The people in front watched me standing behind a podium, on the dais, citing a verse in the Bible.

'Have I n-ugh—not c-commanded you?' my stammering voice echoed throughout the warm nave.

These boys and some girls around my age examined me with every intent, while the rest of the girls craned heads away from me to find another demure noise they found perfect to their orientation.

'Be strong—ahh! And courageous—ya-argh! D-do not be afraid, do not be discouraged—ahh—for the Lord—oh my God!' Still, that came from my vocal chords. Even if this went on forever and the rest of my immortal life got moulded by it, my sermons would never be improved.

My attendees, brothers and sisters who sought audience from me today, produced a well-rounded package of emotions from seeing me like this. Some showed me awkward smiles, some grinned like maniacs in heat, some bowed their heads down in feigned shame. Most eyes were on one end of the nave or another.

The lights shafted from the colour-stained windows welcomed them for once, ever since this "mental hospital" became a sanctuary. Since then, they never wanted to come back to their respective homes. To their malevolent and ignorant birth-givers ever again.

God was a strange being. To think that I embraced my religion just as much as the ones who wanted me, a boy still in his teens, mutilated, was just strange. Against all odds, He had my favour instead.

He had another name and I only knew that after I turned into a bloodletting and bloodsucking beast. Another world of (un)holy knowledge, another chance in pseudo-life. For I had gained powers beyond human capacity.

My audience on the pews knew what I was now and they didn't care. Much more wonderstruck, if anything. They're alive and well and that's all that mattered.

'Your God w-will b-be with you w-wherever you go—ah ah ah ah ah ah aaahhh!!!'

A simple verse about faith in oneself. It required such a simple mind to understand its simple meaning. Still the former organization that ran this place managed to pervert it for their own sins, disguised as God's deeds.

Not that I wasn't doing the same thing here either. Because if they could do it, then I could too. Any man could convey stories of life and sacrifices for humanity's cardinal sins, each to his own version. Clearly revised and romanticised throughout those centuries. Heeded by and from anyone, from vagrants to conquerors as they willed it to be.

In today's jargon, as what those geeky girls in my former high school would call it, they're fanfictions. That's the essence of the Bible. At least that's what I thought. No, it was a fact but I didn't want to dismay the really good people who found its teachings helpful. So I kept it to myself and resumed my faith into it because dreams were important to all of us.

Now I continued on as to why I kept on moaning and screaming halfway through my sermon of the day. Oh, forget that. Let me just show you.

I shut the Bible down on the podium and stooped with my bottom held up higher and higher. My eyes were closed tight, lower lip bitten, soon pierced by my jutting fangs and I became euphoric the instant I tasted my own blood.

Head shaken nonstop, sweat beading on my forehead, cheeks hot and my feet were no longer on the dais. My cassock was bunched and pushed all the way up to my chest, silky damp briefs dangling and hanging just beneath my crotch. Only my socks and sneakers stayed on my skin as all my limbs buckled from the force's relentless "blessings" behind me.

Blood and saliva poured out from the corners of my mouth uncontrollably. I loved it more when my audience watched me pretending to be helpless like this. The light was drawing closer to me in metaphorical senses. I couldn't contain it when I was lifted by my waist, chastity spot ravished while the convulsing soft walls licked with God's eternal love.

I'd never been this wet and free in my life. Not even a swimming pool or a bath could make me this relaxed.

My voice amplified right then, speaking of the name I never thought I'd say it in delight after a never-ending time of sorrow, 'Andy—ah! Andy! Andy! Ah ah ah ah ah ah—hah hah hah hah hah hah—Andy! Ahhhhh!'

Coincidentally, the name of said verse and my lover's first name was Joshua. Verse 1:9 and this guy behind me found me again on the 9th of January. Maybe not a coincidence at all. It's trivial anyway. I still called him Andy, pet name for his middle name Anders. So his full name was Joshua Anders Leblanc.

All this while he let out a verse of his own grunts and unusual roars while he did me like this. The noise of a lycanthrope. Like a guy and a wolf fighting inside one body. I knew he had his fangs bared without me having to turn head around and see his handsome face.

His throbbing cock filled me to the hilt and soon it spurted out the seed until I couldn't recognise the feeling of dryness anymore. I even felt my pectorals given a massive upward shake and I was raptured right next. 'Ahhhhh!!!'

The podium wasn't clean anymore. Part of the dais beneath us had a small puddle that was from our "good deeds". I was still in mid-air and spread-eagled. Arms frantically holding onto the podium. My cock became limp but Andy's still inside, nourishing me from the barren months that I went through without him beside me.

Our seeds dripped to the puddle and the drops echoed around the nave after the audience generously gave us quiet.

Andy started moving his hips again. His hard-on came back as soon as I finished. My cassock was torn away. Rippling loose briefs he ripped it apart with his fangs after licking and sniffing the cum-dampened crotch part like a hungry beast he was.

Soon enough, when he's temporarily satisfied with me, he would make me clean him up using only tongue and pectorals while on my knees. I was looking forward to that and I thanked my effortless confidence to not just him, God and our friends here.

But to the voluptuous Arch-demoness surreptitiously standing at the other end of this nave. The source of these girls' current wet dreams. She who made me what I was now. She protected my dignity before my tormentors could rob it out of me. She was Lucyllea.

The Mistress of Lust blew me a kiss. She said I looked handsome like this. Hot, wet, naked, muscly, shameless, full of lascivious body waves and a good, good boy who deserved a loving guy who treated him like a prince right now.

My name was Alexander Vicari Kingsleigh. I would tell you a story of mine, which would make prude mothers faint and bullies beg to their parents to change school.