Kali as White Destroyer

Rampant Destruction, Remorseless Violence. God's work. Revelation in action. The God-Queen speaks through her. Goes by Diane. Fatal mistake, he didn't know her. He saw her, but he couldn't recognize her. The end was slow, torturous, brutal. Her big body overpowered him easily, utterly unchallenged. Her mastery over him was so complete it was actually comical.
She wore nothing but a pair of lacy black panties and matching black patent leather high heels, and she was a vision of voluptuous perfection. What a woman! She must have weighed around 210 lbs., most of it legs, ass and huge breasts. She told him to go into the kitchen, light a burner, and stick his hand in the flame. He complied instantly. She just stood there next to him, laughing as the flame singed his skin well down into the flesh. He wouldn't dare remove it without her permission, so he just stood there screaming. Finally, instead of telling him to remove it, she just reared back and cold-cocked the poor fucker. I mean, laid him out with a roundhouse right. She is so strong, too. Her big arms and big body behind that punch knocked the living shit out of him. He goes down on the kitchen floor, nose bleeding badly and hand smoldering. The whole place reeked of burning flesh.

Then she pulled him up into a sitting position against the kitchen wall, and holding him in place by his hair, she hammered him with repeated knee and thigh bashes into his face, each powerful blow causing more blood to flow and more screams to go up. She finished off the flurry by thrusting her whole massive lower body into him, smashing his head into the wall with her powerful hips. He slumped over sideways, his body suffering violent paroxysms as she stood over him laughing and taunting him with severe verbal abuse. Those huge legs of hers smashing repeatedly into his face had caused extensive damage; crushed his nose completely flat, broken his jaw in 2 places, and knocked out his front teeth. The hip thrust had undoubtedly caused a concussion. Blood was pouring now as he spit first one and then another tooth out onto the floor. Unfazed at the nightmarish scene she was so handily orchestrating , she kept pushing the envelope.

-Get up!, she said. Are you gonna let a girl beat the fucking shit outta you like this? Get up, goddamn you!

Of course, there was already no hope of that. At the moment, all he could do was lie there writhing in mortal agony.

-Ignore me, will you? We'll see about that! Look up here, right now. Look at my fucking tits, asshole! If you get up here I'll let you suck on them. One minute on each one. Isn't that better than getting your ass kicked some more?

He managed to turn his head shakily as his body kept squirming and look up at her. Her breasts were huge, perfect torpedoes of the most sumptuous flesh, so beautifully shaped, so plump, so inviting. Looking into the bloody mess that was his face, Diane cracked up hard again, adding insult to injury with her insatiable propensity for humiliation. Unbelievably, his desire for her somehow enabled him to override the intense damage his head had been forced to endure. His hand still smoking, he continued to yelp as the violent throbbing persisted, but despite it all he miraculously tried to pull himself up, gripping first a drawer handle, and then the oven door handle to get almost as far as his knees. Diane continued to tease him mercilessly with those enormous tits, dangling them this way and that, just out of reach of his desperate, bloody lips.

Just as he finally got his feet underneath him and as the faintest hint of a grateful smile caught the corners of his lips, she laughed at him mockingly and drove him back against the wall, holding him firmly in place with her forearm jammed hard against his throat.

-Poor baby, she chided. Did Mama lie to her little baby?

With that she went back to work with her weapons of choice, her fabulous fat legs. She drove a big, powerhouse knee into his abdomen; not once, not twice, not thrice, but four devastating blows. On the fourth, she released him and he folded up like a wallet and crashed forward headfirst into the hard tile floor, throwing up violently as he went down. Those crushing leg blows had also completely robbed him of his breath. The combination of the vomiting spasms and the inability to breath caused him to make freakish squeaky gurgling sounds that were positively inhuman. Reaching down and jerking his pants down over his ass, Diane saw that his cock was fully extended, dribbling pre-cum in the throes of his agitated excitation.
-Yummy! she exulted.

She dropped down and began to give him the most exceptionally stimulating blow job he'd ever had in his life. The polarity of feelings within him was unbearable. Writhing, gasping desperately for breath, hand burning as though it were still in the fire, head crushed, jaw broken, nose broken and still spitting out teeth; in spite of all this his cock throbbed quickly to the point of explosion, and the expert sex Vixen, Diane, recognizing the moment, abruptly stopped, adding denial of orgasm to his long list of injuries. She laughed her sexy, witchy laugh at him, and as he lay there convulsing, she reached down into a cabinet and pulled out the largest pot she could find.

As she took it out, she swung it hard at him, bouncing a severe blow off his head with the heavy pot. Then, she filled it with water and put it on the stove to boil.

-You've got about 5 minutes, she said. 5 minutes to get your fucking breath back and be up to at least a kneeling position. And if you fuck this up, I promise I will fucking kill you and be done with it! You read me, you fucking slug!?

All he could do was twitch, bleed, and puke. Diane nonchalantly fixed herself a martini and relaxed at the nearby kitchen table with a cigarette. She crossed her outrageously hot legs, and dangled her glistening high heel playfully as she enjoyed her drink and smoke. The whole time her victim had been doing what her victims always did; writhe on the floor, bleed and make the most peculiar noises. It had gotten to be a habit with Diane to see how unusual the noises she could force out of them might be. Today, she cracked up at the squeaks and gurgling. But now, he was regaining his breath. That was all she needed in order to proceed.

She put out her cigarette and walked back over to the stove. The full pot of water was just reaching a boil.

-C'mon, she said. Get your ass up. Sit up, or I'm gonna make you wish you had never been born!

He couldn't quite make it on his own volition, but Diane aided the cause by jerking him into position by his hair. Breathing sketchily now, he was still in serious agony and as he looked up at her magnificent breasts hanging over him he started to cry.

-Shut up! she said, bitch-slapping him hard across the face.

There must've been one more loose tooth in there, as her slap caused him to spit it out. Bloody kernels littering the floor. Diane turned to the stove and the water was boiling furiously now. Ultra-scalding hot. She took two pot holders, and knowing that her subject would never be able to stand at this point, she told him to hold out his hands and take the pot from her. He appeared quite wobbly as he tried to follow orders.

-Take it, goddamn you! And if you drop it, it's over for you. I will fucking bury you in the yard if you don't do this right. Now take it by the pot holders and hang onto it, idiot!

He didn't know much at this point, but he knew Diane meant business. With all his remaining strength he held the pot of water, already sure of its purpose.

-That's it, moron, she said. Now, dump it over your head while I watch. And I mean every last drop of it!

Tears filled his eyes, blood and vomit drooled down his chin and taking one last look at those glorious tits, he followed her instructions. The scalding water washed down over his head and onto his body and there has never been screaming to equal this. He drops the empty pot to the floor and takes flight; rolling, spinning, flipping, flopping, freaking shaking, quaking and the whole time SCREAMING! Diane stood right over him, practically analyzing his agonized movements as she laughed and laughed. She laughed continually until she was in pain, and the whole time he never slowed down, gyrating around the floor like a spinning top; a severely bloody spinning top.

Diane fixed another drink and sat down with another cigarette, enjoying the spectacle of her creation. The whole time she continued to laugh and laugh at her victim's plight. His unspeakably frenzy lasted almost ten minutes before he finally came to rest heaving in desperation. Chuckling to herself, Diane tossed off the rest of her martini. She then walked over to him, laid down on top of him, dropped her massive breasts down over his mouth and nose, locked her arms behind his neck, pulled him in tight and finished the job.

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.

Kali's Origins: Part I

With regard to methodology in any kind of detailed historical study, we are accustomed to the notion of proceeding chronologically. There is nothing mysterious about this. The most comprehensive way of grasping the scope of any historical phenomenon is to understand its progression from origin to ending, including any ramifications extending beyond ending into the future. With this notion of methodology I am generally in agreement, but there are certain instances in which aspects of a subject are given greater clarity by isolating them from that chronological flow in order that they may be understood more clearly within that ‘before and after’ framework later on. The study of the incarnation of the God-Queen Kali presents us with such an instance. Because her power and presence are so richly compelling and her origins so complex, it has always seemed to me that anyone with a sincere interest in becoming familiar with her should benefit from an introduction to her person in this plane as a way of having something tangible to work with in the context of the larger study to be undertaken in retracing her pre-existent manifestation in higher-dimensional space-time. Simply put, let’s get to know the most extraordinary female presence in universe history a little better before we begin sifting through the complex data that comprises her incomprehensible totality.

Kali's history stretches much farther back than her incarnation in quadratic-dimensionality. In understanding her origins, we must know something of her pre-existence in the Satanic Eternity and this involves the acquisition of awareness and transcendental mystical skills that are beyond the scope of this article. Our intention is to leave her pre-history aside for the time being, and do some hard work in discovering her origins on this plane, in the 4-dimensional world. This begins with the investigation of writings and images of Kali as they have been created down through the ages. As we will see presently, it's not such an easy task. On the historical front there is far more in the way of contradiction and randomness than there is in coherent data upon which a unified picture of Kali's earthly manifestation can be erected.

The majority of extant imagery depicting Kali comes down to us through art and literature of Hindu culture. In studying this imagery, one is immediately struck by the fact that she is presented in a variety of colors. She is black in some renderings, brown in others, and even more or less white in more than a few. She is also depicted in blues, greens, lavenders, etc. The list goes on. This fact is usually attributed to artistic license, subjective interpretations dependent upon the painter's particular conception or intent. The artistic license theory always provides an easy way out of historical curiosities, and the presence of the Divine Kali is no exception. When no further physical facts can be discovered to explain variations in cultural discourse or archaeological inconsistencies, it is almost a matter or course that we find historians falling back, to some extent at any rate, on the artistic license theory. Painters forge their artistic visions for reasons largely unknown to future generations, and the motivations behind their efforts die with them. It's a logical, and more often than not, satisfying way of dropping the subject.

As it turns out, in the case of the Divine Kali, there is good reason for arrival at this historical dead-end. This is due to the fact that Kali's incarnation is not a strictly historical matter, in the traditional sense of the term. It is actually more of a metaphysical matter, a 'metaphysical history,' if I may be so bold. Now, it must be admitted that historians generally know precious little in the realms of philosophy and metaphysics, and the manifestation of Kali in our dimension happens to require extensive understanding in both of these disciplines if it is to be properly understood. The key here is the realization that Kali's incarnation is not a singular one. It is, in fact, plural! She is come in a multitude of forms and guises, and it is this transcendental fact that continues to confound traditional research. For those beings--whether they be human, extra-terrestrial, or ephemeral--that have ascended to Cosmic Consciousness and beyond, it is common knowledge that Kali is come in an infinity of incarnations and continues to do so until the time of the Great Transformation. We have been saying that our visual conceptions of Kali come predominantly from paintings and sculpture, and, keeping the foregoing in mind, we can now ask the artistic question again with an eye toward obtaining a meaningful answer. Paintings and sculpture are created by artists, and what do we know about artists? Artists, being typically more in tune with supra-mundane happenings than the common folk, have more of what we could call an ‘insider’s view’ into reality, and it is evident to anyone willing to compare the various images of Kali that have come down to us that the disparity in these works represents something far more significant than artistic license. It represents the multifarious states of the subject herself. The truth is that the (predominantly Hindu) artists of antiquity obsessed with rendering her were already aware of Kali’s endless variety of incarnations. They were witnesses to her reign of destruction and death in a multitude of guises, just as we are witnesses to the same phenomena today. Many indeed may have lost their lives in her wake upon completion of their artworks. Kali is eternal, the forms of her incarnation, infinite. But what of her original incarnation? How did her father, Satan, choose to initiate her presence in quadratic-dimensionality, on the world stage?

To discover the answer we must avail ourselves of the earliest pieces of documentation available, and more importantly, of archaeological evidence tracing the origins of humankind itself as far back in time as possible. This entails suspending the prevailing idea that Kali was a goddess 'out of India.' To begin with, the documentation out of India is sketchy as to Kali’s origins. It is remarkably detailed as to her functions and her basic mode of being, but when we try to gain a clear sense of who she is and where she came from we quickly become lost in a maze of different names, different sources, different motivations and, naturally, different colors to go along with all these different interpretations of her genesis. It is relatively easy to see the evidence for multiple incarnations in the confusion that emerges from these early documents, and yet it is something the philosophical community does not want to come to grips with. Of course, in their opinions, it’s all myth anyway, so why do they seem reluctant to admit of Kali’s manifestation in a multitude of forms? We’ll leave that curious fact for them to figure out. At any rate, what is clear is that Kali is depicted in numerous forms and by numerous names in the Hindu literature and scriptures that deal with her presence. This can only be an indication of confusion, of a lack of consensus as to her true origin. People of the time were witness to her rampant sexual violence and murderous deeds, but owing to the continual flux in manifestation, they were unable to grasp anything of her true underlying identity. We need to follow the trail farther back in time if we are to find any reference to her by those who actually were privy to Kali’s original manifestation and who would be in no doubt whatsoever as to the facts attending such a momentous and extraordinary event. The problem? These early humans hadn't gotten the hang of writing yet. Not in comprehensive fashion, at any rate. Documentation could very well appear only in cave paintings, for all we know. What is necessary, then, is the discovery of some evidence of her activities between the dawn of humanity and the period of the Hindu writers and artists. To discover the truth regarding this lengthy phase of her incarnations and appearances will give us a clearer understanding of her original deeds and objectives. And so we find that we must prepare for a journey much farther back in time than we might first have been wont to suppose.

The African Connection.
It is now widely accepted that the human race originated in Africa, almost certainly in Ethiopia. It is my belief that Kali was incarnated sometime later from those who became the eventual master race out of this powerful evolutionary movement. There is irrefutable evidence available as well to show that such a giant step in evolutionary development was in part a result of assistance by alien intelligence, from extra-dimensinal 'mid-wives,' as it were, that played a major role in the 'birthing' of a new species of homonid in whom simple consciousness expanded into self-consciousness, the hallmark of the human animal. This is completely in concert with what has been revealed to us directly through our own extra-dimensional enlightenment and myriad contact with the true Satanic messengers that serve as attendants to Kali, ministering to her mundane needs within and through her multitude of transcendental manifestations. These revelations also coincide with the most compelling descriptions of Kali that appear in the Hindu writings, that of the giant, fierce, unstoppable Black Man-Eater, bent on domination, destruction, and death. The following citations are of particular interest.

Kālī is the feminine of kāla "black, dark coloured" (per Panini 4.1.42). It appears as the name of a form of Durga in Mahabharata 4.195, and as the name of an evil female spirit in Harivamsa 11552.

Knowing then that her very name seems to indicate the possibility at least of her arrival on the Indian scene out of Africa, we are given incentive to take our investigation to a higher level in our efforts to reveal the true Kali in her extra-dimensional and extra-terrestrial origins. Her divine majesty, the God-Queen, perhaps incarnate on earth as far back as 75,000 years ago! If this is true, it would appear that the world must have already been in vital need of transformation at that time. Kali appears for no other reason. In the next post, we will look further into this provocative and fascinating theory.

The room, if that’s what it is, is darkened, shadowy, definitely an empty space. You are awakening as if from a dream, or better, you are awakening within a dream. There’s nothing here. A cube. Absolutely empty. No windows, no doors. A cell. The darkness is twilight darkness. You can see clearly, but there is no source from which any light whatsoever could emanate. Wherever you are, you’re afraid, and the natural inclination is to get the hell out of here. You begin feeling along the walls, spring a secret passage like in the movies. This is no movie. Checking the floor. Trap door! No. Just need to wake up, you reason. Slap yourself, pinch yourself, throw yourself into the walls.
-Wake up, goddamn you!
Now you’re screaming at yourself. And then, she is there. She laughs at you, feeding instantly upon the terror that grips you. She is huge. Perfect Kali-Incarnate. The most exquisite black flesh; soft, smooth, glistening in the faint light of this place. She wears the skimpiest of coverings, and towering high heels. You see your death already in those luscious, fat thighs; so powerful, so shapely, so impossibly compelling.
You instinctively drop to your knees before her in fear and reverence. Your worship of Kali already underway in only seconds. With one stunning glance.

Strange locale, no escape, emotions splintering into some unseen intricate web of dire conflict, face-to-face with your fondest dream turned hellish nightmare. Her smile is deadly, so beautiful, so intimidating, so fucking sexy. It speaks of your helplessness, and of her limitless power to destroy you. She turns now, this way and that, teasing you mercilessly with those exquisite legs and ass, each movement giving birth to seismic flesh-dances, her glorious, satin black substance coming alive, quivering deliciously in the service of overpowering torture as she beckons you to touch, only to refuse you at the last second. You burst into tears from the demolition of your being that is already being accomplished in such systematic fashion. This angers her, the last thing you need right now.
-Insolence! She cries.
She jerks you up from the floor by your hair and pulls you into a mind-fucking headlock. Her fat, powerful arms begin to crush your puny little skull. Such force as you have never imagined! And the indescribably mesmerizing scent of her body, the most delicious, feminine scent you have ever known. It hurts. It really hurts, and yet you have the dead certainty that she is only yet playing with you, that she could mash your head into powder if it suited her purpose to do so. Your body goes into shock from the pressure and pain. A series of full-blown seizures, electrifying you into full extension, limbs steely-stiff, reaching, grasping. Then, all goes limp. You slump against the side of her body, feeling her luxuriant leg-flesh pressing against you. Almost a real breath. Not quite. Another ripping paroxysm. You think you are screaming but it’s hard to tell in here. In the death-grip of her headlock, your face is buried beneath her breast. Breathing sketchy and the voltage about to separate flesh from bone. Then you drop again; pendulous, flaccid. This excruciating polarized attack goes on. It feels like Power Stations being emptied into your Being, then suddenly shut down. Your cock is a steel girder, spilling its reservoir freely. Vast trails of pre-cum in random patterns on the floor. Punishing you beyond dreamscapes with nothing but fat, succulent arms, and the strength of a mansion full of gods.

At some point, she’s had her amusement and lets you fall rag-doll to the floor. You twitch and flutter, carrying her divine scent within your brain, sensing the presence of other worlds. Suddenly nearby. Everything is
On off
On off
On off
On off….
You are in black
Then you come back
A little

Is she above you now? Standing over you?
A vast, mighty explosion rips through your ribcage.

Kinetic pressure that pops your eyes out of their sockets helps you to see it. She came down. A devastating Atomic Butt Drop, full weight, solar plexus. Senses race back into you momentarily and you see her there atop your puny body. Huge legs straddling either side of you and the most brackish, sinister laughter—Satan’s laughter—echoing through and around and inside/outside your skull. Then experience breaks into its component shards, and a geyser of vomit rockets from within your crumpled body, up the esophagus, tearing through the throat, and your mouth is a puke-derrick, spouting your internal oil festively into the high-up of this cage and all breath along-with. This plump, gorgeous black vision of the God-Queen Kali watches you, looking down at your wretched/retching face with fiendish delight until the fetid fountain draws down somewhat.



Moving as quickly as some psychic force, she spins around upon you and snatches your head between black giant thighs. Kali is god. She controls you. Miraculously, you can feel again. But feeling what? The press of thighs perfected by universal powers. Lush, huge, (your head is buried, your nose between the ass cheeks of god!) sateen, perfumed/bouquet as of the gardens of paradise, big/long/shapely/thick/soft/hard/sensual/powerful/ Incomprehensibly beautiful legs. Kali the God-Queen laughs again through this divine incarnation…and begins to squeeze!

Flailing.
Wailing.
Flipping.
Flopping.
Writhing.
Convulsing.
Paro Paro
Paro Paro
Paroxysm.
Death on a stick.
The python grip of monstrous legs signals the finish.
Quick & Clean
Your hands push hard against Himalayan thighs, desperately clutching. You can no longer hear it, but you feel her laughter mocking you in your utter ineptitude. Those legs totally immovable. Too strong. Too powerful. Too gorgeous. She increases the pressure. Your skull cracking. You can hear it! No escape, so you try to revel in what will be your death. You give yourself over to the feel, the smell, the majesty of those big legs and the sensual crush of their omnipotence. The demolition of your body breeds lightning in your soul and your excitation rises to peak. She squeezes harder! You are at the beginning of a journey. You feel it. Concussion. Skull cracking deeper. Brain under duress. Cock pounding double time to your furious heartbeat. She cranks it up some more, and in so doing, looks back proudly to admire her handiwork; a skyscraper shaped like a penis. Laughs again. Satan inside. Reaches back to play with it. Legs tighten. You throw up blood this time, mixed with bile and brown-greens. Throw up violently, rifling it out onto the floor. She takes one pull on your desperate cock and you explode all over the tiny room. Gushing in wicked spurts, engendered by Evil itself.

The divine Kali-Incarnate. Perfect destruction. Perfect execution of the divine will. She rides the laughter-energy now. She tightens her grip. Considerably. Your skull gives way, collapses, and your bladder and bowels are released. You are left there, god-knows-where, in puddles of your own body fluids and excrement. Over as quickly as it began. Kali-Incarnate. God-Queen of Death and Ultimate Transcendence. You are released from Samsara onto the plane of Absolute Being.

Kali be praised!

Samsara

The Church spire rises high/skyward, an ostensibly innocuous-looking monolith serving to remind the townspeople of their acute need for salvation. Sinners, one and all, they behold the pleasantly painted steeple standing as sentinel above them as they go about their daily affairs. Life led systematically without repentance spawning its own synthesis of virtue. Parallel plane of Dark. Of Shadow. Once translated, life as truth, time is one, being non-linear, facade of samsara revealed. Kali remains as ground of experience.



Planes. Dimensions. Levels. Consciousness. Sensed here, but seen only through cracks between the worlds.

Twilight

Kali. Call her God-Queen. Satan Incarnate. Absolute Woman. She alone knows your entity's pathway. Some will never happen upon her. The committed devotee knows her on sight, and will seek her patiently, ceaselessly, until he has earned the privilege of her presence. It is she who will attend to his death, burial, and resurrection.

Life is in the breath on this plane.

But in an infinity of planes (dimensions) there is an infinity of modalities. Kali is come to effect your burial that you may be resurrected, as the Bible says ‘in newness of life.’ This is a supreme truth. Newness of life is higher-dimensional. It is not what is commonly referred to as ‘Heaven.’ It is continued life in the glory of higher consciousness. The God-Queen comes with extreme violence. Through her violence, your own metaphysical truth is revealed. All metaphysical truth is arrived at through violence. Why is violence necessary? Because it is only through violence that the degradation and compromise of the body may be achieved, and the breaking of the body brings altered perception. ‘Seeing’ in a new way is a requirement for the ascent to higher consciousness, to extra-dimensional perception. This life is, indeed, in the Breath. As Kali so mercifully robs you of it, snuffing it out with her thick, luscious, divine thighs, life shifts to other modalities and to higher consciousness. As the body is thus broken, so is the illusion of samsara. Things are seen as they truly are; infinite. Praise blessed Kali, Savior of Men. Death: Through crushing and suffocation. Burial: Between her plump, punishing thighs Resurrection: Into newness of life in higher-dimensional space-time

Kali: A Sexual Incarnation

Find Kali in her perfect state of incarnation. She has many sub-states. When she appears in these sub-states she is considerably more formidable than women indigenous to this dimensionality, but only in her pure incarnation does she bring all her power to bear. Kali-in-perfection may be known by her dark severity, which is transformed to smiles and frivolity when she is not actively engaged in her calling: Destruction. Her gargantuan size renders her invulnerable to any notion of resistance and indeed those foolish enough to try are usually annihilated in cruel and perverse fashion. No other has Kali’s devastating power for destruction.

It is said that she walks like thunder. It is said that the earth trembles beneath her feet. It is said that merely to behold the presence of her fat arms and legs, the extraordinary beauty of her divine countenance, and the burning intensity of her gaze can cause paralysis, and even death on sight. When you behold her cosmic perfection for yourself, you know all this to be true. The total domination she brings to bear upon her surroundings is the a priori fact of her manifestation.

Worship The God-Queen and her sexual power!
Fat God-Queen is Kali. In her incomparable plush beauty, she threatens her subjects with her incomprehensible sexuality, easily able to crush them with her huge, beautiful breasts, plump, delicious arms, and massive, shapely legs. The emotional force of such a threat renders her subjects frozen in fear and awe.

With supreme arrogance, she pleases herself at the expense of her helpless subjects. She delights in smothering with her huge, immaculate breasts. Life is in the breath, and The God-Queen Kali will rob you of it in precious few seconds. Forcing your lips to caress and kiss her divine flesh, she exults as you pant desperately from the laying-on-face of her wicked, gorgeous breasts. You shiver from sensuous contact with her soft, luscious body.

Contact with the divine flesh of Kali is transcendental. Her father, Satan, created her so. To touch her sumptuous body is to be instantly freed from this plane. This phenomenon requires some explanation. We are bound to our own dimensional plane by restraints in the physical realm that are created by our perceptual system. The reason we all perceive the world as we do (in 4 dimensions, three of space and one of time) is because our five senses work together in such as way as to process reality in accordance with that structure. It is the structure that serves us best for the purposes of engaging in our worldly activities in this dimension. But this is an entirely utilitarian system of operation, and by no means the only one we possess. More importantly, it was not even meant to be our primary mode of perception. It is only a matter of man’s insistence upon evolving at the slowest possible rate, or if possible, to evolve not at all, that our race remains unaware of the glorious higher modes of absolute transcendence already in place within the human consciousness. These are the perceptual systems that constitute ‘Cosmic Consciousness’ and they are available to all who are willing to open themselves to their own higher potentiality. The encounter with Kali constitutes assurance of that self-opening.

To be clear, sexual experience with any beautiful woman admits of certain potentialities for limited transcendence. The same experience with any big beautiful woman admits of potentialities for transcendental experience that are less restrictive. But only the unique sexual experience with Kali admits of infinite transcendent potential. As I was saying, then, contact with the divine flesh of Kali immediately severs our reliance upon our normal modes of perception, creating the context for immediate transcendence. In reality, however, it is typical that Kali holds us here in this dimension for a certain period of time. The exaltation felt at the desire to experience the higher realities already in sight in combination with our being forced to remain localized creates a feeling that is indescribable. It is as if we are in two dimensions at once, and in a very real way, we are. For Kali, however, this is her time to shine. She has her subject entirely at her mercy, and her purpose for holding him in this dimension is simple. It is so that she may torture him at will, subjecting him to X-Treme sexual, physical, and psychological degradation before releasing him into higher-dimensional space-time. It goes without saying that she will also take the opportunity for her own orgasmic pleasure, which is hers through the devastating subjection and compromise she wreaks upon her subject. Only Kali is capable of this kind of control.

Her exquisite breasts descend upon your face and The Real is fragmented kaleidoscopic. Kali chooses for a moment to express her sensual nature, reveling in the growing submergence of your head beneath her powerful and infinitely sensual substantive flesh. At first, you twitch and flinch, unable to fully process the sensations, but presently you fall to ecstasy and lie there in sexual suspension, allowing unimaginable sensations to run wild through your body and soul.

Kali begins to become bored with you. Her expression changes from rapturous to annoyed. You feel those breasts fall fully into place. You are buried beneath them. Life is in the breath. Will Kali simply take it from you now, or does she have more in store for you? She meditates upon her own desires and upon your helplessness. Does it end here with her glorious breasts, or does she want to extend your agony, provide you with a true demonstration of feminine power? Does she want to show you the kind of devastating punishment a beautiful big woman can inflict upon such a worthless pig as yourself?

Such demonstrations are at Kali's discretion, of course, but they are hardly necessary when one considers how much damage she can inflict with her breasts alone. Here, a perfect Kali-incarnate devours her prey by smothering him with her enormous and beautiful body. In this instance, she goes no farther than the utilization of her sublime breasts to take out her victim. Remarkably, her subject in this shot, though completely deprived of breath and struggling in vain against the weight and sexuality of her substantive flesh, still finds the wherewithal to remain obedient and embrace her lovingly. That is Power! This shot was taken just moments before the end.

A few shots here show the moments leading up to the photo above. Perfect, controlled destruction and transcendental agony.



Her eyes touch you physically. An infinity of rooms exist beyond the portal. But when will you arrive there? If she decides that a more forceful demonstration of her power is in order, you will severely regret having been born. All that remains at that point is to continue telling yourself that one of two things shall likely be your fate. Either the attainment of Cosmic Consciousness if you live, or infinite absolute transcendence if you die. Either way, if she determines that you are deserving of a beating, it will be like none you have ever imagined; an indescribably painful, terrifying, and sexually explosive experience. Shown here is another of Kali's favorite forms of suffocation; cumming all over your worthless face as she crushes the life out of you.


Should you fear Kali's incarnations? I'll leave you to be the judge of that. After all, Dead Men Tell No Tales. It's easy to dismiss the question when you are without experience, or worse yet, an unbeliever. But sooner or later the moment arrives when you are faced with her dark but luminous presence. You will be better able to function to your best advantage in that moment if you have been one of the faithful. To Kali, your predisposition couldn't possibly be of less importance. She wil crush you if she so chooses. She will use you as a sex toy if she so chooses. She will bury your soul in Hell if she so chooses, and for this she will have her father's most prideful blessing. Satan is waiting to attend to your transformation. God-Queen Kali is his vehicle of choice in the accomplishment of his objectives. He who is not for us is against us, and such a one will surely know Kali's wrath!