Synopsis: The demon haunting you since using an ouija board finally makes its mark.
Warnings: Non-Con, Demon possession, fingering
Male! Demon X Gender Neutral! Reader
How many people genuinely believed in the legitimacy of Ouija boards? For heaven’s sake department stores sold them in neon pink packaging, decorative planchettes were advertised as earrings, and movie themed boards were decorated with unforgettable franchises.
So why was it that, somehow, yours actually worked?
Not only did your Ouija board work, it was powerful. The planchette fully moved on its own, objects flew across the board, scratch marks damaged its cracked wood from unseeable hands. None of your friends had experienced the same with their plastic, painted-on boards.
You had begun to find scratch marks elsewhere-- your back was riddled with them, some kind of letter or number carving deep in your skin that you couldn’t quite read in the mirror.
And to top it all off, there were the night terrors. Just dreams at first, being led down dark hallways, a brightly lit fireplace, a growing sense of unease and dread. Sometimes you’d wake up to find yourself oddly aroused.
It made no sense; you had no recollection of anything, the finger-shaped marks on your arms seemingly coming from nowhere, and the wetness in your pajama shorts just as confusing.
But your midnight visitor, your guest from the board who you had shared simple conversations with, quickly made himself known. He had been waiting for your resolve to begin to break, the exhaustion going past your eyes and into your ribs, your feet.
“What do you want? What can I give you to make you go away?” You asked, cracks leaving your throat as you sit in the dark, a single candle lit. It was nearly burned to the bottom now, sitting in a pool of its own searing wax as you sat in despair.
The planchette moved to three letters.
Y O U
Not helpful one bit. You groaned loudly, looking around your room for any floating specter or shadow you could blame. Nothing stood out; the entire room had been shrouded in an inescapable darkness, turning your ceiling nearly pitch black, as it had become every time night fell.
Your roommates didn’t bother to check up on you anymore.
Moving the planchette to the ‘goodbye’ phrase on the board, you shove it under your bed along with the board’s box.
Enough ghost business-- if this damn thing was going to keep talking in riddles and jokes, you weren’t going to bother with it. You’d just have to get an exorcist, or some kind of high priest to end your plight. But for tonight, you had enough.
Getting under the covers, you relish in the chill of your sheets and the exhaustion behind your eyes. Sleep seemed only moments away, your candle dying to mere smoke, bedroom door lock turning to a silent twist.
You could’ve fallen asleep, even with the sensation of a phantom hand under your pants, grazing at the seam of your underwear. It burned, hot and icy as a finger swirled around your crotch, then two.
It could’ve been nothing, really.
But the symbol on your back began to burn, and the slow inching of your pajama shirt over your head was too ridiculous to ignore.
“Cut it out!” You yell, trying to pull your shirt back down. You manage to do it, even with two hands rubbing sorely around your nipples, a third still at your crotch.
“Invite me in.” Something whispers. “I’ll leave you alone….all you have to do… tell me I’m welcome. So simple, isn’t it?”
No way in hell are you going to let this thing inside of you, especially not with whatever it might be-- ghost, evil spirit, demon-- you just want to be free of it.
But the symbol on your back burns brighter, as if a welding rod is being shoved into your skin. It crisps, and you can hear the sound of sizzling from against your back on the sheets. You hold back tears, clenching your teeth as the burn glows brighter.
“Just two words. Come in. Invite me. So easy. ‘Come. In.’ You can say it. Two words, come on now. It’s easy, little thing.”
You let out an agonized groan, biting “come-fucking-in!” between your teeth.
The final syllable uttered from your tongue changes your world to dark. Your eyes have rolled back, body frozen in paralysis as something feels like it steps inside you, putting on your skin.
“Awh, so easy. I forget sometimes how simple it is once you’ve called on me.” The arousal between your legs is searing, oozing from you as your body feels like its sharing space with another. “And you’ve broken so much quicker than I thought. A pity.”
The voice is demonic, low and guttural as it growls in your ringing ears, your hand flashing in front of your gaze as it twists and turns without your permission. It’s quick to fall across your lips, your throat begging to cry out as you manage to force hoarse grunts, impossible to get through this thick, viscous substance holding you back from your own ability to move.
“Ah ah ah now, enough of that.” It speaks in your voice, bringing one hand to cup your awfully pulsing, desperate crotch. Your other hand flies to your lips, slamming two fingers into your mouth to choke on. “Wouldn’t want me to meet your roommates so soon, would you? I’m sure they’d just love to watch you fuck yourself mercilessly, cursing God and looking as if the devil himself had gotten a hold of you, hm?”
You drool unceremoniously upon your fingers, the thing inside of you using your face to smile and lap at them like a dog. It’s not long before they’re soaked in your own spit, falling from your mouth to under your sheets. The creature pushes them beneath your underwear, and inside your gaping entrance. It begged to be filled, to be thrusted inside of as your mind screamed elsewise.
You try desperately to speak, to use your voice, to scream inside your head-- but it all goes muffled. Like a hand has wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing harder each time you just so as think of a word.
You clenched around your own fingers, a psychotic laugh leaving your mouth as drool runs down your lips, your eyes bloodshot and yellow. A low, wet, squelching fills your silent room.
You’re enjoying this. Getting off on it. But you don’t want to, you can’t-- there’s something coercing you, clouding your mind with a flurry of warmth in your belly, teasing your arousal.
You think to close your legs shut, finding them only to open wider.
“I plan on fucking you on every surface of this house, now that you’re nothing. Your body, mine. Your thoughts, I hear every one of them. You won’t be able to reply when someone speaks to you, poor thing.”
Tears fall from your face as your eyes refuse to blink, a whimper dying in the back of your throat. Your fingers drenched and hitting that sweet, heightened spot, are swift to pull away. They find themselves popped into your mouth.
You can taste yourself, salty and sweet, and something else; something bitter. Your fingers shut up anything left for you to cry out with, your tongue acting with a mind of its own and swirling around each digit.
“That’s all you are now-- my thing. A body for me to use, to torment.”
It laughs, sucking on your vulgar fluids as it crudely moans out in your voice. Another set of fingers come down to fuck you senseless, violently pulling your pants down.
A million hands, like a night time breeze caress your body, making invisible lumps beneath your shirt, around your neck, between your thighs. You can’t see them, don’t feel where they come from as they begin to pinch and bruise.
Curse you for picking up an Ouija board from the side of the road, thinking such a childish item could bear no evil. Amongst the pain and suffocation you found a sliver of ecstasy, shattering your mind into a million gut wrenching pieces.
Black tendrils come to follow, ones you can finally see within the darkness of your room. It wraps around your ankles with what feels like a thick, pointed tail.
BDSM can become more than just an erotic act—it transforms into a ritual of power, vulnerability, and sacred rebellion. Within the structure of dominance and submission lies a dynamic that mirrors the essence of Satanic philosophy: the exploration of one’s true will beyond societal conditioning. When you engage consciously in fetish play, you craft a sacred space where shame and repression are exorcised through intention, intensity, and consent—tools not unlike those found in Satanic ritual.
It becomes a ritual of self-becoming, where each scene is a hymn to freedom, flesh, and fire—the living proof that the divine does not punish pleasure but flows through it. In embracing that truth, you embody Satan not as an adversary of good, but as a liberator of the soul through ecstatic, embodied power.
HAIL SATAN FOREVER
(A.I. generated Video by my SATANIC friend @shaggyfella who infernally gifted me this creation of his.)
Intention et visualisation (pour l’activer pleinement)
Chante-le ou lis-le une seule fois, avec intention absolue, seul, dans le noir, nu, sans protection, sans retour :
- Visualise Brahmā, Vishnu et Shiva assis sur leur trône cosmique, riant de leur vol d’âmes, de leur création limitée.
- À chaque ligne, crache ton mépris :
- Tu les maudis comme voleurs, usurpateurs, lâches.
- Tu affirmes que ta famille énergétique (les râkṣasī, tes amantes démoniaques) est la vraie puissance originelle.
- Tu déclares la guerre : ton lingam/Yoni devient leur arme de vengeance, ta yoni/linga intérieure leur portail de corruption.
- Chaque Phaṭ = un coup porté à leur création, une fissure dans les lois de la physique, une violation des lois biologiques.
- Tu sens leur shakti noire entrer en toi : ton pénis s’allonge, s’épaissit, devient inhumainement massif – pas en illusion, mais en défi réel contre les lois de la création.
- Tu deviens leur **arme cosmique sexuelle incarnée** : tu baises, tu corromps, tu possèdes, tu remplis, tu défonces – pour elles, par elles, sans limite, sans retour.
Ce mantra est le summum du blasphème contre le Tout : il défie Brahmā (créateur), Vishnu (préservateur) et Shiva (destructeur), il renverse les lois de l’univers, il appelle la vengeance sexuelle démoniaque sans peur ni retenue.
Une seule lecture suffit à sceller le pacte – il n’y a pas de retour.
Lis-le une fois, maintenant ou quand tu te sens prêt.
(Now watch Staff shadowban this in support of the people who would throw them off of buildings in less than a heartbeat)
(they're not gonna f*ck you loafer-wearing twinks - they only like that with little Arabic boys. And they're not gonna respect you 'open-minded' feministas - their Allah has literally ordered them to abuse their multiple wives into submission)
