PRINCE OF LUST

by Lucien Burr

Which is why I want to ruin my life, you see. I am older. I am jaded. And I no longer think God is merciful.

Mood

I knew if I were to linger in the world, then I would do the unthinkable. I would fall in love with a man. I would touch him. I would love it.

Let Hell take me. Let my soul burn forever. Let me be disgraced in the eyes of men and God.

What has God’s love given you except shame? What has God ever done for you?”

“Summon me,” the voice had said. “Summon me. I will give you what you want. I will touch you, I will desire you, I will show you years’ worth of missed pleasure in a single night.”

In order to summon him, you must be filled with true desire for him. Draw the symbol. Draw blood. With the same hand that drew blood, touch yourself as you wish to be touched.

🤭

God had been a detour, and pleasure was the only thing I wished to worship.

You’ve been wanting it for years. Someone to open up your body. To take it. To make you take it. To hold you down as they ruin you.”

It reached out. A pointed, dagger-like claw scraped beneath my chin as it tilted my head back. The skin popped, oozing blood instantly.

“Filthy, blasphemous priest,”

“If you’re going to be my bitch,” it growled, “you won’t be wearing God’s dog collar.”

“Good boy,”

God, I come to you as your pathetic child. Please have this demon touch me. Please let it fill me. Fuck me. Use me. Use me. Use me.

I thought about taking my lust out on his body in the form of its brother:

Huh??

Render me nothing but yours. Make me your slut, your hole, your toy; I will be nothing else. Not Don Alessandro. Not a man. Not even that.

What if it made it larger? What if it used that wound to pleasure itself? Made it stigmata, made you holy with every thrust until you were stretched in the form of crucifixion, until you could look at your reflection in its black eyes and see the Son of God looking back?

This is wild

balls slapping against my own

But how?…