Light Elf Supremacism

https://drive.proton.me/urls/X4VB4N9VXM#DkpMwPu9ekoo

Day off today. The policeman locked himself out of his apartment. Lately, reports had been pouring in about a mentally disturbed artist. The investigation was in full swing. As the key left the lock, he sensed something. Then he sensed no more. For a while.

When the policeman came to, he was stuck in a swing. A wide leather belt was tightened around his thighs. His ankles were folded back behind his head and tied together with what felt like steel wire. A burning pain in his backside made him want to scream, but no words came out. In his mouth was a pink ball gag, which he could glimpse as he cast his eyes downward. He could also see the person in a white balaclava standing behind the anal penetration. The person’s eyes were bloodshot, and their tongue darted behind their lips, forming a round "O." It dawned on the policeman that his anus now assumed the same shape, as an engorged, erect penis moved rapidly in and out. Each thrust was so hard that the swing was thrown rocking backward, only to let the policeman slide massagingly back onto the erection. The lunatic panted and heaved, using every ounce of strength. Apart from the mask and a pair of sneakers, the rapist was completely naked.

The policeman strained to turn his head. Then he saw his adult son swinging slowly beside him, with his hands chained in a similar fashion behind his back and his ankles folded back over his head. His son’s anus was bleeding. Father and son looked at each other with helpless gazes but could say nothing and do nothing. Meanwhile, the pounding intercourse continued, lasting and lasting and lasting. It went on for hours. The few times the penis went limp, the masked figure pulled out, masturbated for a while, and swallowed some pills. Then the rape resumed. Occasionally, the lunatic alternated between inserting the penis into one hole, pulling out, and inserting it into the next. And so it continued. The policeman felt himself blacking out. It was too much to take in. His son fared similarly, fainting periodically, only to be awakened by a new series of furious, hard, ball-slamming thrusts.

Quite involuntarily, both victims eventually developed erections. Their swollen genitals and testicles swung in an endless circle as the swing rocked and rocked and rocked. All that could be heard was panting groans and the victims’ "Mmmmph!" and "UMmmnnnG!" as the brutal, relentless pounding reached its undeniable climaxes. The blood running from their violated anal openings was eventually mixed with large amounts of semen. Each time it happened, the masked figure’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a bellowing roar, like an ox. Not long after, he was ready again.

This series of intercourse, or the continuous intercourse, lasted a full seven hours. Only then were the policeman and his son set free. Their backsides felt like train tunnels, and they walked like penguins; otherwise, they were doing relatively well. At least, that’s what they were forced to say by the masked figure. But it wasn’t over yet. Father and son were forced to perform oral sex on each other to mutual climax in the 69 position, aided by a pistol pressed against the nape of their necks. “Daddy on top, little boy on the bottom,” said the masked figure. Astonishingly, their climaxes came exactly simultaneously, spurting forcefully against palate and uvula. Now it was the policeman’s turn to faint. When he came to again, his son’s limp penis slipped from his lips, leaving streaks of glistening semen in his police mustache. The masked figure was nowhere to be seen. They were in a basement, and it was empty. Only their clothes lay on the cold concrete. They held each other’s hands as they found their way out, so terrified were they. Neither remembered the place they had been when, numb and half-conscious, they reached their respective homes. The policeman cried in the shower that night, curled up in the fetal position. Then he laughed, and cried. Laughed, cried, and cried and cried.

Light Elf noted with satisfaction that no report was filed. The shame was too great for both of them. The disturbing thing, however, was that he periodically received small gifts at his door: sweet bouquets of flowers, teddy bears, and boxes of chocolates, among other things. All of it went straight into the trash.

***

At one point the terror police called up one of my friends and told him I was unstable. I'm really not joking. He, in turn, believes to this day I'm the most rational being to walk the earth (which I ufortunately have to do from time to time, when I'm not flying). Which of the parties are right? Well, this I do not know, and neither am I interested in knowing. One of the characteristics of being a trickster is that you embody seemingly mutually exclusive traits. It is said these are the traits of a great soul also.

Regardless, I came to think of my 'values' lately, or the lack thereof. I realized that an ideal world for me, indeed, the only thing I care about, would consist of nothing but continuous, intense, unrelenting and pumping sex. A universe of only sex, if you will. It's the only thing that makes sense, or seems meaningful. To give a variation of the old English poem to Bacchus:

Bacchus must now his power resign—

I am the only God of Sex!

It is not fit the wretch should be

In competition set with me,

Who can last ten times longer than he.

Make a new world, ye powers divine!

Stock’d with nothing else but Sex:

Let Sex its only product be,

Let Sex be earth, and air, and sea—

And let that Sex be all for me!

To give a variation of the great soul Emperor Nero: What a mighty artist lives in me.