passed a dark-haired beauty who
watched him in disbelief. Her hazel eyes widened and her petal mouth slightly
parted at Balzeer’s touch. His hand traveled down past her stomach and began to
hike up her short skirt. She looked around for support from some of the others,
who were now starting to watch, but only saw hungry eyes. She was in a drugged
haze and could not bring her hands up with enough strength to ward off her bald
abuser.
The effort that she made to push him away only
spurred him on, as it seemed that she was only grasping for him. She could not
manage to speak, to tell him to stop pushing his hand down her panties and
parting her pubic lips. Her grunts and groans were stopped as his mouth closed
on hers, and then there was only the sound of a slow scuffle.
He pushed her panties to the side and stroked her
mound with an open palm. All the while, his other hand traveled up to cup the
back of her head and bring it closer to his. His kisses had turned hard and
rough, but his hands stayed tender, though still unwanted and unwelcome. The
hand behind her head moved and came over her chest, parting her shirt and, at
the same time, tearing it.
His lower hand moved and, with a few quick movements,
undid his pants, which promptly fell to the floor. In a matter of seconds, he
was on top of her, thrusting into her with slow, languid strokes. He held her
ankles spread wide as he pushed forward, the couch banging the wall behind
them.
Her head bobbed back and forth, her black hair
falling over her face, hiding the tears that ran down it. She hoped that it
would soon be over and prayed that she would only remember it as a bad
hallucination.
His strokes quickened until he stopped, then he
climbed off of her. He reached down and pulled up his slacks, and with a sharp
clink of his belt, buttoned up his pants and walked away, never glancing back.
He did not see the six other ravenous forms advance on the sprawled,
still-gasping girl. The ordeal had only begun for her, and even if he had
noticed, he wouldn’t have cared.
There were many other disillusioned men and women,
many of them hardly past childhood. They would never be missed. They had come
here to connect to something different from their parents’ Judeo-Christian
ethics. Some, like this girl, became lost in the crowd as they waited their
turn. The life they found was much worse than the life from which they fled.
They did not find freedom. As the girl was repeatedly violated, she realized
that she had lost all of her personal rights, her fragile protests ignored, if
they were noticed at all.
Balzeer McGrath wasn’t interested in either the girl
or the others. For him, sex was like pissing, or any other bodily function. He
did it when the need arose. Since he’d become an adult, he had never denied his
urges and lusts. He had long since stopped being able to distinguish his
desires from his needs. What he wanted, he got.
He continued down the immaculate corridors of the
mansion filled with antiques. Some had been bought with the house, while others
had been collected from various ancient, condemned and damned places, all over
the world. Everything was steeped in death, misery or brutal apathy. Even the
art was stygian and ghastly, created by madmen who had been condemned for their
ruined imagination and subjects of lunacy, by both the church and decency.
De Goya’s Saturn
Devouring His Children hung on the wall. This was mild fare, compared to
the depictions of rape, pillage and massacre that spilled and tumbled
everywhere in the inner corridors through which he trod. Every piece of art
depicted monstrous atrocities. Unknown, unseen commissioned works from masters
were also here. Botticellis, Michaelangelos, Raphaels, Da Vincis and
Caravaggios depicted black masses and Luciferian ceremonies. For these
renderings, the artists would’ve been condemned, or excommunicated, had their
existence been a matter of public knowledge.
Balzeer was the latest in a long line
watched him in disbelief. Her hazel eyes widened and her petal mouth slightly
parted at Balzeer’s touch. His hand traveled down past her stomach and began to
hike up her short skirt. She looked around for support from some of the others,
who were now starting to watch, but only saw hungry eyes. She was in a drugged
haze and could not bring her hands up with enough strength to ward off her bald
abuser.
The effort that she made to push him away only
spurred him on, as it seemed that she was only grasping for him. She could not
manage to speak, to tell him to stop pushing his hand down her panties and
parting her pubic lips. Her grunts and groans were stopped as his mouth closed
on hers, and then there was only the sound of a slow scuffle.
He pushed her panties to the side and stroked her
mound with an open palm. All the while, his other hand traveled up to cup the
back of her head and bring it closer to his. His kisses had turned hard and
rough, but his hands stayed tender, though still unwanted and unwelcome. The
hand behind her head moved and came over her chest, parting her shirt and, at
the same time, tearing it.
His lower hand moved and, with a few quick movements,
undid his pants, which promptly fell to the floor. In a matter of seconds, he
was on top of her, thrusting into her with slow, languid strokes. He held her
ankles spread wide as he pushed forward, the couch banging the wall behind
them.
Her head bobbed back and forth, her black hair
falling over her face, hiding the tears that ran down it. She hoped that it
would soon be over and prayed that she would only remember it as a bad
hallucination.
His strokes quickened until he stopped, then he
climbed off of her. He reached down and pulled up his slacks, and with a sharp
clink of his belt, buttoned up his pants and walked away, never glancing back.
He did not see the six other ravenous forms advance on the sprawled,
still-gasping girl. The ordeal had only begun for her, and even if he had
noticed, he wouldn’t have cared.
There were many other disillusioned men and women,
many of them hardly past childhood. They would never be missed. They had come
here to connect to something different from their parents’ Judeo-Christian
ethics. Some, like this girl, became lost in the crowd as they waited their
turn. The life they found was much worse than the life from which they fled.
They did not find freedom. As the girl was repeatedly violated, she realized
that she had lost all of her personal rights, her fragile protests ignored, if
they were noticed at all.
Balzeer McGrath wasn’t interested in either the girl
or the others. For him, sex was like pissing, or any other bodily function. He
did it when the need arose. Since he’d become an adult, he had never denied his
urges and lusts. He had long since stopped being able to distinguish his
desires from his needs. What he wanted, he got.
He continued down the immaculate corridors of the
mansion filled with antiques. Some had been bought with the house, while others
had been collected from various ancient, condemned and damned places, all over
the world. Everything was steeped in death, misery or brutal apathy. Even the
art was stygian and ghastly, created by madmen who had been condemned for their
ruined imagination and subjects of lunacy, by both the church and decency.
De Goya’s Saturn
Devouring His Children hung on the wall. This was mild fare, compared to
the depictions of rape, pillage and massacre that spilled and tumbled
everywhere in the inner corridors through which he trod. Every piece of art
depicted monstrous atrocities. Unknown, unseen commissioned works from masters
were also here. Botticellis, Michaelangelos, Raphaels, Da Vincis and
Caravaggios depicted black masses and Luciferian ceremonies. For these
renderings, the artists would’ve been condemned, or excommunicated, had their
existence been a matter of public knowledge.
Balzeer was the latest in a long line
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