Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mind Control, Paranormal, MaleDom, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Slow,
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An Ancient God, forgotten by Man and Time, gives his Spark of Divinity to a mortal who he meets. Now, if the young man can just figure out what's going on... Codes will be added as the story progresses.
The masked teenager was laughing uproariously as he punched the old man in the back of the head, knocking him down and hopefully out. He was laughing so much however, that he never noticed the arm that was suddenly chest high on him until he ran straight into it, knocking him to the ground and the air from his lungs.
Peter Bell sneered down at his fallen foe and gave him a swift kick to the head to knock him out before he hurried forward. The old man was just getting to his knees when Peter got to him and slipped one arm under the guy’s shoulder while the other went to his elbow for more direct support as he helped him up. His voice was a soothing baritone, powerful but made soft with concern, “Are you alright sir?”
Imgada smiled at the stripling before him, kind and compassionate, but still capable of being harsh when the situation called for it. He couldn’t have picked a better Successor if he’d searched for another millennia. The man-child was roughly his own height, what was now called six feet, with the build of a warrior; his short, white hair was slightly ruffled from the brief combat with his own attacker whilst his crystal blue eyes were alight with concern for a complete stranger; finally his face was well put together, not handsome perhaps, and certainly not pretty (never ‘pretty’), but the face of a man whom, despite his obvious youth, knew who and what he was, and dressed in a simple heather grey cotton tee-shirt and blue jeans with what appeared to be work boots upon his feet.
Peter helped the old man to a nearby bench, “Sir? Do I need to call an ambulance?” After he got the old man sat down, he reached into his pocket and started to call 911.
Imgada cleared his throat, “That’s quite alright young man. I am fine. No medical aid is required.”
“Alright, but I’m going to call the cops to get that piece of trash off the street.”
The old man laughed, the contempt and disdain rolling off of this young man was rather impressive. Truly, he seemed to abhor victimizers of the (perceived) helpless. “They also shan’t be needed my boy,” he said as he rose to his feet.
“What... ,” Peter’s words were suddenly cut off as the old man seemed to transform right in front of him.
Imgada let his Mortal Shroud slip from him, revealing his Divine, though severely reduced, self to the mortal he had Chosen. “I am Imgada. A being of Ancient Times and Divine Power. I have Existed since long before the time of the Carpenter’s Children. My Followers have long since been scattered to the four winds and my Name forgotten. I am weary of my continued half-existence. For your Kind Nature and yet Stern Hand, I have Chosen You, Pieter Demetri Bell, as my Heir Devine. However, before I give unto you My Power, there is one last Act I must make. Alan Margrave Barnes, rise.”
The masked, and recently unconscious, teenager slowly rose to his feet. When he saw the Unearthly face glaring at him, he dropped to his knees.
“Alan Margrave Barnes, you have assaulted an innocent for naught save your own amusement and mayhap a moment’s fame. You cared naught for any injury that the innocent may have suffered from your assault nor did you seek to redress the harm you had caused. Therefore, I now pronounce Judgment upon thee. You are Sentenced to Servitude. For the rest of your Natural Life until your final death to serve my Heir, Pieter Demetri Bell, in any such capacity as he shall choose. You shall never seek to Evade this Punishment, nor shall you ever seek to Harm or allow Harm to come onto your Pledged Master. Now, Sleep and awake when you are needed.”
Peter blinked as the other teenager faded from sight.
“Pieter, I know you have many questions, but My time is limited. I have given you Your first Servant. He might not seem like much, but he has a great deal of Potential; use him well. I am Tired of these so-called Modern Times. Therefore, I Will Unto Thee My Spark of Divinity!”
The teenager’s body suddenly contorted as it felt like electricity was course through his veins. Despite himself, the young man blacked out.
It was only a few minutes later when he came awake with a start. He looked around; he was on the same bench he’d parked the old man on. The old man who was currently nowhere in sight. He looked around and saw that the street he was on was apparently deserted. He shook his head as he stood up, “That was strange.” He mentally shrugged at the time and started walking ‘home’. “Home,” he thought bitterly. It hadn’t been home since his mom had gotten killed in a late night mugging last year. He reached the small, three bedroom place that had once been a fairly nice house. He smiled slightly as he saw his jeep sitting in the driveway; it was ugly, old, and a cantankerous sonovabitch, but she was also paid for and not too hard to maintain. As he walked into the house, he felt the familiar mix of fury mixed with disappointment.
The source of said feeling was currently in a lazy chair, holding what was at least his tenth beer of the night. “There ya are ya brat,” the drunken adult said.
Pete looked at Jacob Bell with a sneer on his face. Once upon a time his father had been an up-and-coming lineman who’d made it all the way to semi-pro football before a combination torn ACL/MCL had put a kibosh on any athletic endeavors. However, he’d had a new wife to support in the form of one Katerina Volosky. A simple glance at the elder male was proof positive that the young man hadn’t inherited his looks from his father, despite them being of roughly the same height; the elder man’s dark brown hair was past the border of ‘shaggy’ and into the realm of ‘scruffy’ and his dark brown eyes were clouded over from the booze. Pete sneered down at his father, “Stuff it old man; at least I was out earning a living, not soaking up on the dole.”
Jake couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He was grunting with a mix of rage and exertion as he rumbled to his feet. “Wha was tha you little shit?”
The young man’s sneer simply grew, “I said to man up you worthless excuse for a man.”
He couldn’t believe it; his own son was disrespecting him now! With a drunken roar, he threw a wild punch at the young punk.
Without conscious thought, Peter stepped inside the swing and trapped the arm under his left while his right shot under his father’s left arm and up to hook the shoulder. A quick move of his feet and a sharp twist sent the old man over Peter’s hip in a very nice lateral toss.
John Bell grunted explosively as his son landed on top of his chest, driving the air right out of his lungs.
The young man rolled to his feet and sneered down at his male parental unit as the older ‘man’ regained his senses. He locked eyes with his father and said, “Grow up. Yes, your career was fucked, but you’ve still got a lot of years in front of you. So grab your balls, screw ‘em on tight, and clean yourself up. There’s jobs to be had, so go get one.” Unbeknownst to the teenager, his eyes were glittering slightly as he spoke to his father. His speech over, he walked to his room, locked the door behind him, and stripped naked before he collapsed into bed; oddly drained.