This was not what he expected. He had spent months, following his reading of The Satanic Bible, posting replies on self-described ‘satanic’ internet forums to such an extent that he – or rather his self-assumed pseudonym – had garnered a certain positive reputation among other self-described ‘satanists’ all of whom seemed to revere and regularly quote that book written as it was by a certain Howard Stanton Levey, who of course used a pseudonym in order to hide his real identity, given the plagiaristic nature of most of the contents of that mass-produced and now rather popular book.
Plying him with praise – massaging his ego – they, using the ‘private message’ facilities on such internet forums, had enticed him here on a warm albeit cloudy day in late August. Enticed, because the messages were supposedly from a young woman who had expressed an interest in him given – or so she said – his knowledge of satanism. And which messages had sometimes included a web-link to suggestive images of a certain young women.
So there he was, a mere nineteen years of age and self-assured as he was, waiting in the fading twilight for the promised tryst with that voluptuous young woman. Waiting, hoping, his head-piece filled with both sexual and egoistic dreams. There: where ancient, twisted, often moss-covered, trees of Oak had settled and grown near a long-abandoned stone quarry in the county borderland that marked the edge of the English Peak District national park.
Waited, until he could but dimly see a figure approach him. Then she and him were both smiling, if for different reasons; and he was so intent on leering at her that he neither saw nor heard the approach of those behind him: those three women who crept upon him to bind his wrists behind his back.
Of course he struggled; or tried to. Kicking out and shouting obscenities as he lay, bound, on his back. For was he not a proud satanist who believed in indulgence, in treating those who annoyed you cruelly and without mercy, in what lex talionis meant and implied? Who was he – with his youthful masculine body honed by regular training in a gym – to be subdued by mere women?
But they were mocking him before, in the twilight dark, placing a hood over his head, gagging him, and carrying him down toward a nearby narrow stream where heavy stones were placed on his legs, arms, abdomen, and chest; almost – but not quite – crushing them.
So it was that he, supine, heard a feminine voice declaim:
Here is he who believed he knew our secret:
But just look at him now and laugh
For we have so easily overcome his much-believed-in outer strength.
Now, wash your throats with sparkling wine
For Sirius returns
And we women are warm and wanton!
Before me, you were sightless:
You looked, but could not see;
Before me, you had no hearing:
You heard sounds, but could not listen.
Before me, you swarmed with men,
But did not enjoy.
But I arrived, opened my body and
Brought you lust, softness, understanding, and love.
My breasts pleased you
And brought forth darkness and much joy.
I, who crushes your enemies and who washes in a basin full of
For you are my daughters and a nexion to our Dark Gods:
Before you my sisters I offer you this body so that his blood
Will feed your virgin flesh.
He heard laughter, the sound of bottles of Champagne being opened, and then – not that long thereafter – felt the dreadful pain as a sharp long-bladed knife slit his throat. So he gasped, gurgled, as his life-blood drained away, some of it collected in a basin to be smeared on breasts and faces.
Dark Daughters of Baphomet
127 Year Of Fayen