The Cult

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Sci-Fi and Fantasy Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

There are cults and then there are cults. My cult lives on the streets of the city. Freedom is our motto and we wear it like a singular badge of honour. When you are free, you are strong and with strength comes independence and to that end we owe our allegiance to no one. Of course you, outsiders see us differently. To you, we are victims or perhaps even degenerates, to be pitied or worse to be abused. But let me warn you practice the latter at your peril, for in truth we are many and you are just one. You think you hold the upper hand, but in the end you are nothing, just a sad crumb drifting on the wings of imagined prosperity, desperate to become, but never really achieving. You live in the city, cloistered in apartments and boxlike houses, but we own it and you should remember that, because one day we might also own you as well!

Table of Contents


One There are cults and then there are cults. Mine resides on the streets of the new city. We owe our allegiance to no one and free... Read Chapter


Two It’s cold, so freaking cold. A chill trickles cruelly from the autumnal breeze, to lick callously at my bones. I scuttle like... Read Chapter


Three We worship the earth through our leader Ezra. He is what we call an old soul, come from a line of druids who lived so, so man... Read Chapter


Four The road is long to the House of Ezra. He lives in the country in a large decadent house, with private gardens and an even mor... Read Chapter


Five I don’t get to see Cherokee immediately. I am taken aside by Ezra before I even get through the door. Layla, one of his wome... Read Chapter


Yes of course it’s a paradox. I have come tonight to empty my ill-gotten seed into the flames of the Fires of the Blessed. Seems such... Read Chapter

Chapter Seven

I feel the touch of her body, the delicacy that is her skin. She is standing by the bed, eyes closed, light streaks of moisture the onl... Read Chapter

Chapter Eight

Eight Its morning. The sun streams through the window of the chalet. Its molten fingers cut a delicate dance, wandering minstrels o... Read Chapter


Humanity, such nostalgic creatures. You cling like feeble limpets to your past, to your historical footprint. Even during the first wav... Read Chapter