Chapter 4

Note: Thanks to my beta reader!

---- Lewis Zachary “Zach” Black

It was hard to see anything as I pulled my cock out of Mrs. Fillmore’s asshole. “Nisha the Angel” winked at me as she slid before me. I stepped back to the edge of the circle to give my sister room to kneel, her skin alabaster white, her wings flapping.

She parted the teacher’s butt-cheeks and buried her face between them.

“Nisha!” gasped the teacher. “Oh, my, you’re swirling your tongue around me! I make my disciples do that to me!”

“I taught her,” Sable purred. “She’s such a good ass-licker.”

“I bet,” I growled and brought my dirty dick to my sister’s pussy. The real Nisha was right about her intentions. There had to be a reason for the anal and the ass to pussy for binding faith, I just didn’t get it. I didn’t need to.

I thrust my dirty dick into my twin sister’s pussy. Her hot cunt clenched down on me. She held me tight with her hot flesh. I groaned at that wonderful embrace. It felt so wicked. A wave of heat shot through me as she buffed me clean.

The “angel’s” illusory wings flapped as I gripped her hips. I held my sister, her pussy so familiar. I loved being in her. I drew back my cock. She clamped her cunt down on me. She held me tight with that hot snatch.

I buried back into her.

I fucked to the hilt in my sister’s hot snatch. She buffed me clean with her delicious flesh. I loved it. I reveled in being in her. I plunged over and over into her cunt, grunting with each thrust. It was a beautiful moment to fuck her.

I groaned, thrusting into her cunt with force I fucked her hard and fast. I plowed into her with such delight. It was glorious. She clamped her cunt down on my cock. She held me tight with her juicy flesh. I loved it.

I fucked her again and again. I pounded her with all that I had, the pressure in my nuts growing and growing with each thrust into her pussy. My sister whimpered into the teacher’ asshole. Moira must be scooping out all my cum.

The naughty slut.

I fucked her cunt hard and fast, my nuts slapping into her taint. The sound echoed through the room and mixed with the teacher’s gasps and my sister’s moans. The pressure built at the tip of my dick as my sister buffed me clean.

“Fuck, Nisha,” I groaned. “Your heavenly pussy is purifying my dick after fucking my High Priestess.”

“Mmm, yes, yes, I’m sanctifying her asshole!” moaned “Nisha the Angel”. “Every man who fucks her asshole shall be blessed as shall ever woman who rims her!”

“Praise the Lord!” Mrs. Fillmore moaned, her head tossing. “Yes, yes, I’ll let all your followers fuck my holy ass, Zach! You are my Prophet!”

The light hummed around us, the spell building toward its climax with us.

My nuts tightened as I buried to the hilt in my sister’s juicy cunt. She gripped me with her silky flesh. I rose toward my climax. I hurtled closer and closer to it. I groaned as I fucked her hard and fast. She wiggled her hips, stirring her cunt around me. It was magnificent.

“Yes!” I groaned, hurtling toward that moment of climax.

“That’s it!” she gasped. “Oh, yes, yes, that’s so good. You’re making me feel so good!”

“Damn straight,” I growled and fucked her twat hard and fast. I buried into her juicy cunt with all that I had. “Fuck!”

“Oh, oh, your tongue is amazing in my asshole, Nisha!” gasped Mrs. Fillmore. “I’m going to cum so hard!”

“You better!” my sister moaned. Her “angelic” wings flapped.

The pressure built and built at the tip of my cock as I rushed for that bursting point. I was so glad about it. I just wanted to explode into her asshole. My nuts tightened as I churned her up. She fingered the teacher’s cunt and devoured her asshole.

“All that yummy cum,” whimpered “Nisha the Angel.” “Ooh, that’s the good stuff. Yes, yes, let me get every drop!”

The teacher gasped. Moira must have her “holy” tongue so deep into her asshole. It was just a wild sight as I fucked her anal sheath hard and fast. I loved burying into her with everything that I had. She clamped her cunt down on me.

Mrs. Fillmore cried out in rapture. The circle hummed so loud. This was it. I buried into my sister’s cunt. She squealed out her orgasmic delight. Her cunt writhed around me. The feel of her flesh spasming around me sent me over the edge.

I erupted.

My cum and my sexual energy flooded my pregnant twin sister’s pussy. The light exploded.

“In Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom, I bind you to your new Master. To your new Prophet. To Zach. You shall be his High Priestess and lead the sheep to their new shepherd!”

“I shall!” squealed Mrs. Fillmore as I filled my sister’s twat with my jizz and my power. It surged out, collaring another woman to me. “Oh, my Prophet! I am yours! Yours!”

The spell was completed.

The circle died.

I groaned, pumping the last of my cum into my sister’s pussy. She didn’t even look like an angel any longer. Did it matter? Mrs. Fillmore was bound to me. She swore herself to me. She would be my High Priestess and recruit my own cult of followers. She would spread out and build me the power base I would use to thrust myself onto the world stage.

My sister pulled off me and crawled to the side as Mrs. Fillmore panted. I moved around before her, my cock bobbing. She looked up at me, her face flushed. Her brown hair mussed. She stared at me with such worship in her eyes.

“Who do you worship?” I asked.

“You,” she moaned. “I’m yours, Prophet. Yours.”

“Find them. The troubled ones. The vulnerable ones. Start with your husband and daughter. Chain them from me then move to those church girls you diddle. Look for them. Make them mine. Use them to recruit the lost young man. Pair them. Girl to boy. Let them build relationships with me at the heart.” “Yes, Lord,” she groaned.

“Oh, yes, you shall burn in Hell for this,” Nisha said.

I nodded. Everything had a price.

Charles Swartzenburg II

After a week of sitting in my cell alone for twenty-three hours a day, I had done it. I had astral projected.

My soul left my body. A silver cord led back to it. If that was severed, I wouldn’t die, but there would be no spirit in my body. It would be a husk. It could move and eat and breathe and shit. It would still have my memories, my knowledge, but it wouldn’t have the spark that animated it.

I would move on to my eternal reward in Molech’s kingdom in the underworld.

Well, it wouldn’t be a reward if I had displeased him. I had to win back his graces, or my suffering in Hell would be great. I would not rule as one of his dukes in the feudal panoply of the Abyss, I would be one of the slaves ground beneath the heel.

So no pressure.

I was Charles Swartzenburg the Second. I carried the blood of kings and emperors. I would not be stopped by one poor piece of white trash from their trailer park. I wouldn’t be confined to a cell. I was free to go where I wished.

I found a guard sleeping on duty. A fat piece of shit named Bubba Ducain. He was dreaming of strippers. I slipped into them, watching him drool over the beautiful women on stage. They were out of his league, but he burned for them.

I manifested as an Angel of Light.

“Bubba Ducain, listen to the worlds of Gabriel!” I boomed, stealing the name of an archangel. If he had even a smattering of religion, he should know it.

“Fuck me,” Bubba groaned, staring at my angelic form. He raised a hand against the light. “You can angel?”

“I have come seeking a servant.”

I snapped my fingers and sexy women appeared around him. They were naked with big, fake tits. He grinned and pressed them to him. Their boobs rubbed against his face. He rooted back and forth on the dream girls, his mouth finding a nipple.

“They feel real, don’t they?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he groaned as one reached down and found his cock. She stroked it.

“They’ll feel real in here,” I said. “The first for your rewards. Dreams of endless pleasure. Of all the sex and debauchery that can fill your perverse imagination if you serve me.”

“Even ScarJo?” he groaned.

ScarJo? That one baffled me so I read his mind. It was easy enough to do while in his dreams. True clairvoyants, not those frauds on the SyFy channel, could do this. Those who delved into Tarot and Astrology. Witches who mastered Numerology and the casting of sticks.

Scarlet Johansson. I didn’t watch many movies, but I knew of Black Widow.

“I can be yours,” cooed the redheaded Scarlet Johansson in a black bodysuit that zipped down the front. She sauntered toward him, drawing down the zipper, revealing that perfect body. A model before she became a star. She was young. Mid-twenties.

Her breasts popped out as Bubba Ducain groaned and salivated over her.

“I can be yours in here,” purred Scarlet Johansson. “You can do whatever you want to me while you dream. You just have to serve the Archangel Gabriel.”

“I have a holy mission for you,” I said.

“From the Baby Jesus,” the fat fucker gasped.

“Mmm, yes,” purred Scarlet Johansson.

“I’ll do it!” the lust-filled man groaned, selling his soul while thinking he was doing the Lord’s work. If he had a brain, he would know that God did not offer sex. God wanted nothing to do with the material world. It was fallen. Sordid. It wasn’t pure. It was corrupted by his rebellious children and overrun with shedim.