Who else lives in the Grey City beyond the Pink Fairy and his constant, perverted, and deviant meddling in the lives of mortal men? These are questions that seem innocuous enough. But in truth, they have potentially apocalyptic consequences. The mortal mind is not well-equipped to handle this kind of knowledge, and once this Truth becomes known, it cannot be denied.

But I suppose that knowledge of a little piece of the Grey City couldn’t hurt to impart. Know only that asking for more means being forced to confront the Truth that hides in the shadows when they seem too long or too deep, or in the formless creatures of horror that dwell in the periphery of your vision, always there but never noticed.

For all that the Pink Fairy and his partner the Purple Fairy conjure pleasure beyond the comprehension of mortal men, that little sex shop is hardly representative of the rest of the Grey City and the existential horrors that dwell there.

So I shall tell you of another place that will not so burden your mortal mind with uncomfortable knowledge as to break it. And I will do so by telling you of the story of an young man who had the unenviable misfortune to happen upon that place.

Deep in the heart of the Grey City, past the towering Cathedral with its soaring spires and laughing gargoyles, is the battered husk of a building. The red brick wall is weathered and crumbling. The windows, though caged in by black iron bars, sport broken glass and clumsily nailed wooden boards.

It is before this building that the young man, Andrew, finds himself. He is a brilliant young man with a radiant future ahead of him. High grades have made sure of that. But he has never been particularly popular. And despite decently good looks he has never managed to snag himself a boyfriend. Not for lack of trying.

He was hoping that maybe the Pink Fairy could help him. He was done feeling lonely and wanted more out of life. But the thing with Andrew is that he has always been willful and curious. As he was standing in front of the Pink Fairy’s sex shop, he did something that only a handful of people had ever managed to do: he walked away.

Now he is standing in front of a run down building. His curiosity burns inside him. He walks forward and pushes open the door. It creaks open on rusted hinges. The hallway beyond is dark but he swallows his apprehension and steps through the threshold.

In that moment he is transported somewhere else entirely. It is a paradise of the flesh. A palace of lust to rival the sex shop that he had just walked away from.

Built in the style of a Moroccan palace, with marble walls, columns, and gilded archways, it is clear to him that no expense has been spared on the decoration of this place. The entire entrance hall is filled with lavish lounges in little alcoves off to the side of the main entryway, filled with luxurious cushions surrounding foot-tall tables piled high with glistening, mouth-watering food.

Andrew is spellbound. He walks toward one of those alcoves and takes a seat. He sinks into the cushion and for the first time notices that he is naked. He is ashamed for a moment, until he realizes that no one here is dressed for modesty.

As he watches the other tables, he sees men of every shape and size walking around, serving and servicing the other clients. Some wear collars and leather harnesses to accentuate their bulging muscles, and thick limbs. Others wear delicate sheer silk veils that call attention to their slender, feminine, bodies. Needless to say there are men here for every taste, from the slightest of twinks to the most hulking of bodybuilders. The sight makes him rock hard.

But all it takes is that one moment of inattention, that second of gawking at the beautiful jock that has come to his table to suck him off, for Andrew’s fate to be sealed. He is given a glass of water that he eagerly gulps down, not noticing the fuzziness that descends upon his thoughts until it is much too late. As he grunts, holding onto the jock’s head and bucking his hips into that warm, wet mouth, the mind-shattering orgasm comes over him and he passes out.

When he comes to, he is seated in a chair in a dimly lit room. In front of him is a gorgeous man in a three-piece suit. "Hello," says the man. "My name is Mr. Mode." The man smiles, flashing too-sharp teeth. "Or, as some mortals like to call me, Asmodeus."

It is only then that Andrew realizes the true danger that he is in. But it is too late by far. He is powerless to stop Asmodeus as the prince of Hell picks him up from the chair and bends him over a nearby bed. The demon enters him and he could feel the heat of that demon cock burning away his sense of self, his free will, and all of his intelligence. He can’t do anything but moan helplessly as he is broken and remade in the image of one of Asmodeus’ painted whores and eventually he comes to love it.

Asmodeus’ demon cock leaves nothing but the desire to obey and please in his mind. It leaves a hunger for cock and cum that cannot be denied. It pushes out everything else that is non-essential. Personality. Free will. Intelligence. All of it burns away in the heat of the seed that floods into Andrew when Asmodeus finally cums inside him after hours of vicious pounding.

By the time that he returns to the entrance hall months later, Andrew is a different person entirely. His body has changed beyond recognition. Muscles bulge on his form. His arms and legs are thick, his pecs firm, his abs rock-solid. But perhaps the most changed part of him is his ass, which balloons out into a big bubble that bounces behind him with every step.

The spray of cum across his face from his first client sealed the deal for all eternity. His immortal soul will never know anything more than being a whore for Mr. Mode. Not that he would have faced a much different fate had he not resisted the call of the Pink Fairy.