The prayer goes unanswered for a very long time. You receive no dream of a sex shop at the intersection of two streets that shouldn’t exist. You get no visitation from a flirtatious little twink wearing nothing but pink. You feel no changes. If anything, your body feels more humdrum and normal than it has ever been. But this isn’t right. You’re pretty sure that the Pink Fairy is supposed to answer the call of all the depraved and perverted wishes in all the realms. Perhaps there’s a reason he hasn’t answered yours just yet.

You’ve almost given up on bottoming when you meet him. He’s looking at you from across the way in a coffee shop that’s filled with at least three dozen other people. And yet his shimmering emerald green eyes follow you with keen interest, his gaze a seductive force all on its own, even without the self-confident twitch of the corner of his mouth. You get distracted for a moment by the barista calling out your name, but that’s all that it takes for you to lose track of the man.

The next time that you meet him is at a gay bar. He slides into the stool next to you, startling you because you don’t sense his approach. He’s a bit older than you’re used to, but his shirt strains against his bulging muscles, and the streaks of salt in his hair only serve to accentuate his distinguished handsomeness. When you introduce yourself to him, you look him in the eye and are immediately entranced by their depth and the ancient wisdom that appears to dwell behind them. “There you are,” he says, his voice, thick with what you can only comprehend as a posh British accent, is sibilant and soothing. “I had thought I wouldn’t find you again…”

“When I saw your case and looked at your file, I thought to myself that I must have you…” the man whispers, leaning forward. His words are seductive in your ear, even though they mean nothing to you. “I have not taken a mortal consort in many millennia and I look forward to having a new one… Especially one with such potential for beauty as yourself…” Almost like you’ve been caught in a trance, you leave your seat wordlessly and follow him out to his car. It is fancier than you could have expected, coming with a chauffeur and all.

He takes you down to his penthouse suite, where the walls are lined with rich dark green jade and decorated with what appears to be solid gold. There is awe-inspiring art, a majestic chandelier above the living room, and sculptures so life-like that you could swear you see them watching you. And yet what commands your attention in this room is none other than the man that has taken you here. “Come,” he says, beckoning with two fingers. “There will be time to train you later, but for now let’s cure that little affliction that you complained to him about.”

You find yourself compelled to step toward this man, with his powerful presence and commanding aura. You kneel in front of him without prompting, feeling that this is only appropriate. “Strip,” he says, in a voice barely louder than a whisper and yet suffused with such authority that you cannot deny it. You do as you are told and in moments, you are naked, with your clothes folded neatly beside you.

The man grabs your chin and tilts your head up. His gaze bears into yours as he says, “place your ass on my lap but keep your chest on the floor.” The tiles are so well-polished that you can see his reflection in them. He grabs your hips and shifts you into the proper position, tutting his tongue and saying something in a language that faintly sounds like what you would expect Sanskrit to sound. Not that you know any Sanskrit.

His eyes gleam as he opens his mouth. An inhuman tongue slithers out of his mouth, forked like a serpent’s. His canines extend into fangs that secrete a milky white substance that he catches on his tongue before they retract. He smears the substance on his fingers and his transformation is reversed. “A little bit of my venom should do the trick,” he says, as he reaches down and you feel his fingers prying at your hole.

You squirm, used to the discomfort of trying to do anything with your butt these days. But his fingers slide effortlessly in. The venom, as he called it, is hot and slick. You can feel it tingle on your hole and inside of you. It fills you with an intense heat that makes you moan and makes your cock stir. “See?” he says, “It’s not that difficult to open up… It’s all a matter of preparation and the correct state of mind…”

“From now on I will protect you, and you will serve me,” says the man, as he works his fingers in and out of you, sending rapturous pleasure through your veins. You can only pant, moan, and whimper in response to his words, desperately bucking your hips to get him deeper. “You will be mine. I will take care of you. You shall not want nor need in my house. And for that reason you won’t have to think. Not as much, anyway. My venom will take care of that. It will purge all those nasty independent thoughts, take away all the worries, the pain, the knowledge… It will leave you so much simpler and so much happier…”

Your eyes roll back up into your head as you feel it. Memories popping like delicate little soap bubbles. IQ draining from your head. Brains melting out of your ears. You giggle softly to yourself. “No need to think for yourself because I will do all the thinking for you. You need only obey. And I will make you feel pleasure like you’ve never felt before.”