Two Studies for Public Worship of The Divine Kali

Study #1.
Sometimes it just happens. Nothing you can do about it. You knew from the start you were taking your life into your own hands with such a big, dominant powerhouse as she. Admittedly, you're always at least a little nervous, worried about what happens if you fail to please, but you are well-acquainted with her rules by now, and you feel sure everything is fine.

Carrying her packages on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. She loves to shop, and you've been anticipating her every need perfectly. Just that one half-step ahead of her. The way she wants you to be. You're walking along, just slightly behind her, according to protocol, when suddenly she looks over her shoulder at you. Then again. Something is wrong, but you don't know what it is. These are nerve-wracking moments. You're not allowed to speak without being spoken to, so asking her what you can do for her comfort and pleasure is out of the question. You're beside yourself, trying to figure out what it is. After a few more steps she becomes exasperated.

-Kneel down, Pig! she commands. Right now!

You are carrying a few dresses in clothing bags. You hold them up high so they won't touch the ground as you drop to your knees instantly on the sidewalk.

-Look at my ass!

Her ass is huge; big, round, beautiful. She turns it right into your face and a storm begins to brew inside. Her mega-hot shorts riding up over the delicious convex arcs of plush, perfect flesh that separate her spectacular ass from her luscious, creamy thighs; a scene that destroys minds. She stamps her leg down causing the whole complex to gyrate playfully, toxic as some futuristic hologram of nerve-gas. The tight shorts unable to escape entrapment in her ass crack. And you feel it all slipping away.

-Smell my legs, she says.

You lean slightly forward, just inches away and your nostrils drink down the poison fury of her floral bouquet. Sweet, lilting perfume in concert with the divine scent of her flesh. Struggling, struggling to keep those dresses from touching the sidewalk.

-Sniff my ass! she says. Stick your fucking nose right up my crack!

Crowded sidewalk. Onlookers abounding. You plant your nose firmly between those exquisite ass cheeks. You feel the soft, demonic flesh attack your soul through contact with your face. Suddenly you tremble, wildly. Losing contact.

-Do it!

You inhale deeply just as she looses a huge fart into your face. You breathe deeper, deeper; don't want to lose one molecule of it. Laughter. Riotous laughter erupts all around, not least from her full, strawberry lips. Abject humiliation. She transforms you, as she has so many times before, into something sub-human. A receptacle for her body's waste. Somehow, details always seem to slip quickly into the ether. All you remember then is the unbearable longing that accompanied your throbbing, steely hard-on.






Study #2.
They keep saying I have choices. Go where I want, do what I want, think what I want. After all, I'm a free American and all. The sound of such notions is vaguely familiar. Faraway, echoing on distant shores of memory, mine perhaps, but slid down some kind of dark hole way ages back.


Surrounded by shadow. This darkness mocks me, insult upon insult. Hands grope feeble in the nothingness of discarded worlds. My legacy is but her footnote. Dreams of old were always about faces, places, colors and sublime actions. Actions of love, actions of joy, actions geared toward this-sided warfare. All dead now, as I am soon to be as well. Her Incarnate name is Salikka, but I know who she is. She is Kali come in her extraordinary black perfection. She is Original Woman. Her power is limitless. I have seen it before in visions of the real-to-come. I have seen it in the great silences induced by her presence in hideous nightmares and the other terrifying events that comprise the prophetic experience. Serving her is a duty I take with utmost seriousness. It’s just that she makes you pay such an extortionate toll for it.

This week, I am her pig. Not even her dog, you understand. She will allow me to serve her only as pig. She makes me grunt and oink. She makes me practice it, ad infinitum at her divine feet. She makes me squeal ‘Suuuuuuuueeeey!!’ She makes me eat garbage. She makes me eat her shit. She makes me eat my shit. She makes me eat dog shit. She has used me as her all-purpose receptacle this week; toilet, ashtray (she loves to smoke and drink) and garbage disposal. (My only meals) She has already told me that I have 2 months. If I am not completely insane and committed for life to some asylum, then she will have no choice but to kill me.

While Salikka was pissing into my mouth this morning, she told me I was to accompany her to a ‘lingerie softball game’ today. Mixed blessing, as I went crazy seeing her in states of glorious undress, but terrifying too, as I knew my ‘pig’ duties would be substantial. She walked me into the park on my leash, completely naked, crawling desperately on all fours to keep pace with her. Whenever she batted or made a play in the field I had to squeal at the top of my lungs, and between innings I was required to lick the sweat from her phenomenal satin-black flesh, a task which, needless to say, thrilled me no end. She was so hot at the plate! Her outrageous body, adorned in pink panties, pink cap and white top made my cock pound with excitement. She even used a matching pink bat! The way she crouched, awaiting the next pitch; with her incomparable big ass sticking out, blowing minds for miles..Yes. She was a vision of smokin’ hot perfection.

When the game was over, she went to work immediately on breaking me further. First, she hooked up with a nice-looking white boy who was hanging around for the game, hugging him, kissing him, telling me how she was going to fuck his ever-lovin’ brains out, just to drive me wild. I knew she didn’t care about him, and that always made it harder. I wished her well in love, but I found it unbearable when she used men only to punish me, to make me feel ever more inadequate.

While people were milling around, she called for me. I crawled out to her, sitting embarrassed and naked before her in the company of at least 8-10 acquaintances, most of them girls. They all giggled and commended Salikka on her little pig-slave-boy. In front of this whole group, she proceeded to make me sit up and beg—piggie-style—to lick her ass cheeks. I obeyed, sitting up with hands hung limply, and grunting and oinking for the privilege of my mistress's ass. At length, she complied with my request and I began to lick her incredible black cheeks quickly and thoroughly.

-Stop! She commanded.

I backed up. She then planted a serious wet kiss on her little white boy wanna-be, instructing me to watch unswervingly or face serious punishment. I never really knew why it hurt so bad, but it did, and I began to cry.

-Piggie-style, bitch! She yelled.

I started ‘oinking’ my crying, which cracked everyone up so badly that I quickly couldn’t be heard above the din of howling mirth.

-Stick your face up my ass, Pig! She demanded.

Bawling my eyes out, cock pounding like a jackhammer, I jammed my nose between her ass cheeks. Again, the group broke into riotous laughter, congratulating Salikka on the comprehensive quality of her conquest. I held my face there, whiffing down Salikka’s exquisite odor of sweat-soaked flesh with hints of perfume and shit swirling in the mix. After a few moments, however, the indescribable sensation of her plump, powerful ass cheeks against my face became too much for me. I lost contact with reality and began to scream. Salikka had launched me (somehow) into another place, another dimension, I felt. Though she commanded me repeatedly to shut up, I continued to scream bloody murder. Everyone continued to laugh, but Salikka had stopped. She sensed my mental state and knew it had to be dealt with. I was locked between the worlds, and had to be either sent forward, or driven back. She jerked me violently from her ass, reared back, and with her whole body weight, sucker punched me right in the middle of my face. I went down like a bag of dirt, still screaming after I hit the ground.

-Look at me, bitch! She screamed.

Lying on my back, I looked up as she commanded, only to see her gigantic ass directly above me, gesturing, weaving back and forth. With no warning, she dropped down upon my head; an enormous Dumbo-Drop that caused me to go into major convulsions instantly. She remained seated upon my face, watching my body kicking wildly for a couple of moments, and then got up. As she moved off of me, I rolled away in unprecedented pain, clutching my head in abject agony. Salikka laughed like the devil she is and waited for me to come to rest. Having done so face down, she kicked me over onto my back, stood haughtily over me, and dropped again on my beleaguered cranium. That was it. As I lay there twitching like a soon-to-be corpse, the strange thought crossed my dying mind.

Better Kali’s Pig, than King of the World.

As it turned out, Salikka didn’t kill me after all, though it was close. Needless to say, I didn't survive the two months. Shortly after the softball game her unrelenting torture broke me completely. Today I live in a maximum-security asylum for the mentally insane. My mind processes nothing but confused clouds of Salikka-memories. Nothing of the up-and-coming. For me, there is no such thing. I don't speak at all, but sometimes when I close my eyes I see those two names flashing across my brain: Salikka....Kali....Salikka....Kali.