Page 14 of Altar of Flesh

But perhapsitis the one who needs convincing.

Yes, that was it, wasn’t it? A wise and learned creature whose pride had brought it to the depths of Hell in pursuit of knowledge. . . that kind of creature could not happily enter a human. But in service to its Lord, and perhaps as a means of having me owe something, it could do it. Perhaps even with joy.

“You would do that for me?” I clarified, making it obvious I understood Furcas was framing this as a kindness. It nodded slowly, long-nailed fingers stroking through my hair. I let it drag those fingers down and catch on my lip and let them slip ever so slightly into my mouth, where I tasted the dust of old tomes still coating the tips of its fingers. As it glided those fingers out, I said, “For what price?”

Its eyes flashed at me, and a low chuckle rumbled in its chest. “Ahh. . .how smart of you to ask, little lamb.”

It assessed me, and I waited. What would it want? For it to have been dismissed by the angelic creatures in Heaven, for it to turn its back and gladly walk to Hell, what could I offer it to make my hole worth its while? I envisioned it asking me to petition for it, taking some plea all the way to Asmodeus. Would it ask for more books? More knowledge? A bigger library?

And what wouldn’t you do, whorish priest? You have made it clear your body is forfeit in pursuit of Asmodeus. Becoming a pack mule is little strain on a body already crushed and reshaped by monstrous lengths.

I jolted.

The journey didn’t matter. That I would become a messenger did not matter. What disturbed my soul was that, after decades,I had never once been a messenger for God. Instead, in worship of a lesser demon, I would do its bidding.

Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way before you.

Furcas leaned down and bared its teeth at me. It was terrifying. Then it licked out, strange human tongue flattening against my cheek as if to savour the sweat pooling.

“Little Alessandro, with your body so perfectly lithe. . .your hips jutting from your skin like osseous handholds, your waist small enough for my hands to wrap around you wholly. . .I understand why my Lord Asmodeus is testing you. I could ask you for knowledge, or I could ask you to beg our Lord for a moment of its time. But you have fallen into my lap and listened so well to my conversations that you do not disgust me nearly as much as you first did. The sound of your voice excites me. I can feel it, the way it pitches high when you’re frightened. And so I have been imagining it. All the sounds you might make, the way you will writhe when my overbearing weight holds you down. How you will arch your back and shudder as I enter you. How you might sound when I use you without mercy—for there is no better way to test your devotion to Asmodeus than to withstand my attempt to break you.”

My breathing grew rapid. Transfixed, locked halfway between lust and fear, I could do nothing but watch the demon; too frightened was I to move or look away. Furcas stroked my cheek and smiled. “All I want from you in exchange,” it kissed my forehead, “is to hear youscream.”

My voice lodged in my throat. A shiver passed over my body, and I involuntarily convulsed. All my bodily systems turned riotous, for both desire and fear fought to take control, and in the ensuing struggle, I found myself incapable of moving.

Furcas’ hand moved up the side of my cheek to the top of my head. Roughly, it forced me onto the ground. Crowded inon either side by its four legs, with my head pressed up to the underside of its belly, I felt at once claustrophobic and strangely at peace. From this vantage, I could see its cock—long, flared—twitching to life.

“Help it along,” Furcas said, voice low and airy.

I shivered. I had never seen one so large or lightly coloured. Hesitantly, I crawled forward to be close to it. It smelled of sweat and something sweetly acrid, a scent enhanced by the translucent fluid pooling at the head.

I went to the underside of it, kissing the place when the length joined the balls, which were warm against the palms of my hands. Moving my fingers gently, I cupped and moved them, felt the weight of them, the heft. I opened my lips and put one in my mouth, hand fondling the other before I passed my mouth over that as well. They were softer than expected. Gravity helped me; they sank onto my tongue with ease. The taste was murky, layered with sweat, salt, the dank of unwashed skin—an appetiser in anticipation of the main course. I dragged my tongue up the underside of the long cock and found myself near frightened when I reached the head and found the flared top and puckered hole already furiously leaking. Furcas stomped somewhat impatiently, but what made this unique from other times I had been forced on my knees—save, of course, the type of cock I planned to service—was that Furcas’ human arms could not easily reach me.

So every movement I was to make or not make, every lick and kiss and full-throated suck I would offer came down to me. I would not be forced; I would have to prove my desire.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

By the same logic: embrace the devil, and he will come to you.

I embraced Furcas with my mouth. I opened and tried to wrap my lips around the pulsing cock. I peeled my teeth awayas far as I could, afraid to nick the most sensitive skin, afraid to pollute its pleasure and therefore its opinion of me.

Furcas made a grunting noise that nearly warped into a whinny, and my stomach twisted, and my heart sped at the wrongness of this.

Demons are fine, Malphas with its raven-head would have been fine, but when one’s lower half is horse-like, where do you draw the line?Clearly, I had not drawn the line. I was on my knees, rutting up into my palm with my cock as hard as ever, sucking desperately on what little of the equine member I could fit into my mouth.

Then, roughly, Furcas stepped away from me. The hooves clopped back, and I craned my neck as its face came into view. The demon was looking down at me, eyes alive with interest but otherwise wearing an expression I could not read. Without another word, it raised one of its horse legs and jabbed it into my side. I flinched away, understanding belatedly it wanted me to roll onto my stomach, and the instant I did it was upon me, cock rubbing over the cleft of my ass.

Instinctively, in anticipation, I whimpered.

The size was not something I had encountered before—or rather, thelength.Of all the demons I had encountered, Asmodeus’ cock had been the one to fit perfectly, stretching and filling and reaching in all directions the most perfect amount. The two demons that had pulled me onto the crucifix had been large and similarly as huge as Furcas. But neither of them had been this long nor this dangerously shaped.

Indeed, itdidfeel dangerous, then. I felt certain something vital in me would tear or bleed. But I thought also of what I had promised to Asmodeus, and to myself, of the kind of person I had vowed I would become. Scripture inevitably came to me, then. Do you know, I felt that I could use most of my passagesin my prayers, and they still held true when I meant them for Asmodeus. And so Jonah 2:9 filled my mind:

“But I with the voice of thanksgiving will sacrifice to you; what I have vowed I will pay. Salvation belongs to the Lord!”

Salvation belonged to Asmodeus. I would offer every part of myself to these demons as an instrument, a means to achieving that salvation. The fear stopped. Pain in this place was only temporary; my body was no longer human. I could be pushed to the uttermost limit and not die.

“Open for me,” Furcas growled, and I reached back with both hands to spread my cheeks to it. My face dug into the hard ground, and something in my spine popped from this angle. I imagined the depth of it, how it might press so far inside it would push my bulging stomach to the ground.

---