(intentionally bad AI art made with Craiyon)
September 2019
"You have failed me."
Larry and Juniper bowed their heads in shame as they sat before their father "Marion Allendale" - known better as Sauron. Now the ancient corrupted Maia took off the sunglasses he usually wore to disguise his inhuman eyes, and they burned like fire as he glared at them. Burned so hot that the temperature in the room seemed to shoot up.
"The harvest is coming. The land demands a sacrifice for allowing us to continue working here." The land spirits in any location needed to be paid for their distress at the vortex of unholy dark energy that followed Sauron around in his workings. The corn in Indiana required a very stiff price indeed. "And you idiots let the sacrifice escape."
Juniper had abducted her ex-boyfriend Sören with intent for him to be this year's sacrifice. They had been so careful, tasering him, then shooting a dart into him with a drug to suppress his Force sensitivity. Either the drug hadn't been dosed high enough, or Sören's Force powers were simply that strong, but within hours he'd made his way out of the basement, just in time for that bitch Yeyette, Juniper sneered to herself - to arrive, even though Juniper wasn't sure how Yeyette had found the safe house where she and Larry were living. Oh, how she hated that Frenchwoman, she had worked so hard to try to destroy Sören's friendship with her, to no avail...
Bitches. Both of them. Sören's a little bitch too. Juniper was still disappointed she hadn't gotten to peg Sören one last time. And it would have been the sweetest, too, watching the fear in his eyes -
"Sorryeth, Fatherest," Larry stammered, looking as afraid as Sören had, making Juniper's respect for him tank even more, though she was afraid of Sauron too if she was being completely honest with herself.
"Not as sorry as you're going to be if you don't deliver a sacrifice." Sauron bared his teeth, and growled. Larry screamed like a girl, and Juniper fought the urge to backhand him.
"I will make it easy for you imbeciles," Sauron went on. "There is a man in Fort Wayne. He doesn't have powers, so there should be no reason for him to escape. And he... owes me. You will drive to Fort Wayne tomorrow and deliver him to the sacrifice."
"Oh noest, not Fort Wayneth," Larry muttered.
"SILENCE!" Sauron roared.
Jim Banks was coming out of his office, looking forward to a trip to McDonald's and getting his usual. As he approached his car in the parking lot, he saw a man and a woman both in black suits, wearing black aviator sunglasses, both with dark hair. The man looked like a greasy-haired Michael Jackson and the woman was wearing dramatic goth makeup that looked out of place for her attire - nonetheless, they both looked like government officials. Oh sweet Jesus, it's the Feds, Banks thought to himself, and began sweating. They're onto me -
"Mr. Banks," the woman said. "We'd like you to come with us."
Banks gave a nervous laugh. "What's going on?" He feigned nonchalance, even though he knew whatever dirt they'd dug up on him could have him thrown in prison for years.
"There's someone who wishes to have a word with you," the woman replied. "A very important... client."
"I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me who it is," Banks said. He sensed a trap.
"A certain Dick Cornfield," the woman said.
Banks's mouth opened. He racked his brain, going through his mental list of illicit liaisons - the name didn't ring a bell. At all.
Maybe this wasn't a trap. Maybe this was an opportunity. Regardless of what it was, he wasn't getting a choice. The woman and the man began ushering him to another car - a rundown looking Buick with peeling black paint, as if they were deliberately trying to look like regular, everyday people and not criminals up to shady activities.
This had better be good, Banks thought to himself as he climbed in and the man slammed the rear car door behind him.
They made him wear a blindfold all the way there, and Banks thought he was going to have a heart attack or piss himself for the seemingly endless car ride. But at last, Banks was let out of the car, and the blindfold was taken off.
They'd driven him to a farm out in the middle of nowhere. Banks didn't know what to make of it - but at least it was pretty scenery. Good old America heartland, with folks with good old American heartland values, Banks thought to himself, hoping that assessment was true and he was in friendly territory.
They walked past horses grazing in a field and the man stopped in his tracks and took his sunglasses off. The woman made a noise of disgust.
"Not now, Larry," the woman scolded.
"But..." The man - Larry - blinked. Banks did a double take. The eyes were a silvery lavender like amethysts he'd seen once. The eyes would be pretty if this Larry didn't look like Michael Jackson after having bleached himself and had too many plastic surgeries. But the eyes also unsettled him, and Banks felt a chill even though it wasn't a cold day. "I needeth."
The woman facepalmed. She took off her sunglasses and rubbed her face like an annoyed wet cat.
Without waiting for permission, Larry crossed the field and went over to a black stallion. "Hello, prettieth," Larry said. He took off his suit jacket, his shirt and tie, and flung them haphazardly into the grass.
Prettieth? Banks silently mouthed the word. He wasn't a history or linguistics expert but he was still sure that wasn't a real archaic word.
Larry's hair suddenly lengthened as if by magic - his pale skin seemed to glow and sparkle in the sun - and now Banks knew this was trouble, but he felt compelled to stand there and watch, as if his shoes had been glued to the ground.
Larry began to pet the horse, which seemed innocent enough... and then, to Banks's shock, Larry slipped his entire hand into the horse's butthole. The stallion neighed and Larry began to work his hand in and out of the horse's ass. "Yes, prettieth. Thine daddiest hath needs."
(intentionally bad AI art made with Craiyon)
Banks took a step back, and another, recoiling with disgust - most of all at himself, for the frisson of desire that went through him. His cock stiffened uncomfortably in his trousers, watching this act of bestiality, against the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. It was far from the worst thing Banks had ever been aroused by, but his cheeks flushed with hot shame nonetheless. "What..."
Before he could bolt - as if he could go anywhere, out here - the woman grabbed his wrist. "He'll be done soon," she said. She checked her watch.
Minutes later, there was a scream from the field, and it wasn't the horse. Larry threw back his head, shuddering, panting, and his fist slipped out of the horse's ass just before he dropped to his knees. When he stood up again, the front of his pants was wet. Banks realized Larry had come in his pants from fisting the horse.
Suddenly Banks got the sense something very, very wrong was about to go down, much wronger than what he'd just witnessed. He needed to get out of here. The woman's grip on his wrist tightened like a vise, and her hand burned - a cold burn like dry ice.
When Larry recovered, he took the other arm and they marched him forward. Onward to a field of corn. So much corn. Corn for miles. Corn for days. If a man could drown in corn, this was like the Titanic of corn drowning. Banks swallowed hard and began to silently pray for mercy. Lord, please. Lord, help me. Lord, save me -
"Lord Mairon says it is time for you to pay your debt," the woman said.
"Oh. Fuck." It was a sin to swear, and yet that swear didn't seem strong enough. Mairon! "Oh no. Oh no, sweet Jesus, please, God, no..."