Lead into Temptation

By Dr. Gnawbones published July 12, 2018
drgnawbones@gmail.com
Category: pheromone   Tags: #feet #piss #daddy
Summary
A pair of missionaries meet a demon

DISCLAIMER– All the usual stuff, legal adults only, please credit me if you post this anywhere. This is my first story ever posted, but not the first story I ever wrote. I’m working on two much longer, multi-part stories, and honestly I’m looking for as much feedback as possible to improve those. This story is a one-shot for now. After I complete my bigger projects, I may revisit this setting. Your feedback is greatly appreciated! EDITED – Some formatting

Lead into Temptation

SLAM! went another door, interrupting Elder Gardener’s greeting. He turned on his heel and returned to his bike propped up on the side of the porch, with Elder Bradshaw in tow.

Elder Gardener, first name Trevor, was a man on a mission. His sandy light brown hair was cut short, and dripping with sweat in the Southern California heat. His short stature was at least complimented by an athletic build, and his upbringing in Utah left him well tanned. His round face was friendly, with thick eyebrows and a slightly upturned nose. His light brown eyes were wincing in the bright summer afternoon.

At 23 years old, Elder Gardener had gone straight from earning his degree in business from BYU and accepted his mission. With him through all of it, all the way from elementary school, was his best friend, (Elder) Arthur Bradshaw.

Elder Bradshaw was lithe by comparison, but a bit taller. His lighter complexion was contrasted by darker hair, nearly black. His facial features were finer and sharper than his friend’s, with a hawkish nose and slightly squinting blue eyes.

“Dang it! Well, come on!” Bradshaw said, waving to the next house on the block. “Eighty-ninth time’s the charm!” He laughed sarcastically.

Elder Gardener nodded, his face grim. They had been at it for hours, walking next to their bikes as they went door-to-door. Hardly anyone had actually wanted to hear what the two missionaries had to say. They were prepared for it, of course. Los Angeles, like every major city, was growing more secular every day. In the whole year that they had been on their mission together, they had only met with two households. A trendy, 20-somethings couple who wanted to hear the spiel ironically and to film and photograph the whole thing in a “isn’t this quaint” sort of way, and an angry atheist who only wanted to “debate” by which he meant he wanted to argue and call them backwards cultists. So far, they had had exactly zero successes.

Trevor spied a bead of sweat trailing down Elder Bradshaw’s neck. His eyes traced down, past the backpack to the small of his back, watching his friend walking ahead. His firm butt was as toned as it ever had been after a year of walking and biking everywhere. As he started to become aroused, he snapped his gaze forward and increased his pace, walking his bike side by side with his friend. He scolded himself for thinking that way about his friend again. His friend who also happened to be his crush and the object of his obsession.

For as long as he could remember, Trevor had been a good Mormon boy. He followed the rules, believed in the scripture and walked the path that had been laid out for him by his community. In every way, he was exactly what he was supposed to be, eschewing caffeine and the temptations of alcohol and drugs. Every way but one.

He first began to suspect in his early teens when he caught himself looking at his friend’s body any chance he could get, swimming or playing basketball shirtless. When, at a sleepover he found himself swiping his sleeping friend’s discarded socks and underwear, bringing them to his nose he knew he had it bad. A leaflet from church about puberty had said that such feelings may arise, but to be vigilant against them and pray. Eventually, it said, he would come around to women as his hormones evened out. He never did.

Compared to Elder Gardener, Elder Bradshaw was as goofy as his friend was serious, and had been much more rebellious as a teen. As the son of a bishop, he was under enormous pressure to be an example of everything a good Mormon boy should be. Consequently, he had rebelled quite a bit. When he was 16, he had tried drinking alcohol a few times, but got caught by his folks. He had endured months of prayer and chores for that one. He had even tried to entice Trevor into drinking with him, but he had declined. His worst scandal, however, was the persistent rumor that he had gotten to third base with his girlfriend Kelsey when they had dated in high school. He had been sent to an outreach camp all summer, coming back bearing a purity ring of abstinence.

As they rounded the hedge dividing the next house from the last, they paused a moment. The house seemed out of place, creepy even. Cracked paint and an overgrown yard made the house look almost abandoned, sticking out like a sore thumb in the upscale neighborhood of the Pacific Palisades. Propping their bikes up on the fence, they stepped through the gate and looked up the path to the front door.

“I don’t think anyone lives here.” Bradshaw said, scowling. “Should we skip this one?”

“We should at least try.” Gardener said. Stepping forward hesitantly, he made his way to knock on the front door. When there was no response after a few moments, he began to turn to leave, indulging the creeps the house gave him.

“Can I help you boys?” came a deep, baritone voice behind them. Gardener jumped with a start, turning around. A tall man in his 50s was walking towards them from around the side of the house. His long grey hair was crowned by a green bandana, and he was clad in jeans and a leather sleeveless vest, open and revealing a mat of grey chest hair. He wore ancient, worn cowboy boots, and his dark black eyes looked a thousand miles ahead, right through the two guests at his door. His skin was deeply tanned, and he had the air of an old hippie, with a handsome face and a genial smile.

“Oh! Uh, yes… Hello! Would you care to talk about your place in Heavenly Father’s kingdom?” Gardener spurted out, flustered. He instinctively backed up towards the door a bit as the man advanced up the walkway towards them.

The man chuckled. “Heavenly Father, huh? Yeah, sounds like a nice talk.” As he grinned he eyed them up and down, and said “You boys look hot! Come in a minute, cool your heels!” As he reached them, he walked between them to the door without slowing, dominating the space around him. As he passed them a potent stench of BO trailed behind him, and with his back turned opening the door, Bradshaw leaned behind his back and pinched his nose dramatically, fanning his hand as he grimaced. Gardener suppressed a laugh.

“Take your shoes off in the hall, if you would be so kind.” The man said, stepping inside. As they stood by the door removing their shoes, the man propped himself up with one arm on the wall, slipping off his boots and letting them fall to the floor with two loud thuds. With his arm raised, his bushy armpit wafted, and he added to the funk even more as he exposed his socks to the air.

The house was small, the hallway opening into a living room. Shelves of books lined the walls, and hung everywhere were exotic curiosities from around the world. Tribal masks, primitive tools, and woven tapestries crowded the entire wall space. A stick of incense held on its burner was smoking away on the coffee table, leaving a heady musty scent that mingled with the other smells that they were taking in. A fan spun slowly ahead, not much relief from the scorching summer heat.

“Name’s Kent Del Rey,” the man said, holding out his hand to shake as he locked eyes with Gardner.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Elder Gardener, this is Elder Bradshaw. We’re with the Church of Latter Day Saints. It’s so kind of you to invite us in.” He said.

“Pleasure’s all mine” Kent said. “You boys thirsty? I got some cold ones.” He said, walking through the living room to the kitchen.

“No thank you, sir. We don’t drink beer.” Gardener said. He saw Elder Bradshaw lick his lips.

“Some ice water, at least?” Kent said, bushy eyebrows raised and his friendly smile unwavering.

“Sure, thanks!” Bradshaw said. “It’s gotta be over 100 degrees today!”

As Kent disappeared into the kitchen, the two boys shared a glance and a shrug. At least he let us in their shared look said.

Returning with two bottled waters and a brown bottle of beer, all dripping with condensation, Kent took a seat on the sofa, dead center. He poured his beer into an enormous glass mug, the whole bottle only filling it halfway. He gestured to the two chairs around the coffee table for them to sit down. They thanked him for the water and took their seats.

“So, you boys are here to tell me about your religion and convert me, that about it?” Kent asked, still smiling. They nodded, phased by his directness and his sharp gaze. He sat with both arms extended over the back of the sofa, his legs spread wide apart. “See, I’m something of a scholar of religion. I’ve met with shamans and monks all over the world. I love to talk to true believers.” He said, opening a cigar box on the coffee table. “So I’m going to listen, and have me a smoke here, and my deal is this: You guys tell me what you’re here to say, and then I’ll tell you about what I believe in, and we’ll have a nice exchange of ideas, sound ok?”

“Sounds like a deal” Bradshaw said enthusiastically, but Gardener was worried. He could see from the box what kind of a smoke Kent was planning on having, and he was pretty sure that being around someone smoking a joint was absolutely not allowed, but on the other hand, this was the first guy to hear them out in months. Reluctantly, he said “Deal.” So they talked.

As they recounted the story of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, Kent listened patiently, rolling his joint. Despite not talking, he dominated the room like he dominated his seat, wafting his scent with his arms spread wide. At one point, he peeled off his socks and tossed them to the back room, sighing with exaggerated relief. When he finally brought the joint to his mouth and struck a match, puffing a few times to light it, he could see the effect his musk was taking. Adding pot to the mix of pheromones and special incense would only increase the potency.

Every so often, he would crack his toes or scratch his armpit and draw their eyes there briefly. The effects were becoming obvious to him, even though his guests were obliviously droning on. Their faces had flushed, and their nostrils began to flare. Eyes growing vacant and slightly dilated. The light of the cherry burning on the joint reflected in his eyes, and seemed to linger there, glowing Halloween orange even as he leaned in to flick the joint over the ashtray.

Something seemed off to Gardener, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was slowing down, getting confused and forgetting the talking points he had practiced over and over. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy. Interrupting Bradshaw, he said “Sorry, can I use your bathroom? I think the heat really got to me…”

“Sure, it’s through the bedroom.” Kent pointed to the other door leading to the back. “Take your time.” As Gardener left, Kent leaned forward toward Bradshaw.

As he entered the bedroom, Gardener spied the bathroom door. Stepping over the dirty laundry strewn about, he wrinkled his nose. The socks Kent had tossed were laying right there, next to a pair of stained white briefs. A flash of memory gave him pause and reminded him of that sleepover, years ago. He felt his dick twitch a moment. He closed his eyes and remembered huffing those stolen clothes, a messed up mix of guilt and arousal. Returning to himself, unsure of how long he had been reminiscing, he remembered that he had been worried a minute ago. He went to splash some cold water on his face, his senses returning to him a bit. This guy is trouble he thought.

As he exited the bathroom, he could hear the others talking. “…nah, I’m just going along with it to get married, so I can get laid.” He heard Bradshaw say, a strange, sleepy quality to his voice. Kent laughed, a deep booming one. “Well, we do what we must” Kent said. Coming out of the bedroom, Gardener could see that Bradshaw was now sitting on the sofa with Kent, his arm draped over the younger man. He had re-filled his mug of beer, he noticed, and to his shock Bradshaw held one too! While Kent’s was filled back to half, Bradshaw’s was nearly full, the liquid a slightly darker, more amber color. A foam mustache coated Bradshaw’s upper lip, and his expression was vacant as his nostrils flared, his breathing slow and deep. The light from a new burning joint shone in Bradshaw’s eyes now too.

“What the HECK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?” Gardener shouted, his eyes nearly bugging out. He was so focused on his friend that when the heady scent in the living room hit him again, he didn’t notice that his dizziness was returning. “We gotta get back, you’re in so much trouble, oh man, COME ON! ” He pleaded with his friend, taking the glass from him. The mug had an odd warmth and no condensation.

“Do you really have to go so soon?” Kent asked, pouting. “I thought we had a deal. I heard you out. You said you’d listen to me. ” He intoned strangely.

“Sorry mister, we really gotta go!” Gardner said, pulling Bradshaw to his feet. He picked up their shoes and flung the door open. The sudden fresh air was a relief, even if it was still incredibly hot.

“Aww, but it was getting so interesting! You’ll come back and see me real soon, won’t you?” He said, extinguishing his roach. The burning orange lights lingered in his eyes.

“Yes sir…” Bradshaw said dreamily.

“Goodbye!” Gardener said, some forcefulness returning to his voice as he closed the door. He shoved Bradshaw’s shoes into his arms angrily. He quickly put his shoes back on, but Bradshaw only swayed on his feet.

Elder Gardener shook his partner forcefully, his anger sharpening as his dulled senses returned. Barely sparing a thought for all the weirdness they had just encountered, Gardener’s only focus was on Bradshaw’s slip up.

“I thought you were past that stuff! Really? Drinking while we’re doing fellowship, are you kidding me?!” He raged.

“Aww, come on man! He was cool! You’re always so serious. It’s not a big deal.” Bradshaw said, seemingly returning to normal. “You’re not really going to rat me out, are you?” He said, looking his friend in the eyes.

Gardener melted a bit. No, he knew he wasn’t going to. Just like when they were teens, he knew if Bradshaw was found out, he could be sent away again. Maybe even excommunicated. There was no way Gardener would ever let that happen, no matter how angry he was.

With a sigh, he said “No, I’m not. Just… you gotta take this seriously, you know?”

Bradshaw eyed him up. “I guess. I mean, not everyone is as devout as you are, you know? You may have an easy time resisting temptation, but you don’t know what it’s like to have these urges, ya know?”

Gardener winced. Nope, he thought sarcastically, wouldn’t know anything about that. For the first time, he noticed how late it was. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was already 4PM. They had been in there for three hours? No way! How had he lost track of time like that? It was already time to get back to headquarters. They walked their bikes up the hill to the bus stop in silence. Bradshaw was furtive, his usual goofiness absent. He seemed deep in thought.

They arrived back at the studio apartment they shared with the pair of Elders supervising them. Because Elder Bridges and Elder Carr were a year ahead of them, they would soon be done with their mission, and another, greener pair of missionaries would take their place. For now, they supervised Gardener and Bradshaw, guiding their fellowship and their study of scripture. Neither Gardener nor Bradshaw felt like talking much, so they followed the older boys lead, eating supper and spending the rest of the evening in silent Bible study.

When it came time for bed, they stripped down to their long cut, special underwear and headed to the bunk bed they shared. There was very little privacy in a missionary house, so they all slept in the single room that was their studio. Laying in the bottom bunk, sure that he would never get to sleep with his racing thoughts, Gardener tossed and turned, conflicted. He wasn’t sure if he was bothered more by their strange encounter with Kent, or by seeing Bradshaw’s true colors. It excited him that his crush had a naughty streak. He felt a pang of guilt for indulging that thought. Sudden movement in the dim room caught his eye.

Bradshaw’s foot now hung over the edge of the top bunk. It swayed back and forth ever so slightly. Every once in a while he would crack the joints in his toes, then resume the rhythmic swaying. Without noticing, Gardener was following the motions intently, his breathing slowing in time with the swings. His nostrils beginning to flare again, taking in the scent of sweat. They had been on their feet in the hot sun for hours. He thought again about that sleepover they had had years ago, as boys. He remembered his guilty sniffing the stolen socks and underwear. He remembered everything he had wanted to do with his friend. Somehow, memory shifted into a dream.

He was married to… Elder Bradshaw? They lived together, with their brother-husbands. They were always nude. They had a house, a homestead in the country. He cooked and cleaned and worshiped. But it wasn’t… the name Heavenly Father was blurry… something else… someone… the scent was stronger. Not just sweat, but other heady, smoky smells. Kent was in the blur now too. A fiery orange tinted the sky. It was the sun, but it wasn’t. He felt its warmth coating his nude form. His Great Husband? He breathed in deep, it was so familiar… he… WHAT?!

He woke with a start. The digital clock read 1:45AM. A furious erection strained against his special Mormon underwear. Bradshaw’s foot was nowhere to be seen, but the smell, it was so much stronger! As he breathed in again, he felt the fabric covering his face. A pair of briefs was stretched over his face!

Gardener ripped them away, as two socks fell loose from over his nose. They had been held on by the briefs. He recognized them. These were from Kent’s bedroom! But, how?!

Quietly, he got out of bed. To his horror, he realized that Elder Bradshaw was gone. Sitting atop his empty bed was the purity ring.

Somehow, he knew right away where he had gone. Bradshaw’s missing bike confirmed it. He weighed his options. If the others wake up, he’d be in huge trouble. There was absolutely no sneaking out in the dead of night allowed. He would have to bring him back alone, but if he got caught too… There was nothing for it. Snatching up the briefs and socks, he looked for a place to hide them. There was none, no privacy at all here. No secret stash of personal possessions. He would have to take them with him.

He pedaled furiously, working up a bigger sweat in the cool night air than he did during the day. The bus didn’t operate this late, so he had to bike the whole way from their place in Culver City to the Palisades. When he finally came in sight of the house, he paused to catch his breath. Sure enough, Bradshaw’s bike was already propped up by the gate. Cautiously, he approached. The lights inside were quite low, but a flicker of candlelight shone through.

Peering through the window into the living room, he was positively floored by what he saw. Elder Bradshaw was completely naked and fully erect, kneeling on the floor. His thin, long dick jutted straight up in front of him. Painted on his chest and forehead were red occult symbols of some kind.

Kent sat in front of him, wearing only his jeans. He was holding up his bare right foot in front of Bradshaw’s face, and grasped between his toes was another joint. His foot was huge, even for his tall height, with a high arch and wide, fat toes. Bradshaw kissed the foot from the heel to the toes, before taking a draw on the joint. The cherry burned brighter as he drew on it, and as usual the light shone in Kent’s eyes, as well as in Bradshaw’s. His exhale was a sigh of deep pleasure. There was more incense burning, and candles lit the shelves, casting spooky shadows up the walls. There were several empty beers on the table as well.

Gardener was paralyzed, trying to process what he was seeing. Crazily, the strongest emotion he was feeling was jealousy. If Bradshaw had been gay this whole time… wow. He felt afraid too, of course. Kent had some kind of power over him. Those eyes… he looked again, the fiery orange unfading even without the joint now. Those eyes stared deep, and the more he looked, the dimmer everything else became. The fire seemed to pulse, and churn, and spin… wait, how long has he been looking at me?!

He realized with dread that he couldn’t move at all. His body hung limp and heavy, and he stared back into those eyes, the fire reflecting back in his eyes too. Kent was majestic on his throne, owning the scene as usual. He held up another joint, and struck a match. Placing it between the toes of his other foot, he pointed directly at Elder Gardener, who gulped.

He turned his hand palm up, and curled his pointing finger. Come… his hand said. Kent turned his hand back over and pointed down at his foot, the new ember tracing a slow spiral near the ground. Gardener shuddered and let out a moan, rising to his feet. Somehow he floated towards the door, not registering his footfalls. The door crept open of its own accord as he drifted past, and he came at last back into the smoky room. The door closed behind him with a grim thud.

Gardener swayed on his feet, breathing in the smoky, musky air. The now familiar dizziness returned, but this time he was enjoying it, his fear blasted away like a shadow in the brilliant red-orange light. Turning to face the others, he was once again transfixed on the burning joint.

Kent held up his hand, palm facing out. Stop the gesture commanded. “I’m very impressed you managed to clear your head earlier. Welcome back.” He wiggled his toes and pointed down at the joint in held in his toes. “Get to it.”

Starting forward, Gardener paused. “I shouldn’t… not… supposed to…” Each word was a strain.

Kent raised his eyebrows. “Still not there yet? That’s ok. But you must be soooooo thirsty from your long trip.” He stubbed out the joint and raised a frothy mug towards him. “I know, I know, you’re not allowed, but doesn’t it sound soooooooo good anyway?” He smiled and winked. Elder Gardener licked his lips, parched, but stayed put. “No? Pity, but no matter. I’m sure you’ll come around. So! We had a deal, and you’ve come to honor it, yes? I listened to you earlier, and now you’re going to listen to me. ” He said, again with the weird intonation.

Is that why I’m here again? Gardener thought. It sounded familiar. He looked over towards Elder Bradshaw. His eyes began to widen again as he remembered, but then Kent’s hand caught his eyes with a wave and brought his attention back to his eyes.

“Or did you come here to return my things that you stole?” Kent glared, suddenly intimidating.

“That I… no… what?” Gardener asked, having so much trouble thinking through the confusing fog. He hadn’t stolen anything! It must have been Bradshaw… but when would he have? “Nuh-uh, not.. me… It was…” He started to look towards Bradshaw again.

Again Kent waved his attention back onto his eyes. “It’s time to remember now. You went into my room. You remembered that sleepover, when you were young. You stood and smelled and remembered, and that’s how I found you, once I had that one under.” He said, indicating over his shoulder towards Bradshaw. “And we talked, remember now? You told me aaaaaaaaaalllll about your little crush, and how you swiped his underwear and socks, and you were just so tempted that you took mine as well, and we made another deal, remember? That you could take them and luuuuuust on them, and in exchange you’d forgeeeeeeet, until the time was right… so… it’s… time…”

“GUH!” Gardener shouted, suddenly flooded by the memory. He had spent so long in that bedroom, just swaying on his feet, with Kent so close, that powerful musk, that BO just wrapped around him, as he spilled his guts, and talked about all his little secrets, and he had felt such relief when he had finally gotten it off his chest, and his wonderful new friend had given him that gift, and he did as agreed and forgot, and when he was asleep he walked over to his pack and put them on his face, the socks held snugly by the underwear. Then he had climbed back into bed and slept until it was time to wake and notice that his partner was gone. And now… now… it was time for… what was it again? Oh, it was… Oh!

“OHHHHH!” he roared as he came in his pants. That was it! His eyes blazed Halloween orange as he stood limply.

“Nice!” Kent said, nodding in approval. “Now ditch those soiled clothes and wipe up a bit.”

Gardener did as he was bidden, slipping off his shoes and dropping his pants. When they fell to the floor, the balled up socks and underwear fell out of his pants pocket. He stepped out of them as he unbuttoned his shirt. Losing the soiled underwear next, he peeled off his socks and wiped his wet, still hard cock clean on one. Then he stood staring forward, arms hanging limply at his sides, erection pointing straight forward.

“Pick up my gift and put it back on…” Kent commanded. Gardener picked up the underwear and balled up socks. He slid the briefs over his face, with the crotch over his nose, and slid the socks under the bulge. “Good, now kneel. It’s time to hear about my religion.” Kent said, sneering down at his new convert. He placed his left foot on Gardener’s crotch and pressed some weight down. “Now, you told me earlier all about your Heavenly Father…. So I want you to think about that concept… except… now we’re going to blur that line… Can you envision him? What does he look like?” Kent crooned.

“I… he…” Gardener spurted. He had always sort-of had a vague picture in his head of what the Almighty might look like, a pretty generic bearded man in robes on a golden throne and all that. But now? Right now, that image was failing to conjure. Just like Kent said, it was blurred.

“Having trouble? No matter, try filling it in with your actual father, perhaps? As a starting point?”

“My… dad?” Gardener asked, his confusion deepening. “but… I can’t…”

“Can’t seem to picture him either? That’s ok. Why don’t you just merge those concepts, then. That’s so much easier. The Heavenly Father becomes the Earthly Daddy. What do you think? But he still needs a face, though. Can you think of one? Any face at all that represents your Earthly Daddy?

Confusion and worry showed on Gardener’s face. His Earthly Daddy needed form, but his brain wasn’t working right! He continued to breathe deep, comforted by the smells over his nose.

“Look at me. Stare into my eyes, deep. Gooooooooooood…” The whole world drifted out of focus once he looked back into Kent’s fiery eyes. “I think you know exactly who your Earthly Daddy is, when you really think about it, don’t you son?” He said, looking down at Gardener with paternalistic warmth.

“Y-you?” He asked, breathily.

“Yes, my son. Put the name to the face, and know relief, for the dilemma is solved. I am your Earthly Daddy, say it!”

“You are my Earthly Daddy.” Gardener droned out, a sigh escaping as he relaxed.

“Now join your brother-husband in worship.” Kent said, raising his big toe to Gardener’s lips. He parted them, and tasted bliss. The darkness took him.

Trevor Gardener came to in stages. First, he noticed the sunlight. Then, he realized he was sitting up, on the sofa. The television was on in front of him, and he realized that he had been listening to a droning noise and pulsing visuals for some time now. They had abruptly stopped, and that was the cue to wake up. How do I know that? He thought to himself. He went to scratch his chin and felt fabric. The briefs! His memories were returning faster now. He ripped them off, but found he couldn’t summon the disgust he expected. In his other hand, he realized he was holding the burnt out roach of a joint. A mostly empty mug of amber beer sat in front of him on the coffee table.

Kent Del Rey and Arthur Bradshaw were nowhere to be seen. As Trevor took stock, he looked down at himself. The same red occult symbols had been painted on him. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember when that had happened. Suddenly, the picture on the TV came back into focus.

“Hey buddy,” Arthur waved, naked, from a recording on the TV. “Sleep good? Good. Cuz I’ve got a doozy of a proposal for you. Really more of an ultimatum, actually, but here goes. I quit. I’m done with the church. By the time you watch this, I’ll already be up at Daddy’s ranch, and if you bail now, you will never, ever find me. Here’s the catch though. Your days with the church are over too. See, I’m sending in a rather special resignation. This:”

The video cut to video of Gardener, on his knees, painted head to toe with heathen symbols and smoking on a joint, while getting spit roasted by Kent and Bradshaw. The two missionaries chanted “I renounce my Heavenly Father, and accept my Earthly Daddy as my Lord and Master.” Over and over as Kent and Bradshaw thrusted, and Gardener beat his dick furiously. He saw himself leaning down to kiss and lap at Kent’s feet, Bradshaw bucking into his ass from behind. The video cut back to Bradshaw.

“So, basically you’re kicked out no matter what. You can try crawling back to them, but… again, you’ll never find me. Plus, there are no clothes in the house anymore. Except for Kent’s stuff on your face, of course. So if you’re gonna run, you’ll be doing it in his underwear and socks. Mmm… tempting.”

Gardener glanced at the briefs and socks he had thrown down. A quick look around confirmed that they were the only clothes.

“Anyway, Kent filled me in on how you felt about me. I gotta say, I always kinda thought you were into me, maybe. But now that my eyes have been opened, it’s actually possible! You and I could be together, married to Kent and to each other and to the rest of his Acolytes. They’re all brother-husbands, and they run his house and service him and each other, and yeah, basically, it’s the life. I’m on my way up there now. So I’ll hand you over to Kent, because buddy, you’ve got a choice to make. I really hope I see you soon!”

He passed the camera to Kent, who brought his face close into the frame.

“So… Decisions, decisions, eh?” He chuckled, the baritone of his voice rumbling in the TV speakers. “Now, by the time this video wakes you up, I’ll be about a half hour away. You can run, naked for all I care, or wear my briefs. You’re basically addicted to them by now anyway. Like your friend Arthur said, if you go, you will never find us. But you will always want. The hunger is in you, burned in. So! If you decide to remain, then all I want you to do is finish this beer…” He paused, pointing the camera down at the coffee table, and the then-empty glass. His enormous cock hung just above the rim, and he wagged it about for the camera before letting an amber stream flow into the mug. At the same time, he poured actual beer from a bottle into the mixture. He panned the camera back up to his face.

“…By now you’re probably quite a good way finished already, but now that you’re conscious, the choice is really yours. Drink deep, and go deep, and await me with my gift once again over your face, and I will whisk you away to a place where your desires will no longer torment you, but will free you. The choice is yours, son. I’ll be there soon.”

The video ended. At some point, Gardener had become erect again. He sighed deeply. He should be way more conflicted, but his mind was already made up. He raised a glass to toast, and uttered his first ever swear.
“Well, fuck me!”

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