By Josef Howard

Book Two
Chapter One: The Faith Based Initiative
In a darkened hall lit with torches, filled with a standing room only crowd of men, two naked men, muscular beyond imagining, are on stage pleasuring each other before the awestruck audience. One of the two men gasps, cries out, and with a scream of ecstasy fires five long, high spurts of cum into the air between them, his sweat coated chest heaving. He kneels before the other, takes his long, thick cock in his mouth and applies such suction that instantly his companion is also cumming. The first squirts fire inside his mouth, but the kneeling performer knows what the audience wants. He releases the man’s cock and pumps it vigorously as spews creamy fluid on the stage and splatters on the men in the first row of the audience.

Before the two have completely recovered, a chant rises in the audience, the words unintelligible until the volume shakes the room. It is a name they repeat, a person they call for. From the back of the stage a cloaked figure ascends steps. The two performers turn toward him. The cloak falls away revealing a body more stunning than the previous two, although the face is still hidden in shadow. As he steps completely into view, the audience stops chanting. They know it is the one they have been calling by the goat horns sprouting from high on his forehead.

He stands in the middle of the stage and surveys the crowd with an arrogant expression on his face. Although he ignores it, his thick, ropy cock starts to swell, stretching downward to his knees, then rising as it stiffens until it points straight up his abdomen and the head strains against the muscle of his chest.

In the back of the audience, there is stirring. The men jostle and part to let one of them, naked, bound and led by two extraordinarily muscular men, pass to the front. He is brought up the steps of the stage before the horned god and forced to his knees.

The two earlier performers stand on either side and guide the god’s massive cock down toward the bound man’s mouth. They push his head forward and force it inside his throat. It’s obvious to the audience that the supplicant wants it inside him as much as every man standing in front of him wishes he were in the man’s place. Slavishly, devoted beyond question to his master and god he devours the hard flesh pole, sucking and slurping and eagerly accepting the assistance of the other two men as they help him force it deeper inside him.

Before he has been completely devoured the horned god begins to tremble and shake. He grabs his worshipper’s head and fucks it fiercely. Cum bloats the cheeks of the acolyte and seeps past his lips, dribbling down his chin and throat. The horned god releases him. He falls back, swallowing as best he can as his god’s flesh rifle jerks and sprays him with seed.

As the subject catches his breath, almost imperceptibly at first, the muscles under his tight young skin twitch and tense. His veins swell and wiggle. His body is flush with blood and his muscles start to grow before the audience’s eyes.

“Kaalyr! Kaalyr! Kaalyr!” they begin to chant. The more the young supplicant grows the louder the chants, until he tugs at the leather ties that bind his wrists behind his back, frees himself and stands confidently in front of his god.

Though not yet in the league of the two men standing on either side of the horned one, he is still a vision of powerful masculine beauty. His thick, stubby dick, the size of a soda can now stiffens and points straight toward his master. The horned god tugs at it and forces his slave’s mouth open with his own, tasting his lips and his mouth. The acololyte’s penis is slippery with his own pre-cum and his hips bow toward his master, giving himself to his god’s desire.

Kaalyr breaks the embrace and forces the supplicant back to his knees. He kneels behind him and pokes his enormously long cock between the young man’s ass cheeks. The young man bits his lip as it enters him and he cries out in pain and prayer to his god. Inch after inch is buried inside his guts. He grits his teeth. His muscles strain and his neck turns red with his pumping blood.

Behind them the two attendants to the god embrace one another and entwine tongues. The heat of the god’s coupling has aroused them beyond resistance and washes in waves of lust over the standing men in the audience. Hands fumble and grope as they reach out to their neighbors, unable to resist the urge to couple themselves, though woefully inadequate to match the intensity they feel from the stage.

The horned god pile drives his penis into the upward arched ass of his supplicant, ravishing him. One of the attendants bends for the other and offers himself. They begin to fuck behind the god creating a lustful diorama. The audience has descended to orgy by now, not even seeing the scene on the stage.

The horned god roars like a beast as he empties himself inside the young man’s ass. The sound shakes the stage, but even this is not enough to distract the men around him from their pleasures of flesh. As he decouples himself and stands looking over the men around him he throws back his head and laughs. They are all his worshipers and he is their god.

Chapter Two: The Deceptive Disciple
The horned one sits on a rough hewn granite throne on a richly woven purple robe. On either side stand three powerfully built men, arms crossed, starring straight ahead. At his feet the young man who had been given to him earlier that day kneels, lapping at the god’s erect cock, diving down upon it occasionally, working it deep into his chest.

The young man has feasted on many offerings of the god’s semen by now and each offering has had its effect. He is almost as large as the men standing beside the god’s throne by now, but still he has not had enough. He craves the taste of the god’s cum more than breath. And every spasm of growth only makes him more horny. His penis now extends more than halfway to his knees and occasionally empties itself spontaneously into the air.

Kaalyr had not always been so worshiped. There had been a time when he had been just a young man, less significant than this acolyte, poor, unwanted, destined for mediocrity. But Kaalyr had found his way. He wondered into a school nicknamed "the School for Studs" by the locals. He had signed away several years of his life in exchange for the transformation, but not even the school officials had realized Eldon, his name before he was Kaalyr, would come so far. He became the star pupil, not only bigger, stronger and more virile than his classmates, but more adept at seduction as well. After Eldon’s escapade on weekend break from the school the company took him in a different direction. They changed the chemicals they gave him. He put on still more muscle, and even more strangely he grew horns. Oddly it didn’t disturb him. It made him feel even more powerful. The Church of Kaalyr was born and selectively chose it's followers among the richest men in the country. In a matter of months Kaalyr had brought in over 10 billion dollars in offerings. A tenth of it was his to keep, but he didn’t even care. The church kept him living in the lifestyle of a god on earth and all he craved was sex.

At the other end of the long hall two heavy wooden doors open and other naked, muscle bound guards allow an athletic, middle-aged man to enter. He walks quietly and carefully to the feet of the throne behind the two guards, curious- looking considering he is the only clothed man in the room.

“Mr. Ellis to see you, Your Grace,” one of the guards says.

The guards walk around and behind him and back to the entrance. The closing of the doors echoes in the stone chamber.

The supplicant does not pause in his worship of the god. The god encourages him to continue, guiding his head with his hands, as the god’s eyes raise and gaze at the man standing in front of him.

The man’s eyes do not rise to meet the god’s gaze. His head is bowed and inside his pants, he is boned.

“I have come to increase my offering, Your Grace.”

The god stares at him.

“I have brought another 20 million.”

“Leave,” Kaalyr commands.

“Your Grace, I cannot give more.”

“Your worth exceeds 500 million. You have given me 40 million. I am not interested in you until you have pledged at least half your worth.”

“Your Grace, my assets are not liquid. Perhaps Your Grace would accept the rest in installments.”

One of the guards sneers. Two others step forward. Ellis shakes in their shadow.

“You insult me. I am not your servant to be paid. I am your god.”

One of the guards draws back an arm larger than any Ellis has seen except those of his god and hammers his jaw with the heel of his hand. His knees buckle and he falls. The guards pick him up by the elbows and drag down the hall and out the door.

Kaalyr pulls his supplicant off of his cock and holds his face by the chin. The supplicant’s eyes glance up but quickly drop.

“How much did you give me, dog?”

“One billion dollars, Your Grace.”

“Yes, my slave. And was it worth your lord’s attentions? Was it worth it to be born again in his image?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

The supplicant begins sucking and stroking Kaalyr’s cock more enthusiastically than ever. Kaalyr guides his head and raises his hips. His huge balls lay cradled between his impossibly thick thighs. As he fucks his face they draw tight to the base of his cock. Kaalyr screams. Cum fills the acolyte’s mouth faster than he can swallow and rolls down his chin.

The acolyte’s muscles already start to tense and swell. His biceps stretch his skin and seem about to burst like water balloons. His shoulders expand and encroach upon his neck. His eyes are closed in bliss and the feeling of overwhelming strength courses through his veins. His abs convulse. They are already steely knots of sinewy muscle, yet they tighten still more until his waist is barely thirty inches. He spreads his wide thighs and rubs his big hairy balls, admiring the width of his calves and enjoying the sight of them expanding still more.

Kaalyr’s cock is drenching his face and his chest in cum and he doesn’t even notice anymore. He is completely lost in the sense of his own body.

No matter how many times Kaalyr watches a worshiper change, he never tires of it. After a few more hours of worship the young man will be big enough to join his guards and of course, Kaalyr thought with a smile, begin a rotation through Kaalyr’s harem.

Kaalyr pulled the acolyte to his feet. He turned him around and positioned his butt at the end of his cock. He pulled the young man down toward his lap and thrust up with his hips, entering him forcefully. They had only fucked three times before. The young man had not yet been able to accommodate all of Kaalyr. Kaalyr was determined that now it was time. Kaalyr grabbed him by the waist and tugged hard. He bucked his hips and thrust up in him. The acolyte's ass swallowed up half of Kaalyr's cock. Kaalyr pulled him back harder.

Chapter Three: Career Counseling
It had been a quiet afternoon in the office for Race. It was the kind of afternoon he could have used to catch up on paperwork or answer those twenty or so e-mails he had flagged for follow-up and just never quite got back to. But instead Race let his thoughts wander, until he was thinking about the new students, the young preppies the school had let in after opening the church a few months ago. Although the curriculum for this new group of students was more traditional, they were no less handsome than the school's original alumni, although the instructors didn't put them through the same paces.

A quick, hard rap at his door brought him out of his reverie. "Who is it?" he cried out.\\

"Drake, Father Banin."

Since the school had become a parochial school, the instructors had become known as ‘Father’. As it happened, Drake had been one of the students Race had been thinking of a minute ago. He smiled as he unlocked and opened the door. Race noticed that Drake glanced down at his crotch as he turned to walk behind the desk. Race sat down and motioned to Drake to sit. It was a small academic office, barely bigger than the furniture.

"What's on your mind, Drake?" It was easy for Race to stare into the young man's eyes, as easy as it was to stare at his handsome face. He was one of the most beautiful students on campus.

"I wanted to talk to you about next year, Father Banin. I start at Brown in the fall, only I'm not sure I want to."

"Why is that?" Race asked.

"I don't think I want to leave the school here. You see I've developed some close ... friendships … over the last few months and now I don't know if I can leave them behind."

Race was conscious of the way Drake was staring at him, not just looking him in the eyes to be polite, but drinking in the sight of his whole body, pausing particularly on his biceps, exposed by the way his short sleeved pullover was riding up into the narrow spot beneath his huge deltoids. Race purposefully raised his hand to his chin. His arm muscles popped and the boy's eyes popped even more. He suppressed a grin. The lad was definitely enjoying the view. Most of the youths at the school had only the most passing interest in their own gender, usually out of curiosity or desperation. He realized what Drake had meant by “friendships”. He thought he knew exactly why the student had come to see him. Now it was only a matter of getting Drake to voice what Race already knew.

Drake thought Race was bored with him when Race reached behind his desk and flipped a dial on a small boom box. It played a strange kind of music, part acid house, part tribal. It was stimulating, but oddly soothing too.

Race faced him, his eyes starring deeply into his. "Drake, what do you want to do with your life?"

"My parents want me to go to law school,” Drake answered as he looked down at his lap. As much as he found him attractive, Drake could hardly look at Race. The bone in his pants pulsed with each glance in his direction. He thought if he looked at him even casually he would cum without touching it.

"I didn't ask what they want. I asked what you want."

Drake had seen Race in gym class every day and although he’d always found him attractive, although he’d often fantasized about him, he’d never struggled so hard to keep his composure.

"I used to think I would enjoy being a lawyer,” Drake said. “It's what Dad does. It seems like a good life. But since I've been at the school here I've felt like I've really came into my own. I feel like I know myself better - like I know things about myself I never knew before."

"I think we're getting somewhere, but you need to relax. You can tell me anything, Drake. There's nothing I haven't heard before. Maybe I already understand what you want to say."

Drake turned red.

Race wedged his thumb under the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up, revealing the perfect set of abs Drake had seen so many times in the locker room in PE. Race raised the shirt higher and let his hand rub over his thick pecs. The drop from the top to his abs was an easy four inches. Drake was finding it hard to find words as he watched his counselor put his chest on display.

The blood was pounding at Drake's temples. His breath was quick. He looked at Father Banin. Race had pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the silky blond fur on his protruding pecs. Drake had been sprung since he walked in the door, but the sight of his bare chest was more than Drake could stand. He felt his cock jerk and spasm, squirting his load inside his pants.

The tension he felt should have subsided, but it didn’t. It only intensified.

“Have you ever considered the priesthood?” Race asked. “A life of service can be very rewarding.”

“I – I never thought of myself as religious, Father.” Drake answered.

“Maybe you just haven’t had enough religious experience,” Race offered. “Ours is a very unique church, Drake. Do I look like any priest you ever saw before you came to this school?”

“No, sir.”

Race stood. He walked to the front of his desk and sat on the edge right in Drake’s face. He flexed his arm. His biceps bunched up full, hard, veined. “Do you like my muscles, Drake?” Race asked.

Drake nodded.

“Perhaps you should talk to your father about Brown and Law School. If you like, I could have that conversation with him myself.”

Drake could only stare. Even though he had blown a load in his pants, his dick was still hard as steel and leaking precum again. Race put Drake’s hand on his full, round biceps. The biceps themselves were as large as a cantaloupe. The sweep of his triceps almost double the width of his flexed arm. Drake felt himself unload again inside his pants.

“Would you like me to talk to your father, my son?” Race looked straight into Drake’s handsome young face.

“Y-yes, Father.”

Race withdrew his arm from the teen’s touch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then it’s settled. Or it soon will be. I think you’ll be very happy in the Seminary, Drake. How old are you now?”

“I’ll be eighteen this February, Father.”

“Come back after your birthday, my son, and we’ll discuss your curriculum. Perhaps I will introduce you to our Lord Kaalyr.”