Settled down for the night, the coolness of the early fall air brought out the big blankets. Living by the beach was ten to twenty degrees cooler than inland, but tonight a layer of fog added to it. There is a place where you’re not quite awake, but sleep hasn’t consumed you yet. When the loud sound of the door opened, I knew this was just another night terror. As much as I would try to work my way out, there was always something dragging me deeper.

I was startled, sitting up and looking through the smoke that now filled my bedroom, leaving me confused and bewildered. Standing in the frame of the door was the most ungodly sight. Eight feet tall, the man’s skin not human it looked as though there were scales like a dragon instead of flesh.

“Get out,” I screamed.

“Not yet,” he said, grabbing my ankles, yanking me from the bed, “You’ll need to come with me. I have a bet to settle.”

Screaming, my heart raced like a freight train coming down the tracks. I wanted out of this dream before something terrible happened. “What the fuck are you doing? Leave me alone,” I screamed as my ass hit the floor, and I was drug through the open door. Nail marks would be the breadcrumbs left on the floor. I dug so deep that I knew I would never get those scratches out of the wood. Why was I even worried when for all I knew, I would never come back? When the Devil comes knocking at your door, you better believe that’s your final moving day.

It was the smell of fire that hit me first. Well, that, and his hands. His digits long and slender, they clawed into my flesh with a vice-like grip. Even if I tried to break free, there was no way I would be able to get out of his clutches. He was hundreds of pounds heavier, and his strength that of ten men.

The descent into hell seemed as though it took a lifetime, every horrible thing I had ever done passing before my eyes. I never wanted to remember some of the memories, but this wasn’t for me. It was a bet, but between who, and why me? All I wanted to do was get a good night’s sleep, and this happened.

Screaming skulls staked to the wall, the rancid arms reaching out to grab me as I fell. God help me, please let this be a dream. If I’m dead, incinerate me rather than send me to the bowels of the earth. I don’t care what the bet was. There was no way this was a good thing for me.

I hit the ground hard, my ass plopping down on a bed of rocks, each one piercing into my soft ivory flesh. Crying, it took me a minute to realize it was me who was calling out to God to have mercy on my soul. The laughter of others echoed through the dark cavern. All the inhabitants amused that I still had hope that a God even existed.

“Get up,” a female whispered. The woman’s hand in my hair, she yanked me up, pointing me in the male’s direction who stole me from my bed. He now sat on a red crushed velvet throne. The legs of the chair human hands that bled out each time he adjusted himself in the seat. The chair seemed to be alive, but at this point, I questioned nothing. We learned in church that some would find themselves in their own private hell in the end. I could only imagine what the man did who was now an elaborate seat for the demon dweller.

I teetered on falling. I stood at the base of the rocks, looking up at the man, my mind still wondering what this bet was, and why me. There were no words from me when another male appeared at his side, his body stripped of all its clothing. The first thing I noticed was the enormous cock that hung between his muscular legs. Sure, cock wasn’t a new sight to me, but I had never seen anything like this. Nor did I ever want to. The veins on his manhood almost pulsating the moment he saw me standing before him. God help me, what was this bet?

As he would later tell me, the Devil bet this man that there was no way I could deep throat his cock. The man was sure that I could, and if I did, he would get a second chance at life. Is this how this shit works? They always say never to make a deal with the Devil, but I guess no one ever told him what happens if you lost.

“You WHAT?” I screamed. My eyes never on his face, stared directly at the beast between his legs, pray that I woke from this dream soon.

“If anyone can do it, you can. The guys down here talk about you when they beat off at night. Everyone says for the best little cocksucker in Los Angeles, to look you up,” he laughed. With his hand on his cock, stroking it, all I could think was this had to be hell if he made it any bigger? If the man impaled me on that cock he would penetrate my stomach through my mouth.

I blinked, shaking my head from side to side, “No fucking way. That thing will kill me. I pointed, my finger drew an outline of his cock, gasping when I realized it had to be a foot long.

The Devil threw his head back, roaring in laughter, as did all his minions that rested by his side. They followed the leader, knowing better than to dismiss anything he said.

“You don’t think I can do it?” I glared. What the fuck was wrong with me. I argued over whether or not I could deep throat this son of a bitch. Whose bet was this anyway?

Giddy with excitement, the man could barely wait for the Devil to give him the go-ahead. The minute he did, I regretted it. It seems that it’s been four-hundred years since this man had sex. In hell, they use the earth for their porn. Each of them watching couples fuck while they jack off. The only one allowed to have physical sex is the Devil himself.

Grabbed from behind, I fell to my knees, looking right at the monster cock, almost salivating for a taste. I didn’t want this cock. Why the fuck was my mouth watering for a drink from the man’s dick? My head yanked back. He slapped this thick bulbous head on my lips. A smear of pre-cum glossing my soft pillows, I opened for him without even being asked. A slither of his cock across my tongue, and he pulled back, laughing at the Devil. This man knew that I could take it. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s take a cock down my throat.

“Feed me,” I growled. I meant it. There was a craving inside of my stomach that tightened just knowing I would soon gag with every inch the male forced inside of my gulping throat.

His hand knotted in my strands of silken locks as he pushed into my mouth, letting the head slide slowly over my tongue. I could already taste his fluids. Not sweet, but as hot as the fires of hell. They scorched the flesh on my tongue, causing a whimper to vibrate against the shaft. God, help me. I wanted to take all of him deeper. To have my throat torn from my body and used as a masturbation sleeve for his cock. My eyes sealed shut, tears running down my face, his cock reached the back of my throat. A deep guttural grunt from the man, and he shoved every inch in until his balls rested on my chin. I was choking from lack of air, but none of this concerned the male. He wanted bragging rights and to walk the earth again.

Yanked from his cock, I moved to the table of sacrifice, my body stretched out as my head dangled from the metal surface. It was not cold like I expected. No, it was burning hot, and the smell of my clothing burning repulsed me. Once again, his cock plunged into my throat. One thrust and he was fully engulfed inside of my oral cavity. This time his hand went to my throat, jacking himself off from the outside in.

“You son of a bitch, she did it,” the Devil screamed.

Sitting straight up in bed, my hands on my throat as I choked, I don’t know if this was a dream or not, but my clothing smells of burning flesh, and the scratches across my floor will never be repaired.

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Sunday morning, Palm Sunday to be exact. As a young and naïve girl, I sat in the front with the other soon-to-be sisters, rubbing the cross that hung around my neck as a symbol of faith. The pads of my fingers caressing the fine gold, pressing hard into the figure that rested on the cross. Some would say this was blasphemy to wear a symbol that represented the death of Christ, but as a young novitiate, I knew my calling was more important than the views of nonbelievers. God placed me in the arms of Jesus because I would be a faithful wife for his only son, but would I be the best choice for a man such as Jesus Christ? Until recently, I would have responded to that with a yes. I will still take my vows with an open mind and heart, but inside of me, there is a fire that burns hotter than the pits of hell—an awakening.

“Bow your head for prayer,” he said. The Archbishop giving the service this morning, I could listen to his voice forever. In a soothing tone, he always could take me to a new level of peace. If my body were fighting a war, he would wave the white flag with his words. God works in mysterious ways, and this man was a disciple of the Lord. Why was my heart pounding, though? I never fear the commitment or the words, but right now, he spoke of Resurrection Sunday. That is the day I will marry for the first and last time. The day that Jesus places on my finger his ring of everlasting love and dedication. Heaven help me. Why was my heart beating so hard?

“You will be asked if you take your vows of commitment, chastity, and poverty? Can each one of you with an open heart respond to that question with truth and honesty?” he asked.

I felt his eyes on me, or was that a play by the Devil to pull me back from the altar? A sudden warmth flooding my body, my veins pouring molten lust into my heart as I remember the night before. God help me. I remembered it so vividly.

Alone in my room, or what would be my room for one more week, the walls seemed so bare. Only a crucifix over the bed, I missed my bedroom in my parent’s home. Colorful and full of life, the walls adorned with paintings and family portraits. It was so unlike this room. As my eyes closed, my mind came alive with thoughts that should never enter the mind of a Nun. A feeling of warmth beneath the thin white blanket that covered my body, I was not alone. Something, someone, crept from under the bed, his body slithered like a serpent between my slender thighs. All that I could think was, “I can’t look. I can’t do it.”

“Please stop. Please,” I whispered, not wanting to wake the others. Though I have my own room, the walls are as thin as a sheet of paper. Even if someone rolls over in their bed, everyone can hear the squeak.

“Shhh, be still, child. I won’t hurt you,” he said in a low whisper. He? Who was he? Was this Jesus? Or was this, God help me now. His heavy breathing sent waves of warmth through the room.

Tongue to the flesh, his lips moved up my inner thigh, stopping only to rip the thin white panties baring his way to the core of my heat. Long slithering laps of his skilled oral muscle against my chaste pink lips, the warmth of his breath kissed over the pathway to a tiny bundle of sin. A swirl around the flesh, he avoided that button that he knew would send my voice ringing through the corridor. Instead, his mouth fell to the sealed barrier that kept my innocents intact. Only the outer lips tasted. I nourished his thirst with the sweetest nectar known to man. Pure honey dripping down my ass in a thin line, not a drop wasted. He collected it all on the tip of his tongue, sliding up my body to feed me straight from the hive. He hovered over my mouth, dribbling the cream upon my lips. Though I tried not to taste it, my self-control failed me once again.

“Mmm, feed me more,” I whispered.

“Sister, are you paying attention,” Mother Superior demanded. As the older woman stood there, her eyes knew the truth.

“Yes, Ma’am. I am sorry, Ma’am. I slept poorly last night,” I whispered.

Shaking her head, “We all know. We heard the nightmare that came from your bedroom.”

As I sat in disbelief, I prayed not for my sins but that he would come again and quench my newfound thirst.

The post Blasphemy; How did you spend your Palm Sunday? appeared first on Seductive Gypsy.

A blasphemy fantasy might scare some, but I am the kind of girl who finds the spiritual side of life taboo. Growing up, having my knuckles whacked with a ruler, and told my soul was going to Hell. I don’t scare easily, and I have my dress picked out for my first dance with the Devil.

Sighing out loud, it was Sunday morning, and I had missed Mass again. It was becoming a sad routine for me. I had even laid out a dress, heels, and stockings on the chair by the bed. Of course, my bible rested on the top of that pile. I never go to church without it. I have written in the side notes through the pages, but I added pictures to go along with the verses I love.

A temptress can lead a Man to temptation. One look into her eyes and she will force you from grace and be your guide to Hell. My notes in this area come with pictures that show acts of blasphemy and whispers of how the Devil’s temptations taunt us.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, my long red nails traveled through the pages of ancient times. I got lost for a moment in my latest blasphemy fantasy.

“Sister Gypsy, what have you been doing inside for so long?”

The young Nun had been in the confessional for an hour now, the line outside growing. On the cusp of the holy season. The church had been preparing for the influx of parishioners.

Settled back in the tiny wooden room, the prayer candle now worked in and out of her holy hole. On the other hand, Father Jacob had blown four loads inside the small confines of the booth. What would happen if found?

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a day since my last confession, and last night, I did something horrible. I am ashamed and need forgiveness for my sins.”

Father Jacob had since pulled his dick from beneath the robe. The bible is now on the floor and collecting drops of his precum on the pages. Fluid leaked as he stroked and listened to the new Nun tell her about her miss deeds and failures.

“I left my room at 3 am to get a drink of water from the kitchen. Walking by Father Michael’s room, I heard the sounds of lust. He was calling out for women. Vile words came from his room, and I thought I could help him. Help him sleep through the suffering.”

She went on to tell of how she entered the room and found him pounding away at his fist. He was jerking off and calling out all the names of the Nuns in the parish. Her hand was now rubbing her clit hard, soaking her fingers to the knuckles.

“Sister Gypsy, please! People are waiting for this room!”

The Mother Superior was getting quite agitated with her. She needed to confess what she had done with the Father and how she had lived out her blasphemy fantasy.

“Father, he was in so much pain. His penis engorged with fluids. I tried to help by stroking him. My fingers were wrapping around the thick, elongated shaft. The more I pumped, the harder he got. That’s when he suggested I place him in my mouth and take communion from him.”

The Father was now stroking harder as the Nun explained the events of her first blow job how she tried so hard but couldn’t get him to blow a load.

“At first, I licked him. Long strokes up and down his cock. Then he suggested that I take him deep into my mouth. I almost cried when his hand forced my head down. He was so hard and beastly. His member was raging.”

She massaged over her wetness, forcing the candle in and out of her pussy. She was supposed to be a virgin, but the night before had taken that. She lost her virginity to the Father, who she tried to help the night before. The white pillar candle that she now used still had traces of red staining.

As I sat on the bed writing this, I knew that I would be going to Hell in the afterlife. How could I not? Everything about this was wrong, but I could see it all in my mind while writing it.

“Father Michael was in horrible pain. He asked me to place him inside of my womanhood. To allow his cock to break my bindings with God. I wore my wedding ring as I grabbed his cock. When I wrapped my fingers around him and inserted him in the seal, I felt my finger burning. I know that God was watching me and casting stones on me. Oh, God, Father Jacob, I allowed him inside of me fully!”

The Father in the booth coaxed her to go on. She knew he was jerking off. She could hear his hand rubbing over his dick. He was bringing himself to orgasm after orgasm with her dirty words.

“I’m scared, though, Father. He pushed all the way in and relieved himself. He told me I would be carrying his baby now. A child would be inside of me, and I would have to hide it from the others. How, Father, how can I hide his child? I can’t do this. I wanted to help him, and he gave me a baby.”

Her words stopped as she finally came. She knew she was pregnant with his child and that blasphemy fantasy made her pussy squirt. Sister Gypsy had come where there should never be filth.”

Replacing the candle on the wall and pulling her robe down, the young Nun, still flush-faced and ran from the room. She told them she was ill and had fallen asleep in the arms of the lord. Of course, no one can fault her for that. Jesus is where she should feel safe.

Exhaling deep, my hand slid into the dresser to my right. My favorite dildo now in my hands. If I couldn’t go to church, I would pray at home. Taking the rosary beads from the nightstand, I dipped them in lube and bead, by bead, I slid them into my asshole. Only the cross was showing when done. It rested on my asshole and tickled a little.

The bible laying now on my stomach, I shivered from the power behind it. I know the words hold so much to them that instead of watching porn, I held the book up and read. Hell is where I was going when I slid that dick inside of me. That fake one that felt like a dagger plunging into my core. How deviant can one fall before worried? I will let you know when I find out.

“Our Father, thou art in heaven.”

She moaned out. The words never held a lot of meaning until now. I was soaking wet from this. I was saturated so much that the tiny replica of Jesus that hung out of my ass made wet slaps. Would God forgive me for this one? Would he chalk it all up to a blasphemy fantasy? Or would he shove me down to the fire pits of Hell and let me rot?

Clenching my cheeks around the threaded beads, my cunt exploded into a river of lust. Not before I placed the bible between my legs and caught all the splattering juices. I have never in my life came with that intensity or power. All I needed was for the control of Christ to compel me. Shaking as I laid in the bed of body fluids, lust, and sin, I couldn’t quite understand how I came that intense and how Sister Gypsy had affected me that deep. Was my blasphemy fantasy taking my soul?

Fear is what I used to feel from a blasphemy fantasy, but something inside of me changed. I now feel as though it is the one thing that makes me feel the most alive. Realizing that I have already sealed my fate could be the reason. My spot on the throne of Hell is waiting for me. No longer will I fear what controls me. I will embrace it. I know that I am never going to heaven, so why fight it?

The post Blasphemy: The Devil Inside appeared first on Seductive Gypsy.

Cat or mouse? The choice is yours. Do you run from the threat of termination, or do you fight for what you have left? Does the Devil make you do things?

I don’t know how I found myself sitting in the bar’s corner. I swore I would never visit again. I met my ex there three years ago and every memory of him should be in a sealed vault, but at 1 am, the nights get lonely. I guess that’s why I made my way to the bar tonight. Some days I wish that a writer’s insomnia would afflict someone other than myself. A full eight hours a sleep would be a godsend. Thankfully for me, this is one of those places that no one speaks to you unless they’ve had too much to drink. Hence, that’s the reason I sat nestled in the room’s corner. Plus, I am a natural people watcher. My editor suggested I pull from an actual life experience. God, the horror I’ve endured could burn the pages in the first chapter alone.

“What are you drinking tonight?” asked the bartender.

He’s one of those men that wear the leisure suits, slick back their hair, and slap on the old spice before leaving home. I might be lonely, but that is a level of desperation that I will never reach.

“Tequila, just bring the bottle, but not that cheap shit. I’m willing to pay for the top shelf brand,” I said.

The bartender looked taken aback by my statement. Maybe he wasn’t used to people willing to pay more. By the looks of the place and the clientele most sucked up the watered down shit and passed out in their seats. At the opposite end of the bar, a man who seemed to be about 90, rested. His head on the counter and his false teeth hanging out of his mouth. It took everything I could not to walk over and shove them back in. The entire time I waited for my drink, the urge was there.

“Top shelf for the lady,” snapped the bartender. He was annoyed at being called out to the cheap alcohol served to regular patrons.

Honestly, I couldn’t help but laugh. Not in his face, of course, but the moment he walked away. Opening the bottle, making sure the seal cracked when I did, I poured a shot into the little glass provided. “Welcome to Canada?” asking, I shrugged. This is Los Angeles, so this little guy was a long way from home. Pouring the clear liquid into the glass, I starred for a moment at the way the fluid settled into a smooth surface. Funny thing was, I waited for a few minutes for it to move. Why? Because in that one Jurassic park movie when the Dinosaur came, the liquid vibrated. Stupid thoughts go through your mind when you’re lost.

A slam on the counter brought me back to the here and now. My liquid quivered, and I drank. One straight shot down the throat and it was gone. Oh, that burn was what I needed more than anything. No pain, no gain, right? Three seats away from me, a male pulled the tattered old stool from under the counter. His other hand still on the bar as he waited for some attention. Another slap to the fake wood surface and the bartender dropped his shoulders and stood in front of the male.

“Whiskey,” he said.

I jumped a little when the man spoke. No, not because of fear, but the way his voice warmed the room. He had one of those radio personality voices. Smooth, deep, and could drive you insane if you let it. Honestly, men like him could look like the back end of a dog and still charm the panties off a nun. Did I dare even look over at the man? Maybe another shot first and then I will take my chances. Pouring another, my hand now wrapped tight around the glass, I didn’t wait to swallow. Down the hatch and the warmth radiated from my toes to my nose. There, that would give me the liquid courage I needed, right? A slow tilt and for the second time tonight I felt the warmth breathing deep into my soul. Have you ever saw someone that you was the Devil, yet you were so drawn that you can’t look away.

“Look away, now,” I screamed inside of my head.

“You like the Princess down there and need the special kind?” grumbled the bartender.

A slight chuckle from the man as he nodded, reaching over and grabbing the bottle on his own. Without wasting time, he twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his nose to smell.

“It smells like desperation. I don’t drink water, so don’t fuck with me, boy,” snapped the male.

Pulling back the bottle, the man behind the bar slapped it down on the back bar, threatening to shatter the glass. A quick reach below and he brought up an unopened bottle, shoving it forward with force. A shot glass followed before the male walked away.

I kept my eyes on the glass before me, but my ears kept tuned into the male to the side. Shivering when the sound of the stool next to me pulled out, I knew without looking who it was. Did this man think I was some whore because I was in the place close to closing time? Again, I was a little lonely, but not for sex. I needed conversation with someone other than the computer screen. Day after day of sitting at my desk not only numbed my ass, but my social skills as well. I wondered for a minute if he could hear the acceleration in the beat of my heart. I know it was making my head throb the moment he looked in my direction.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a shit hole like this?” he laughed.

In the midst of a drink, I choked. No, I erupted into a volcano of laughter that forced the alcohol to pour from my nose in a tequila river. Grabbing the napkin, I brought it to my face, knowing that I had to be every shade of red ever created.

“Cat got your tongue?” he added.

It took me a few seconds to compose myself from that episode. Not only was I shocked at the question, but intrigued by the man next to me.

“I needed to clear the cobwebs from my head tonight. As for cat, no. I’m allergic,” slightly snippy.

I still hadn’t fully looked at the man. Maybe the voice was all I really needed tonight. Something to make me feel alive. Eyes forward on the aged mahogany wood, I poured another shot. This time, I waited until I indulged. No need to humiliate myself again. We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but the old clock on the wall claimed that only five minutes had passed. God, what the hell is wrong with me? Has it been so long that I forgot how to communicate with others?

“Thirty minutes until closed. Wrap it up, people,” yelled the bartender.

Exhaling sharply, I brought the glass to my lips, holding it there before speaking. “Have you ever just wanted to watch someone get hit by a fucking bus?” I asked. My dislike for the bartender was growing faster than the ticking hands on the clock.

“I can arrange it, you know?” the man said, his voice matter of fact and directly to the point.

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