its on the verge of orgasm itself. Or perhaps it is orgasm itself, made flesh.
The Leather Messiah’s whiplike tentacles ooze over Snake’s body, embracing him. Snake shivers, moans. Small teeth appear at their tips and bite at his nipples. He jerks like a plucked violin string.
You are hot.
“I’m hot for you.” It sounds stupid even to Snake but he says it anyway. The Messiah has a way of eliciting truth. Hence His unpopularity in America.
I can fuck for hours,the Leather Messiah says,but we don’t have the time. Sanchez is near. He wants to kill us. But I need to cum.
The tentacles tighten on Snake’s body. The Leather Messiah lifts Snake off the couch. An atavistic impulse flares in Snake:twist! thrash! escape!It’s like the scene in the movie when the man-eating tree seizes the virgin and draws her in to be devoured. Snake, aware that ecstasy looms like a dawn after night, fights the impulse down.
Good boy.
The Leather Messiah cradles Snake. Turns him so he’s face downward. With slow strength that hints at the patient, unstoppable power of oak roots gnawing into the eternal earth, the Leather Messiah parts Snake’s legs.
Pretty.
The Messiah draw himself up. The demon is now a Sasquatch-sized mound of flesh. Five eyestalks focus on Snake’s lithe form, waving like sunflowers in a gentle breeze.
I dreamed of you when you were a boy. Small, and frail, and filled with lusts you didn’t understand. I looked at you and I saw your hair like spun gold, and I saw a body that Apollo himself would breed. And I wanted you. It would take time, but one such as I has all the time in the universe.
The Messiah’s chest irises open like a hard fucked butthole. A huge blunt mass of flesh thrusts out. It too is textured like octopus’ flesh, but it’s rigid as steel and dark as obsidian. Foot after foot emerges like a stallion’s cock slithering from its sheath.
The Messiah’s cockhead opens like a tulip. Five finger-like shapes, arranged pentagonally, beckon excitedly between the petals. From those ejaculators bulbs of gelatinous liquid drip. The worn carpet steams where they fall.
The demon moves between Snake’s legs. It arranges its eyes around the tableaux as if it were a director of pornographic photography.
“Do it,” Snake begs. “Do it to me.” His heart feels like a small bomb bursting inside of him. He wants it. Needs it. Again.
Hard?
“Yeah!”
You always wanted to be a demon’s bitch, didn’t you, boy?
“Yeah!”
The Leather Messiah cranks Snake’s legs open wider and wider, exposing Snake’s tight pucker to His gargantuan phallus. Pain shoots through Snake’s hips. He strains to lift his butt, angling it so the demonic phallus can plunder him.
Now it’s time to fuck.
The only god Snake ever imagined himself worshiping was one who went blind with lust. No chastity, no restraint, just one who could dissolve himself into the red fire which drives all living things.
The Leather Messiah draws Snake to Him. His gigantic phallus nuzzles between Snake’s buttcheeks. The ejaculators wriggle like fingers, smearing thick slime on the pucker.
The liquid, like the Messiah, is alive. The hot liquid courses over the pucker like wax. Snake sighs, eyes rolling up. The slime worms its way inside. Warmth dawns in the eternal night of a man’s gut.
The Leather Messiah laughs. The furniture rattles.
Breeding time, beloved!
He heaves forward and rams his phallus into his Disciple.