Courtesy of TheWeirdcrap.com
Phylazim Gets a Quazi-Christian Penis
by
plopmaster
A bored demon takes over the body of a young believer for some good, old-fashioned fun.
Phylazim flitted through the ether leisurely. She liked to get close down so that she could see well into the Prime
Material plane, and fly through the walking images of humans on the street, making them shiver and jump. This was
amusing to Phylazim, who was a fallen demon. All people ever hear about is fallen angels, oooooo scary, they're
so baaaad. Well, truth is, there are fallen demons too, and they are way worse off. If you don't work for the forces
of darkness OR the forces of good, then you really don't have much to do during the day. It's like being unemployed,
only you don't have to work for nourishment or a home in which to live.
In other words, it's quite dreadful.
You see, it wasn't that Phylazim wasn't evil. She was one of the most evil demons ever to grace the face of the
Pit. She just didn't like the way the putz in the red suit (that's what she called him) did things. He was always
obsessed with "getting the souls, we must get the souls!" Phylazim preferred to focus on the fun part
-- the carnage. Was it so wrong to take pride in one's work? Was it so wrong to wholeheartedly enjoy plunging the
lives of humans into complete and utter dismay? Apparently so. Phylazim hadn't been allowed back into the pit since
the Prince of Darkness (she always found this to be a rather boring, pretentious title) booted her back in '72
-- well, 1872, anyway.
Today she felt like going out, she felt like having some real fun. She glided down the street, and happened upon
a blue house, and decided to investigate. Going through the wall, she spied a black leather-clad punk playing air
guitar to some barely recognizable heavy metal. He sported a cheap necklace with a pentagram dangling at the bottom
of the chain. Ugh. She'd rather not give the badboy any business, she decided, and left this one behind.
The next house she entered was clean and quiet. She spied a tome-sized version of the King James Bible sitting
atop a podium and smiled. As she glided through the house, looking for anyone whom she could torment, she spied
a crucafix hanging in each room. Whoever lives here, she decided, isn't going to be the type to go to hoof-boy's
side of the board.
Finally she came to a small room in which a young man, about 18, with neatly trimmed hair, parted on the left side
and wearing a pair of reading glasses, was sitting, reading music and singing while playing on an acoustic guitar.
She grinned wickedly, recognizing the pathetic strains of "Kum Ba Ya" even as he sang out of tune. She
looked him over; red and white horizontal striped polo shirt, navy blue shorts, and penny loafers with short, white
socks.
This was it, she decided, she had to mess with this one. But what would she do? She thought as she circled him,
thinking of the various ways to make him miserable as he missed note after note. Inter-planar communication, perhaps?
No, too subtle. Maybe she should knock things over using telekenisis? Naw, too lame. Posession? Ah, yes! It had
been ages since she had had a good posession!
She leapt into the boy's prone, unsuspecting body easily. Leaping up from the chair, she bashed the wooden dreadnought
against a filing cabinet until it was splintered into a non-repairable heap. "Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll
forever, baby!" She shouted at the top of his lungs.
She sauntered into the bathroom, casually knocking over ceramic replicas of Christ and other biblical figures,
as well as cheap statues of cocker spaniels and squirrels, which all shattered as they hit the ground. She looked
at the boy's body closely in the mirror. He was pretty fit. This body would last a good while standing up to all
the junk she was about to put it through, she decided. She slid his hand down into his pants and evaluated his
privates. "Ooooohhh," she cooed, "impressive..."
She picked up a small lighter and pulled his pants down, and moved through the house, burning random knick knacks
and papers while masturbating in a rather rough and careless manner. She found some cooking wine in the pantry
and guzzled it, though it wasn't enough to really get a buzz off of. She found an extra large bottle of Elmer's
glue in the hall closet, and made toward the family's elegant grand piano, taking a swig of the glue, which went
down the boy's throat slowly.
Phylazim lay on top of the piano just in time to reach climax, and made quite a mess on the lid of the baby grand.
She then proceeded to pour the glue down in between the keys of the piano and onto the hammers and strings inside
of it. "Heheh, that'll piss 'em off," she laughed.
She set the empty bottle of glue on fire, and hurled the flaming glob at the portrait of some family member long
gone, making it fall to the floor a burning mess. She walked back into the kitchen and retrieved a sharp steak
knife, with which she began scraping over the boy's legs, tickling herself with the sensation of the blade going
just under the skin. She grabbed a handful of other knives out of the drawer and ran back to the boy's room, where
she lay down and finished masturbating yet again. She was beginning to lose the sensitivity by now, so she just
pulled the boy's pants up, lamenting the passing orgasm. She didn't get them very often, so she really appreciated
it when she did.
Phylazim lay back on the floor and tossed a steak knife up so that it almost touched the ceiling, and burst into
maniacal laughter as it came back down, and plunged into his chest up to the hilt. "Wheeeeee!" she cried
as another knife plummeted down towards her, embedding itself in the boy's lung with a loud "SPLORCKTCH!"
She continued doing this, until the boy's chest looked like someone had been trying to play lawn darts on it, and
done quite well. She pulled all the bloody knives out and giggled at the tickling sensation as she gurgled through
the holes in his chest, laughing. She kept one and took it about the house with her, scraping and stabbing herself
casually so as to keep the laughs coming.
She decided to go back into the kitchen and blow up the sink. Yeah, putting the kitchen out of commission would
be a good finale, she decided. She poured cleaning chemicals down the drains of the double sink, carefully noting
how many parts of each were needed for a good hefty explosion. Wonder how those morons at the local TV station
will explain this, she wondered. Just a little more bleach --
The back door slammed. Someone had come home! "Jeremy," an older, femanine voice called out in a singsong
tone, "come help me unload the groceries, dear."
Agh, his mother, she thought. Drat. "Uhh...I can't right now mom," she stammered, "I'm uhh...cleaning
the sink!" Yeah, I'm cleanin' the sink, alright. Heheheh.
"Oh that's so nice of you!" the mother said, walking into the kitchen, "c'mere and give your mother
a hug!"
"NO!" she shouted, stopping Jeremy's mother in her tracks with sudden fierceness, "the uhh..fumes,
you shouldn't get too close."
"Oh alright dear," she said, the all too chipper tone back in her voice, "you just make sure you
don't get those chemicals on yourself."
Phyzalim looked over the shoulder of the boy she had posessed and smiled amiably, until Jeremy's mother went back
out to unload groceries. When she was out of view, he ran into the laundry room and grabbed the iron, setting it
in an impromptu trap above the back door just in time to watch Jeremy's mother hit the floor in a crumpled heap.
"Heheh," she giggled, "bitch went down!"
She drug the body indoors and crammed it in the dishwasher and put it on "pots and pans."
"Now, back to business," she muttered, about to toss the boy's lit Zippo down one of the drains, when
she heard a knock at the front door.
"How can I work with all these interruptions?!" she complained testily as she put the lighter back down.
She noticed a small skull and crossbones engraved on the back. Hmmm, that's funny, she thought, on her way to answer
the door.
Opening it, she was perplexed to see the punk from next door. "Duude!" he exclaimed as he prodded at
Jeremy's wounds with his finger, "wicked make-up!"
"So is your mom gone or what, dude?" the kid inquired, craning his head around to look inside the house
as Phylazim stood, pondering, "you gonna come over or just hang around here jerkin' off to the Shroud of Tourin?"
He chuckled at the last bit, and lightly punched Jeremy's shoulder.
"Oh," Phylazim muttered, realizing the truth, "why you guys need me?"
"Duude, don't be like that," he punk pleaded, "you know Razor and me only got the cheap stuff, you
always have the good shit, plus you know how to roll a joint way better than either of us. C'mon, we got some mint
schnopps that my sister left here after she left last week and the new Mental Chaos album. We're gonna get some
sluts and have us a party!"
Phylazin drew a heavy sigh as she looked down at the wounds she had inflicted on the boy's body. Damn, score one
for the pit fiend. Oh well, might as well go over and get wasted and laid before this body expires, she thought.
"Okay dude," she spoke in the correct dialect, "but you gotta come in and help me find my stash,
I misplaced it.."
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