The Mayhem out of Arkham:


BLANK! The following is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to people or characters, either living or historical, is coincidental. Historical places are used infrequently and primarily for context. In the case that extant institutions are depicted, their opinions, present or historical, may not be the same as those herein described.

BLANK! This work contains literary and erotic elements, the latter primarily of masculine homoeroticism. Unsafe or illegal sexual practices may be described, however, these are used either for historical accuracy or in the context of erotic fantasy. These instances should not be taken as advocacy or condonance of such practices by either the author or the text. Individuals are encouraged to make the best choices for their own well-being and to ensure that their sexual practices do not infringe upon the well-being of others.

BLANK! In the "Notes" Section, the names of celebrities or other public figures may appear. Most often this is intended to share my personal visualization of the characters. This usage is not meant to be an indication of any celebrity's sexuality or approval, nor are phrases such as "I would cast..." intended to represent any actual negotiation. The "Notes" Section is intended only to permit interested parties insight into the author's creative process.

BLANK! This work has been licensed for inclusion in the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive. As of this date no other licenses have been issued. Any questions or concerns should be forwarded to the author at

BLANK! The copyright standing of Lovecraft’s works are unclear and convoluted. However, two main points should be noted. First, given the extensiveness of the Lovecraftian universe -- shared with numerous other authors both before and after Lovecraft’s death, as well as becoming fixtures of popular culture -- I do not believe that borrowing some of his figures, places, and concepts to be unfair use.

BLANK! Second -- and more importantly -- this seems to be especially true given that there is no firm evidence for an active copyright renewal brought forth by any private claimant or found in searches of the Library of Congress. Accordingly, I do not believe any such assertion to be legally actionable.

BLANK! From the yawning gulfs of Chaos, the vast and unutterable horrors that are the Outer Gods secreted the thin, palpable materia of our known cosmos. They are the true and terrible deities of our faint universe, before which the petty gods of Earth quake in fear. The gods of man tremble at the unknowable infinities of Yog-Sothoth, bow before the blasphemous and nebulous Shub-Niggurath, and dare not speak aloud the tones of “AZATHOTH -- the Dread Name.”

BLANK! And when the Outer Gods deign to press their bulk against the muculent membranes of reality, what seeps between the stars is aberrant and strange. Their avatars are bizarre conglomerates: turgid, probing members of prehensile flesh; round, carnal curves clamped together in tight, slick creases; hot, grasping maws that leave glistening bruises where they suck…

BLANK! ...did, uh... anyone else just get kinda turned on? Just me?

BLANK! Because dayum.

BLANK! Not that I’d ever fucked a god before. At least, well, until…


BLANK! My name’s Brett Roswell, and as you might have guessed, I’m a cultist.

BLANK! I don’t mean I’ve been brainwashed by some yahoo out in California who’s convinced me that I can transcend my ass-chakra by eating nothing but sunflower seeds and his cum; I mean I’m one of those Earthlings who knows about the Outer Gods and gives Them their due.

BLANK! Personally? I’m a devotee of Shub-Niggurath… although, to be honest, that’s probably for the sex.

BLANK! So. Much. Sex.

BLANK! I live in Arkham, MA, which isn’t that surprising, given that it’s the biggest enclave of “Cult Culture” on the East Coast. Forget your mental image of prune-lipped puritans in gray, gambrel-roofed houses or Miskatonic as some conservative Ivy League bastion --  these days Arkham is full of the weird, the wicked, and the wild. A lot of that is the college kids, given that now Arkham is home to UMass Arkham and the Pickman Institute as well as Miskatonic, but the cult presence in Arkham is more or less an open secret. Hell, I work day shifts at “Unspeakable Things,” a cult supply shop which operates pretty freely: we’ve got a sign out front with a cartoon squid-face, an electric marquee, and everything.

BLANK! Speaking of which...

BLANK! I was working when the shit started… kinda. I mean, I was at work, but to be completely honest I was getting head in the stockroom.

BLANK! Look, don’t judge me. I’d opened that morning, and I had to pick up the slack when someone (yes, Nick, I’m talking to you, Nick) had to get a six-inch anime-girl figurine pried out of his rectum at Arkham Memorial Hospital. And then, you know, the delivery guy forgot the ketchup for my fries, it was slow anyway, I hadn’t nutted in about twelve hours...

BLANK! Hey, fuck you! That’s like a month for any self-respecting Shubbite.

BLANK! And in my defense, the cop was fuckin’ hot.

BLANK! He was a couple inches shorter than me, well built, wide in the shoulders, with close-cropped blonde hair and a puckish smile. His sky-blue uniform top was crisp and neat -- except where the curve of his muscles made the cloth bulge taut -- and his ass was so fat the belt-loops pulled his belt down to a peak at the back.

BLANK! I may be a chaos worshipper, but I’m a sucker for a guy in uniform.

BLANK! Lucky for me, he turned out to be not too bad a sucker himself…

BLANK! Officer Cox -- I swear, says it on his shirt and everything -- had stopped in to ask if we’d recently sold a “Black Satyricon, page 122, trans. Aleister Crowley, 1910, with the hand tinted engravings,” as a fragment of that page had been recovered from a crime scene. That got my attention right away, as like any goddess-fearing Shubbite I knew the Theophobos’s Black Satyricon from the front, the back, and in my sleep. Literally.

BLANK! Those were some fucked up dreams. Hot, but fucked up.

BLANK! Anyway, the scrap was one of the more comically quotable episodes from the book -- Microdongus and Ignoranus’s argument about whether size matters, performed mid-fellatio with Ignoranus’s half the dialogue only slightly muffled by Microdongus’s increasingly frustrated efforts to gag the other.

BLANK! We’d gone back into the stockroom because that’s where Boss kept the ledger, along with the caged shelves that had pages of the various grimoires, each individually sealed in a slim lead-lined envelope. The yellow warning-signs bolted to the grid -- “Beware of Tome,” “Please Do Not Feed the Books,” and “Do Not Call Up Any Which You Cannot Put Down” -- were mostly for show, holdovers from the old business model of selling whole texts at a time. There was still the faint imprint on the far wall of an employee who’d been reckless with this advice…

BLANK! I found the receipt confirming we’d done the sale, although someone (fuck you, Nick) had written the info so poorly it was impossible to glean an address from. I gave Officer Cox a brief run-down of the text, and between the perversity of the passage and the officer’s poorly obscured musculature I quickly felt Balor -- “That Which Lurks Within My Trousers” -- press uncomfortably flush against the denim as, fattened with lust, he crept downwards towards my knee.

BLANK! Yeah, I named my dick after a one-eyed monster. What about it?

BLANK! I adjusted. Officer Cox noticed, and I noticed him noticing. One thing, well, led to another…

BLANK! Now I was standing, hips thrust forwards, camo pants forced down around my ankles and my legs splayed as far the fabric binding them would give. I had leaned my shoulders back against the caging surrounding the bookshelves, fingers clutching at the chain links as Cox went to town on my cock.

BLANK! Turned out Officer Cox was a novice, but he had promise. Balor’s about nine inches from base to bell-tip and not exactly slender, so for all his efforts Cox was only able to get about halfway down with his mouth alone. That aside, however, he’d found a good a rhythm with the hand he’d wrapped around my shaft, and the suction as his warm mouth surged up and down my cock felt like it would pull the cum right out of my balls before I had a chance to come.

BLANK! My breath ragged in my throat, I looked down. Fuck that was hot.

BLANK! The cop was crouched down, one knee shoved between my legs, his hunched shoulders heaving with every stroke. Under the harsh fluorescent glow, Balor’s bare length gleamed wetly as it slid out from the tight heat of Cox’s mouth. From above, the glare made his buzzed hair almost invisible, and the shadows made his blunt, boyish features roughly sexual. But despite the way he hungrily squeezed my dick with his cheeks and tongue, it was his eyes that got me most. Bright blue, brimming with lust, but utterly male and thirsting for a challenge.

BLANK! Between that and how -- just visible behind the line of his shoulders -- his buttocks stretched his pants into fat, hemispheric curves, I was gonna nut if this kept up…

BLANK! I reached down and tugged at his shirt, Balor popping out of his mouth with a wet thud. Cox stood, confrontational, his face inches from mine -- but when I pushed him back onto the couch he didn’t fight me. He was bewildered, however, when I grabbed his ankles and slung them over the back of the seat.

BLANK! “The fuck!?”

BLANK! I gave him an evil grin. With him flipped upside-down on the couch, his head hanging heavily off the edge of the cushions, well, let’s just say Officer Cox was in a prime position for sucking dick whether he knew it or not.

BLANK! Still, I took it slow. No good scaring the guy, after all. Dropping to my knees, I let Balor’s shadow loom over Cox’s face for a moment, blindly prodding against his lips. He opened, and I rolled slowly forwards on my knees, plunging back into his tight, wet mouth.

BLANK! Nyarl’s balls that felt good!

BLANK! While he got back into his rhythm, I ran my up hands down his thick thighs towards  his crotch. Leaning forwards, I cradled my weight on my elbows and began to nuzzle my face against the front of his trousers, chasing his stiff cock beneath the fabric. Even with his mouth clamped around Balor, I felt his throat clench as his breath caught.

BLANK! After a minute or two -- once a small, slick dot of precome had leeched through the cloth -- I raised my head and began wrestling his dick out of his pants.

BLANK! I know, I know, it would be sexier to say “I undid his pants and his dick just popped out like a horny jack-in-the-box,” but 1: he’d been playing with himself, so he was unzipped already, and 2: has that ever really happened for anyone? I tried going commando one time for the effect, but, well… does the phrase “foreskin and zippers” mean anything to you?

BLANK! There was a rustle of cloth as I coaxed Cox’s cock through the flap in his briefs, tugging the gap down and around to nestle right behind his balls. A smear of precome gleamed on its plush, pink head, trailing down its length to stick in the golden hairs just peeking out of his briefs.

BLANK! It was almost… cute? Not small -- it was average or so -- but perfectly shaped and symmetrical, bouncing eagerly back against his waistband with an audible snap and another dollop of precome. He was cut, more the pity in my opinion, but then not everyone grafts a bit of alien space-god flesh to their dick to regrow their skin.

BLANK! I touched one fingertip to his tip as another glistening drop of precome oozed from his dick, sucking it off my finger like honey before leaning in and lapping at it with my tongue. He almost gagged -- I had to pull Balor out a ways so the guy could breathe -- but after a few long, luxurious strokes I let myself explore his cock a little more, teasing the glans with with my upper lip while I probed just behind the top of the head with my tongue.

BLANK! And then, without warning, I sucked in my breath and slid forward on his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt so my nose and beard tickled the plump round pouch of his balls.

BLANK! “Oh-- oh fuck! Dude!

BLANK! I’d have smiled, but I’m given to understand it’s rude when your mouth’s full.

BLANK! After that I eased into it, slowly pumping back and forth, breathing in the subtle, sweaty musk from his crotch -- he must have just showered, because it wasn’t sour. After a few seconds to enjoy the sensations -- I suck a pretty decent dick, if I say so myself -- Cox returned his attentions to my own junk, suckling up the not-inconsiderable precome spilling from Balor’s slit.

BLANK! The thrusting got more aggressive as we got into it -- both on his end and on mine. Balor slowly crept deeper with each passing stroke, easing his way past Cox’s tonsils and into the hot, tight darkness beyond. Thick, wet noises convulsed  the air, slow at first but building as each of us thrust harder and faster into the other’s hot, sucking mouth. Gods, I was hard -- my dick felt like an iron bar, and I could feel Cox’s cock swelling and tightening in my throat. The officer had wrapped his arms around my torso, clamping his hands against the muscles of my lower back, and I responded by digging my hands down and around the trouser-trapped globes of his ass.

BLANK! There was a gutteral squelch as Cox popped Balor out of his mouth.

BLANK! “Don’t go getting any big ideas, Roswell.” he said, friendly enough but with an edge of warning.

BLANK! To be honest he was about half an hour too late -- I’d been having big ideas about his ass ever since he bent over the counter to jot down my name and info -- but while I may be a man-slut I pride myself on being a gentleman man-slut. I stood so he could see me and made the Yellow Sign with my right hand.

BLANK! “Over the clothes. Cult’s Honor. Honest.”

BLANK! He gave me a long look and a firm nod before squeezing Balor back into his waiting maw.

BLANK! Game. On.

BLANK! The game, of course, being to make him wish he’d said yes while playing by the rules.

BLANK! I lowered my weight back onto my elbows and buried his cock in my mouth, wedging my hands between the thick, firm cushions and his plump, cloth-bound ass-cheeks. My knuckles dragged against the stiff upholstery as I massaged his ass with my fingers, tracing their curve from the crease at its base to the sharp cinch where it met his waist. He made a low, rough noise and arched his back just enough for my hands to explore -- over the shirt -- the tight, intimate cleft where the buttocks met at the small of his back.

        Cox began to raise his hips with every stroke, zealously thrusting his cock as deep into my throat as it would go. I dug my hands deeper beneath him, kneading his fat, pliant buttocks, feeling their heft, prying them apart and feeling them clap back together with a smack that made them bounce beneath my palms.

        Yeah. No big ideas here. The fuck am I kidding?

        I can’t tell you how much I wanted to fuck him. To wrench apart his belt, rip his zipper down and plunge myself -- hands, mouth, and cock -- into the deepest recesses of his body.

        But like I said, gentleman man-slut.

        Between the thrusting of his hips and the drag of cloth, tight folds of fabric had formed in the creases of his legs. With exaggerated slowness, I began to run my fingertips up and down the back seam of his pants.

        Cox began to let out stifled groans, low and savage, his throat muscles vibrating around my cock. Pulling on the bunched fabric, I allowed my fingers to sink into the cleft between his cheeks. And as the cloth became trapped in the plump, squeezing depths of his crack, I let my hands wander downwards to where the seam was stretched taut over his hole.

        When I found it his whole body tensed, dick twitching in my mouth, his precome slippery on my tongue as I worked it around the head and down the shaft. Officer Cox began to buck his hips harder, faster, his ass clamped around my fingers with a force that -- despite his protests -- seemed hellbent on forcing me knuckles deep inside of him. Each breath was short and tight, his body grinding beneath me, and my whole body was flooded with that searing, trembling energy you get right before you come.

        I was just about to pull off -- warn him I was close -- when Cox clenched his cheeks like a vice around my hand and shot a load of molten cum deep into my throat. Even as I began to convulsively swallow I could feel the officer’s hole throb and tremble ,straining to swallow my fingers cloth and all. I pressed them in as far as they would go, growling with lust, and let my own orgasm burst forth.

        My whole body flexed at once, balls clenched close to my taint as Balor swelled to full size and roared out my seed like a dragon breathing fire. Spasms shook through my body, thrumming like a second heartbeat pulsing through my groin.

        ...Dayum. That was good head.



Well, unfortunately I had let loose my pocket-rocket just as Officer Cox was in that two-second post-coital lapse you get when your brain is so stuffed full of sex-chemicals (sex-icals?) that you’re on mental screensaver for a moment. Not the best time, in other words, for a newbie to try and handle nine inches of rock-hard Balor pumping a kaiju-load of semen into his belly.

He gagged -- a harsh, guttural sound -- and began to choke.

Oh, fuck! The last thing I needed was to try and explain to the police why their fellow officer had choked to death on my fucking semen. While on duty.

I fumbled to my feet, grabbed Cox by the shoulders, and helped heave him into an upright position. The choking turned into a rough, heavy cough, but hey, at least air was getting to his lungs. He tried to cough up my cum, but really it was just too little, too late.

And that, of course, was when his walkie-talkie crackled on.

“Officer Cox, what’s your 20?”

        I’d like to say I was motivated purely by altruism, but I’m pretty sure it was the little Old One sitting on my shoulder that made me snag the walkie from his belt before Cox could. Cox -- still sputtering -- gave me a look of absolute horror as I shushed him and plunked my finger against the flat black button on the side.

        “Cox here,” I said, in a low, raspy voice. I gave a false clearing of the throat, “I’m still at that Cult Shop checking out that scrap from the scene.”

        “Shit, Cox, that you?”

        “Yeah,” I said, voice still raspy, as I gave Cox an evil grin while he stared at me in disbelief, “Sorry, something -- cough, cough -- went down the wrong pipe.”

        “‘Kay. Well, finish what you’re doing and get off your ass. There’s been another break-in over on French Hill. Another... you know, coocoo place.”

        That got my attention. Sure, the whole city’s jammed full with “coocoo places” -- assuming that was the way the jerk on the other end of the walkie talked about anything having to do with “Cult Culture” -- but the only one I knew of on French Hill Street was the Shubbite Temple at the corner of French Hill and Pickman.

        Unfortunately, Officer Cox saw that click with me, and after forcing a hard swallow ripped the walkie out of my hand. I didn’t fight him too hard, mind. I could probably be in enough trouble if he chose to make a big deal of things.

        I didn’t hear much of what followed -- it was probably little more than the address, really, but Cox was playing keep away by that point -- but I made a point of catching up with officer bubble-butt before he could slink his way out the door.

“I’m… sorry ‘bout that. I should have let you know before, well… you know.”

He looked up at me, all awkward anxiety with just a hint of embarrassment, and forced a grin.

“Hey. We’re cool. I didn’t warn you, either. Besides, that was pretty good.”

Only ‘pretty good’? I tried to not let my ruffled feathers show.

“Well, if you ever want any more,” I said, tapping at the phone number he’d scribbled on the clipboard earlier, “you know where to find me.”

Again the awkwardness he couldn’t quite hide. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped about an octave and he was swinging his shoulders like a cat trying to make itself look bigger.

“I’ll… I’ll think about that, but…” the pitch dropped another few notes, “I mean, I’m straight, so…”

To my credit, I didn’t actually laugh until he was out of the building.

We said our goodbyes, and I while I hated to see him go I did rather enjoy watching Officer Cox swagger away -- especially when he had to stop and pry the wedgie out from between his cheeks.

Well, that had been fun. But that slip with the walkie had let the shoggoth out of the bag -- shit was going down, and between the Black Satyricon and the Shubbite Temple it didn’t take a genius to figure out it had something to do with my deity of choice.

It would have been nice if Officer Cox had let me ride along -- or even watch from behind -- but hey, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

… metaphorically, of course.


BLANK! Normally, I’d like to use the space to discuss different concepts -- Lovecraftian or otherwise -- as they crop up, or to share little tidbits about my creative process. Right now, however, I’m actually quite curious as to how you the readers picture Brett and Officer Cox. What celebrity, entertainer, or actors (adult or otherwise) do you think fit the bill? I have my mental models, but let me know yours at!