If It Pleases

He has always felt it pressing. Ever since he was a child his mother and father would be performing the ritual, but he would wait. He would walk through the house pressing two fingers against the old plaster leaving a line on the dusty walls. The walls would press back as he came closer and the ritual began to come to a close. The plaster growing soft and wet. This is when he could feel it pressing. Reaching his arms in up to his elbows the thing would come to the surface creating the slightest bulge. It would beckon to him. Telling him that he had only to insert.

Until this day he denied it.

Each day when he masturbated and the ceiling sank down stretching for his semen. He would feel the desire pressing down upon him. Today he was weak. His parent long dead had left him a servant who in his slow way cleaned the house. Some days ago the servant had brought the protagonist a cup of cold coffee. Forgetting that he had only just finished performing masturbation the protagonist threw the cup against the soft plaster. The wall quivered as the cup shattered. A small cut dripped blood from the wall into the spreading coffee stain.

The servant began to clean the mess without thinking of the cosmic implications, as servants are often caught doing. The servant who was a lonely man noticed that an orifice was forming near where he was kneeling. He said to himself, "Well good chap, looks like georgie boy's getting laid." And unzipped his pants. The protagonist who had been reading the paper and fuming heard an animalistic grunting coming from his masturbatorium.

When he arrived he saw his servant being pulled cock first into the wall. Being a jealous man he quickly grabbed an umbrella from the stand and stalked over. Unfortunately as he approached the servant was bent backward in pleasure and with an audible snap his back broke. The wall was at this point a man sized wet plaster vulva. It was obviously enjoying itself and this annoyed the protagonist so as the last of his servant disappeared into its quivering lips he threw his umbrella. It struck the wall square in the clit. As quick as such things happen the wall was little more than a wall again.

This was the reason the protagonist was weak and angry today. His servant had gotten laid and he had lost his servant. So as he began to stroke his penis for the daily ritual he connived. He was conniving so desperately that by the time the walls were wet and desireful he was already pushing in. The thing on the other side pressed back. Together they rocked pelvis to horrorpelvis. The connivings of earlier paid off for as he thrusted into the wall he began to write in Latin in the wet plaster with his fingers.

As the reader should know latin is a magic language made by the smart people who used to live. The protagonist wrote, "If it pleases the wall the penetrator desires to enter fully the wall alive." Then as the last latin glyph was carved he felt the gritty plaster folding over his body and the Pressing Thing pulled him in.

His eyes were taken from him he was told so he could better feel the incomprehensible pressure. His tongue was cut from his mouth so he would not be distracted by his own words. He was carved down until he was a brain and life support system for his cock. The warm fluid he was suspended in coerced him from all angles. The need for food and air left him.

He knew that all that he was and all that he will need is to please the wall. The thing pressed and he felt the waves from tip to shaft knowing that he has pleased the wall to the fullest of his abilities.