Mea Umbra

The Judgment

I summoned the gorgon, and testified before her.

Upon hearing the abominations made against my DM13 namesake, she swiftly declared her ruling: Guilty as charged. The sentencing: Bukkake by Satan's Legion to be carried out in the Second Circle jurisdiction every Wednesday morning for the next 337 years.

Before ordering her bounty hunter to repossess their cheap, snorting, swine souls, we reconfirmed our Friday fornication dinner date, kissed, and embraced in a salacious and genital manner.

Although Alan, Andrew, and Marion were strangers, tonight they would become inextricable fellow bond servants, fastened at the hip by My VENGEANCE.

Let it be known, desecrating the DragnMastr13 name is punishable by WRATH, for I am The Impeccable One! 

A Declaration

It's been an entire month since the severity of your scent has faded from the accepting pores of my skin–along with the dwindling blood supply to my throbbing and earnest cock.

I will accept the withdrawal, the delirium, the confusion, the derision EVERY, SINGLE, TIME, if it means being able to press my pulsating and urgent manhood up against the perilous heights of your body, mind, soul.

Your spell is the mutiny wreaking havoc inside my consciousness.

I declare WAR.

The Autodidact

Roberto was a stupid little man. He considered himself progressive, when in fact, the only thing progressive about him were the masterfully creative ways in which he showcased his ignorance.

As he drowsily awakened from his malevolently-coerced comatose, he noticed an "Anesthesia For Dummies" book nefariously residing on his night stand.

Gradually, the logic of her laughter found resonance in his feeble mind, and he began to sort out what had transpired in the sordid twist of events: she had transplanted his puffy pink areolas onto his eyelids.

He panicked. He knew that the closeted homoerotic attention from his crossfit bedfellows was now lost forever. They would never lust over him again–his new areola gaze was to be the object of their conspicuous scorn.

Her justified laughter was deafening as it reverberated off the crystal chalice she preferred to enjoy her daily horchata fix from.

She had rendered his criticisms moot with two decisive incisions. The precision of her scalpel was deliberate and resolute, and she knew it.

Let it be known, The DragnMastr enjoys the company of such autodidactic women.

A Kiss of Ill Omen

While devouring her mouth, the faint toxicity of selenium in her saliva forecasted My impending doom. That foreboding suspicion deluged into a general malaise, which left Me contorted and paralytic–with a temporary deadness in My jaw.

As her venomous secretions assimilated into the bloodstream and monopolized My body's responses, I perceived My face enter into a horrific catatonia. Streams of calamity ran over the edges of My unresponsive mouth like the heinous bloodbaths of some barbaric society.

I felt the cascading pools of saliva settle on My inner thigh, adjacent to My left sack. The wetness malevolently seeped into My pores and entrenched itself under My flesh like an overzealous scabies infestation declaring holy war.

There I stood, unable to move–dripping. Mouth open, cock limp, and wet everywhere in-between.

Baby Bloodmeal

It doesn't matter! It simply, doesn't, FUCKING, matter!! 

Be like Abraham and BELIEVE. Your faith will be preserved and lauded throughout posterity. 

For she is The Lamia Leeanius, Matriarch of the Gorgon Legion, of the Second Circle. And her technique is masterful across the millennia, immaculate even. 

Look, you can breed another child. Do not attach yourself to that which, by design of The Impeccable One, is temporal and fleeting. The laws He has mandated are immutable and unyielding, and leave no room for such vulgar speculation.  

Besides, the bloodmeal will be used to propagate the mission at hand. It has been prophesied.

All HAIL, The DragnMastr!!  

The Explanation

"Ok, that just about does it. Sign here please." 

"Thank you SO much, we really appreciate it!"

"No problem! Oh, can I use your restroom really quick?"

"Yes! Of course! It's the second door on your left."

"Thank you."

***

"Mother! Mother!"

"What is it? What is it?"

"I, I...I don't know...the young Turk who just installed our water heater outside, he, he..."

"What did he do???"

"He, he...I can't explain it. There's red stubble all over our sink, resembling the glowing-red, forged wrought iron of a blacksmith's!"

"Ok, then I suppose he must've shaved before leaving, how rude of him to do so! How rude, and bizarre!"

"No mother! You don't understand. He wore no beard upon arrival, and he surely was not red-headed, he was a brunette!!"

"Oh dear." "Call your father!"

"Father! Father!"

"Yes? What is it Ophelia?" 

"The young Turk who just installed our water heater outside. He left red stubble all over our sink, resembling the glowing-red, forged wrought iron of a blacksmith's!"

"That BASTARD! I'LL KILL HIM. TERESA! HAND ME MY MACHETE!"

"No father, no! You don't understand. He wore no beard upon arrival, and he surely was not red-headed, he was a brunette!!"

"Dear God." "I'm calling Priest Morales."

***

"Yes, Priest Morales, a word with you please. Ophelia! Here, tell the Priest what has happened!"

"Hello, Priest Morales?...The young Turk who just installed our water heater outside. He left red stubble all over our sink, resembling the glowing-red, forged wrought iron of a blacksmith's!"

"I see. 10 Hail Mary's and 5 Our Fathers."

"No Father, no! You don't understand. He wore no beard upon arrival, and he surely was not red-headed, he was a brunette!!"

"My God in heaven!" "Ophelia, are you sitting down?"

"No Father."

"Sit down, I will tell you at once what has occurred."

"Ok Father."

"Ophelia..."

"Yes Father?"

"The young Turk who just installed your water heater outside. The one who left red stubble all over your sink, resembling the glowing-red, forged wrought iron of a blacksmith's."

"Yes??"

"This is what has occurred."

Little Marmalade Jars of Love.

The simple answer, if you press Me, is that I adore her...dare I say, I love her. Now, I know what you're thinking–this is blatantly heretical coming from The DragnMastr, but, allow Me to explain...

Over the course of months, I consumed her words, absorbed her thoughts, cherished our conversations, and studied every nuance of her immaculate body. In short, she was different, I can assure you of this.

In the emotional isolation that proceeded her previous relationship, My heart was filled with a desire to embrace and elevate her unto her rightful throne. When she gazed into My eyes, I felt an aristocratic air that permeated not only the lungs, but the senses, the imagination.

Knowing that she enjoyed the feeling of being filled with the life-sustaining semen of her male victims, I selflessly offered My seed. I decided that I would start collecting the main portions of My masturbatory sessions for her–preserving them in little marmalade jars that my packrat grandma had saved, and freezing them in our fridge (away from the poultry of course...in My usual considerate manner–I didn't want to spread salmonella).

In a month's time, I had enough creamy load to fill and breed her cum palace with My baby batter, with leftovers to baste that mouthwatering meaty pussy of hers with My cockalicious juices.

August 3rd will forever be known in our personal history as, The Day of Insemination. The rest of the details of that particular day are between Me and her.

Vagina Dentata.

And at once she was straddling Me. I looked down and grimaced in horror.

Her cunt had a dentile disposition–incisors projected out menacingly along the ridges of her labia minora–a pink fleshy spewing gargoyle that existed only to tyrannize My dreams at night with its satanic and caustic clutch.

My range of motion was deprived, but I could feel My body convulse as she governed over My anatomy, My fears, My erection.

I slaved to breathe from the bloodcurdling brutality as she siphoned My seed into the wickedness of her ravenous receptacle, but before I would lose consciousness and the will to live, she was gone in a flash, and so was My virginity. 

47 Seconds of Vocal Fry

A langourous vocal fry emanated from the greyness of My imagination, and provoked Me to open the door in front of Me.

In the middle of the cavernous space sat an irregular pipe organ that steamed a lecherous sweat from its brass nostrils, as its operator continued to play unperturbed. She stood on her monopod and greeted Me with her swirling and salacious aphrodisia.

The sonorous prelude of the empusa found residence in My libido, as we stroked each other's gaze. Something within the id had advised Me to stay at that cottage in the woods, despite the decapitated reindeer on the rim of My desire.   

Reverberations of a Transfiguration

Do not be fooled, as the steam of your transfiguration rises to meet Uranus in his realm, he will surely repudiate your efforts, and downcast you to scorn his wife.

But do not be perturbed, for Nereus awaits with outstretched arms to kindly grant you asylum. You will boil again with want, and evaporate to escape your physical state, but you will meet the same fate.

Again and again this will manifest, and you will doubt your efforts, but Mother Gaia watches with a timeless contempt that expands throughout the cosmos, and resuscitates your repeated gasps.

There will come a day when you reign supreme alongside your personal Master, and the echoes of both of your laughter will reverberate through the corridors of time. 

Descent

Spiraling down from the sky, I waited on land with outstretched arms. She landed celestially with the grace and elegance of a hardened dancer.

As I carried her close in My arms, she noticed My own scorched wings, and interrogated Me.

I looked into her eyes, smiled, and whispered in her left ear, "I'm going to fuck the hubris out of your marrow." This silenced her, as she knew that I was her holy terror.

We walked toward our little cottage where she would accept the moon's mandate.

Ascent

She had the gift of flight, and she reveled in it.

Her friends and family warned her of Icarus' fate, but she reminded them of the other part of the myth that they had overlooked–that if she accepted complacency and flew too low to the sea, Poseidon would surely make her his bitch. So she soared.

Closer and closer toward the sun she ascended as I applauded and cheered.

The clouds lifted her up in eulogy.

Liturgical Responsibilities of a High Priestess

She was her tribe's high priestess, and as such, was responsible for overseeing that the male sacrifices were executed with the proper liturgy.

They were a morally diligent people, and only sacrificed sexual invalids to the Supreme Being in the sky.

A steady shellacking was administered across the testes with white sage bundles. Thereafter, their incantations would convulse and crescendo as the castrations consecrated the nirvana night air.