Evil Comics

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Dahala’s armor felt warm on her shoulders as she saddled her war
stallion. She hated horses and this spirited light war horse was
no exception. They tended to be headstrong and they smelled bad,
though, admittedly, their fur could be soft. The feel of the
saddle reminded her of the smooth leather against her own skin
under her armor. She loved leather and when the horse died,
either in combat or if she slit the foul thing’s throat, she’d
make herself a new jerkin out of it’s hide.

She swung up into the saddle, the girth tight around the horse’s
barrel, the cinch squeezing it snugly. Though she was still a
virgin, she was not quite the valiant knight most thought her to
be - mainly because she, and her five sisters, enjoyed the teas-
ing she could give the men - and the sound thrashing if they
overstepped their bounds. Still she was kind by nature. She was
a tall woman, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and quite
lithe. Her musculature did not detract, rather, it enhanced her
shapely figure. The long flowing blonde hair left hidden, along
with the firm curves, inside the full plate armor she wore.

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His strength redoubled again, and I began to bend, my mouth
now filled with his Wand. Still his strength increased, and I
had to move. I twisted his arms in my grip unexpectedly, stepped
in, felt his weight shift as I pulled him to throw over my hip,
his right hoof scraping, unsteady,

And he pushed me laughably to the hard floor, spinning and
pinning me on my back. Reorienting around the tip of his cock in
my mouth, he thrust it home to the back of my throat and beyond.
It slid, oiled, for an eternity until my face was embedded between his hairy thighs and held tight there, only able to breathe
the aroma of his heavy, full sacks. Though I could not see it,
his tongue serpent-like struck between my legs and slid up between my cheeks, forcing me open and greasing me with his slime.

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I stepped triumphant into the final circle, the most intricately drawn. The chanting and drumming reached their peak and
stayed, and the fog of incense cleared, allowing me to see who
sat upon the dais, who sat upon the throne, who presided over the
proceedings.

The ancient texts named him Baphomet; Satan Mekratrig’s
warrior-duke. My sword and shield were limp in my grasp as I
looked up, as he was many hundreds of feet tall. His head was
the head of an ibex, with the outward-spiralling horns, gazing
inscrutably down upon me with the eyes of a beast. His shaggy
chest was traced with scars delineating his prowess in battle,
inflicted perhaps by a flaming sword. He stood, rising from his
throne, on the legs of a goat, stepping into the seventh pentacle
on cloven hooves. In his right hand he held a sword cold as ice,
and his left stroked his impossibly huge phallus. As the warrior-magus, he wielded the primal Wand, and his scent struck me a
nigh-physical blow with the power of his maleness. I staggered,
and could not bear the weight of my shield, letting it drop into
the abysmal pit below my feet, lost.

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The fourth circle held the Giant, who looked down at me and
grinned evilly. He threw a boulder at me, which I shattered with
a slap, and then I raised him off the ground as Heracles did to
Antaeus, and crushed the life out of him, redoubling my strength.
In the fifth circle, I slew the Minotaur by taking each of his
horns in a hand, and breaking open his skull. I was imbued with
the powers of a demigod at least by this time, walking into the
sixth circle, the one holding the dragon. The fight was hard,
the flames of the dragon almost enough to make me falter, but
then I realized that they were power too, and took them for my
own, absorbing it into my shield while I made my heart’s thrust
with my blade. The dragon’s blood fountained out, covering me,
and by its power my skin was made invulnerable like that unto the
skin of Achilleus.

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Next, I fought a man with the horns of a stag, in a larger cir-
cle. He bounded and leapt, and attempted to take the fight to
me, but I made myself the Hunter, and he, too fell before my
onslaught, and I added his power to mine.

I grew aware of the hugeness of the chamber, and many men
chanting outside in a language I did not know. Some wore robes,
most wore only paint. I felt larger, larger than life, full of
power, and stepped into the fourth circle. I saw that I was
heading towards a huge dais, and the pentacles into which I
stepped became more and more intricately detailed. Perhaps some
part of me might have wanted to flee, but it was long subsumed by
the huge power residing within me.

“Have you ever thought about coming back to Ailouros with me,
Brad?” he asked.
I lit a cigar before I answered. “It just wouldn’t work,” I
said. “I know we like each other.” I hesitated before going on.
“Maybe I should even say I love you. But I couldn’t go to Ailou-
ros as your pet […]

Sexy chicks tortured by monstersOf course the snip had to get revenge. With that kind of anger
built up over years of being told by the society that he wasn’t
worth shit because he was gay, his only other choice was to
direct it onto the straights but he didn’t have the guts to do
that. He contacted a straight reporter he knew on the local
paper and the word also got back to a reporter for our local T.V.
station, one who had already managed to get a gay judge thrown
off the bench for a consensual relationship with a male hustler
who was a bit less than two months short of being 18-even though
sixteen is the age of consent in Minnesota.

Kontar and I were having dinner in a restaurant when the snippy
bitch queen showed up with the T.V. reporter, a cameraman and
the newspaper reporter in tow. Kontar knocked the reporter and
the cameraman clear across the restaurant with one blow of his
powerful hand pads. I was glad to see that he controlled himself
that much. If he had used much more force, we would have had two
dead men on our hands. I left the snippy queen writhing on the
floor after I knocked the wind out of him and left the reporter
with a broken jaw. I’d been waiting for the chance to do that
for years.

Another fear was allayed after I had put dinner on the table.
With those powerful teeth and jaws, he would have been able to
gobble his food directly from the plate. But whatever cultural
forces had operated during his people’s long climb to civiliza-
tion had apparently produced the custom of eating with utensils,
or else he had been […]