Eldritch Queerness

You're vision is blocked by a shade of green. All the rest of your senses are dulled, as though being immersed in a large vat of syrup. Trying to move your hands feels weighted and tiring.

Through the shade of green, you see images. Sculptures of naked men carved throughout history, paintings of men in intimate positions. The images push past you, swimming like shoals of fish. You continue to look at the images, noticing some are of men submitting to others on their knees. Many are in historical garb. Roman togas. Tribal furs. Painted chests. Turbans and vests.

You can barely comprehend what is happening to you. Where even are you? You hear something. Is hear the right word? It is more like... you sense something trying to talk to you. The more you stare at these men, their hard cocks entering each other, and the looks of ecstasy on their faces, the more you understand the voice.

"You are... acolyte..."

Is that what it was trying to tell you? Why was it showing you this stuff? God, you wish you were one of these guys, don't you? You try to answer it, but you mouth can barely mouth without the sensation of thick liquid entering your mouth.

"You will... teach... become something... great..."

The images speed up now. The men are fucked hard, and you hear the cacophony of grunts, moans, and whimpers of all the gay sex in the hostory of the world. It is all nearly too much. You try to close your eyes but you can't. You try to ignore your erection, but you can't.

"Go... become true..."

The voice echoes around your head. The men begin to cum, all at the same time. In asses, in mouths, on chests. It's nearly beautiful. No, it IS beautiful.

Your hand can barely reach your cock, before the vision suddenly jolts away from you, sending you elsewhere.