docsepsis's blog: "Sugar from the Right Side of my brain!!"

Sonja was quite, to put it nicely, an unusual child. She was born in the year of our Lord, 983 A.D., on the eve of the new year. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and her poor father did not know what to do with her.

King Alexander was bewildered by his daughter. For one thing, he and his beloved wife, Isabelle, both had long, golden hair that flowed thick and pretty. Sonja's hair was darker than a bat's wing, and lay very flat and straight. Both her mother and father were well known for their pleasing appearances; but Sonja was very plain, her skin pale, her eyes a dull greenish-brown.

It was whispered throughout the castle walls that perhaps the child was not King Alexander's daughter, and that Queen Isabelle had been unfaithful. The rumors greatly angered him, and he ordered that any servant overheard speaking such lies was to be immediately imprisoned.

As the years passed, King Alexander came to the realization that he was beginning to fear his own child. When Sonja turned eight years of age, Alexander came upon her in her chambers, playing with a doll made of straw. But it was not in the innocent matter that most young girls played with toys. Sonja had poked several pins into the doll, in places such as the eyes, the chest, and betwixt the legs. This greatly disturbed King Alexander. Especially when several of the servants began to complain about strange mysterious discomforts: a young woman spoke of her eyes burning, and another felt a constant sharp pain in the heart. A third, one of the handmaiden's, gave birth to a stillborn baby.

This caused King Alexander to panic. He ordered Sonja to be moved to the chamber in the tallest tower of the castle, where she was to be kept under constant supervision. It was years before he saw his daughter again.

Sonja didn't mind being stuck in her small, damp quarters. All she had was her tiny straw bed, and a wool blanket. But there was a window where she could look out into the outside world. Every day, she was brought two meals and plenty of water, but she was not allowed out of the room unless summoned by her father.

Every day, Sonja would look outside her small window, to see the sun shining brightly in the blue sky. She wished she could go outside and play, like other little girls, but of course the tower was much too high for her to escape.

Sonja spent many years in the tower. Once a year, on her birthday, a seamstress would come to take her measurements, and would make her a new dress that better fitted her growing form. The dresses were all the same- modest, black gowns, made of lamb's wool. Then the seamstress would leave, and Sonja was alone once again.

Over the years, Sonja became very lonely. She would try to strike up conversations with the servants that brought her food and water, but they had received strict orders from King Alexander not to speak with her. Young girls should not be left alone for years without a person to talk to. It does things to their minds. Not to mention, Sonja was becoming more and more sensitive to the sunlight that poured into the chamber from the tiny window.

Soon it was only seven days before Sonja’s eighteenth birthday, and as the sun was beginning to set, the door of the chamber opened, and in walked the seamstress, who was by now quite aged, and perhaps in her sixth decade.

Sonja stood very still and quietly as the seamstress took her measurements, her face blank, and her eyes expressionless. She had filled out beautifully as a young maid. Her body was no longer straight and thin, but had voluptuous curves. Her breasts were petite, but prominent. As the seamstress walked behind her to measure the back of her shoulders, Sonja was surprised to hear the older woman whisper something in her ear. It was the first time the woman had spoken to her.

"Sonja, I have something for you."

Sonja held still as she felt the seamstress slip something over her head and around her neck. She looked down, and saw that she had placed a silver chain necklace, with a small silver cross hanging from it.

"Twas your mother's," the seamstress whispered. "Keep it secret. I'm sure she would have wanted you to have it."

Sonja was stunned. She did not even have time to say thank you, as the old woman turned briskly and left the room. For a long time, Sonja sat quietly on her straw bed toying with the cross around her neck. A full moon rose outside in the black night sky, and the moonlight cast a silver light into the chamber.

Suddenly, Sonja heard a sort of tapping sound near the window. She looked over, and saw a small brown mouse crawling along the windowsill. The mouse hopped down from the window, scuttled across the floor, and sprang up on the bed next to Sonja.

Smiling, Sonja reached down to gently stroke the mouse on its head with her fingertip. "Perhaps I have made a new friend," Sonja said.

"I will be your friend, Sonja," announced the mouse, with a squeak. Sonja was only slightly surprised. She was mostly happy that she had someone to talk to.

"What is your name?" Sonja asked the mouse.

"You may call me Martin," the mouse replied, and to her amusement, he stood up on his back two legs and made a little bow. Sonja laughed with delight. Then Martin crawled up Sonja’s arm, until he came to rest on her left shoulder.

"You are a special young girl, Sonja," Martin squeaked into her ear. "You have no idea how special. My master has chosen you."

"Chosen me?" Sonja repeated. "What do you mean?"

"My master has been watching you since you were born, Sonja. He has watched you grow up. He has something very important planned for you. He sent me to tell you how to prepare for it."

"I don't understand," Sonja said, shaking her head in confusion.

"You will understand," Martin said, "in time. Now listen carefully."

Sonja followed Martin's instructions exactly. For the next week, Sonja refused the meals she was brought, and drank only the water. In between the servants' intrusions, Sonja slept during the hours of the day, and spent her nights saying up and talking to Martin.

"It won't be long now," Martin told her. "Now, Sonja, I have more instructions for you."

The next morning, when the servant girl came to bring Sonja’s food and water, Sonja hid Martin carefully in her hand. As the girl began to leave, Sonja very carefully slipped Martin into the pocket of the girl's apron. Then she lied down on her bed and fell fast asleep.

When night came, Sonja waited anxiously for Martin to return. At last, the little brown mouse slipped in from under the crack of the door. Around his neck he carried a small metal key. Sonja picked both of them up, and held one in each hand.

"On the eve of your eighteenth birthday," said Martin, "you must lock the chamber door from the inside. No one must enter the room. At precisely midnight, my master will come for you."

"But how will he enter, if the room is locked?" asked Sonja inquisitively.

"The master will find a way," Martin replied mysteriously. "My task is finished here, Sonja. I must leave you now."

"No, no, please don't go! You are my only friend!"

Unheeding of her plea, Martin jumped down from her hand, scurried across the floor, and hopped up to the windowsill. "Very soon, Sonja, you will no longer need friends." And with that, he disappeared out the window.

Sonja began to weep uncontrollably. What could the mouse possibly mean by that mysterious comment? All she really wanted was a friend. That was why she had done everything that Martin asked of her. But now, she was alone, left with only a key in her hand, and her loneliness. She spent the rest of the night shedding pitiful tears, and at morning's light, she lied down to sleep.

The next night was the eve of her eighteenth birthday. Sonja stared out the window, praying that Martin would poke his little head and whiskers into the room, but there was no sign of him. There was nothing to do now but wait.

At one minute until midnight, Sonja took out the key Martin gave her, and locked the chamber door. Then she sat upon her bed, and waited, as fear and anticipation filled her heart.

Suddenly, a crisp breeze blew in from the window, and before Sonja’s eyes there appeared a man, tall and fearsome, with a bald head. He was dressed all in black, from his shirt to his boots, and a long black cape was draped over his shoulders. His face was very young and handsome, but his eyes were a strange, glowing yellow.

The man smiled, revealing straight white teeth, but his incisors where unusually long and slightly pointed. "Sonja," he spoke, his voice deep and demanding. "I have waited many years for this moment."

"Who are you?" Sonja asked, her voice trembling in fear.

"I am the demon, Chojin, and I am your lord and master. My servant Martin has prepared you well, I see. Is the door locked, as per my instructions?"

Sonja nodded.

"Very good. Now, stand up."

Afraid to do anything but obey him, Sonja stood from the bed and walked towards him. Chojin grinned as he reached out a hand to stroke Sonja’s pale cheek. Then he ran his thumb over her full bottom lip.

"So lovely," he crowed, and before Sonja could protest, he leaned down to devour her lips in a kiss. Chojin was anything but gentle. His kiss was hungry and fierce, and his tongue probed the inside of her mouth. Once his sharp teeth pierced her lip, and Sonja could taste her own blood.

At last, Chojin released her, and Sonja took the moment to catch her breath. His yellow eyes never leaving hers, Chojin removed his cape with a flourish, then turned to spread it out over the straw bed.

"Remove your clothing, Sonja," the demon commanded. He watched her lustfully with his glowing yellow eyes. Sonja hesitated only for a moment, then stripped slowly out of her dress, as tears welled in her eyes. Soon she stood before him naked, the first time she had done so before any man.

"Now lie down," Chojin said, motioning towards the bed. Sonja closed her eyes tightly to regain courage, as tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally she obeyed, walking over to the bed, and lying down on her back atop the black cloak. It was a definite improvement in comfort, the soft silk against her bare skin.

Sonja quickly forgot about the cape, as she looked up to see Chojin suddenly naked. His body was firm and muscular, flawless in every way. Very fine black hairs covered his chest, as well as a forest of hair between his strong legs. Standing from the black hairs was his huge member, stiff and hard.

"Now, Sonja," said Chojin, "our bodies will become one, and we shall reign the new millennia. Darkness will rule the world, and you and I shall be its king and queen."

He leaned down over her, and Sonja watched his lustful yellow eyes as they scanned her nude body. She lay very still as his hands reached out, squeezing her breasts, and toying with the nipples. Then he leaned down his head, and began flicking and swirling his long tongue over the taut nipples. Sonja gasped through her tears, and she closed her eyes once more, whimpering softly as she prayed for it to end.

Suddenly Chojin stopped, and Sonja opened her eyes. She saw his face contorted in anger, and she realized that he was looking at the silver cross around her neck.

"What is this atrocity?" Chojin growled.

"Please," Sonja whispered. "It was my mother's."

Swiftly, Chojin snatched the chain and tore it from her neck. He looked at it for a moment, then a small smirk came to his face. "Ah, yes, I remember. Your mother wore this also, on the night I came to her, eighteen years ago. I thought I told her to get rid of it, but I see she did not listen."

Realization and horror came to Sonja. So, the rumors had been true. King Alexander was not her father. It was he, Chojin, who had taken her mother all those years ago, and sealed her fate.

"No," Sonja cried. "How could you!"

Chojin only laughed, as he threw the cross and chain to the ground. "You are mine, Sonja. My seed, and now my queen. Just as soon as our bodies are merged, your destiny will be fulfilled."

Sonja struggled to sit up, but Chojin easily pinned her down to the bed. "It is too late, my dear," he crooned. "There is no chance of resisting."

He took both of her wrists in his one large hand, and held them pinned above her head. Then his free hand stroked down over her breasts, then her stomach. Soon, his fingers found the deep center between her trembling legs, and delved into the very core of her. Sonja cried out, as a strange sensation filled her body, and she felt flushed and warm all over.

"Yes," Chojin groaned, as his fingers thrust deeper inside her. His fingertip toyed with her clit, and Sonja gasped and squirmed beneath him. "I feel your wetness, Sonja, and that tells me you are ready."

Sonja did not understand what he meant. Then her eyes widened in terror, as she watched Chojin change before her. His yellow eyes shone brightly, and enormous black horns began to grow from his forehead. Claws came out from his fingertips, and his skin began to turn a deep red. His fangs glistened in the moonlight, fierce and frightening, as Chojin emitted a blood-curdling laugh.

Sonja began to scream, but she could not stop Chojin as he moved over her, his weight making it impossible for her to move. Then, with one hard thrust, Chojin pushed himself inside of her, causing her to cry out in pain. It felt as though scalding flames had engulfed her body, and Sonja continued to scream as Chojin pumped into her.

His claws dug into her shoulders, drawing blood. He thrust into her harder and faster, grunted and groaning. Sonja wept as he forced himself mercilessly inside her, and it seemed to go on forever.

Finally, as a bright light filled the room, nearly blinding her, Chojin let out a deafening cry as he spilled his seed inside of Sonja. Then the light dimmed, and Sonja lay weary and motionless on the bed. Chojin had changed back to his human form, and now stood up from the bed. Like magic, his clothes reappeared, including the black cloak around his shoulders.

"I have one last instruction for you, Sonja," Chojin said. "Sleep now, and when you wake, the day will have come and gone. There will be a new gown waiting for you, much more fitting than the rags you are accustomed to. I want you to put it on, then leave the room and go down into King Alexander's throne room. No one will hinder you."

"What should I do when I get there?" Sonja asked, her voice hoarse and meek.

Chojin just smiled. "You will know," he said only, and in a flash, he had vanished.

Sonja, still lying on the straw bed, was too exhausted to think anymore. She fell asleep quickly.

When Sonja’s eyes opened, it was night once more, just as Chojin had said. She got up from the bed, and looked down to find a black gown lying neatly on the floor. She picked it up, and felt the smooth, satin material. It was truly a fine dress. She slipped it on, and it fit her perfectly.

Cautiously, Sonja walked over to the chamber door, and slowly turned the knob, which was now unlocked. The door creaked as she pushed it open, and she peeked down into the hall. There was no one- no guard at the door, no servants bustling about. Very strange, Sonja thought. She stepped out into the empty hallway.

It had been many years since Sonja had gone to the throne room, but strangely, she remembered her way around the castle very well. Down several flights of stairs she went, until she came at last to a pair of heavy doors that led to the throne room.

Sonja paused, as she noticed a large round mirror framed in silver, hanging from the adjacent wall. She turned to stare at her reflection. The gown truly did look lovely on her- the plunging neckline revealed the swell of her breasts, and the skirt flowed down to the floor, leaving a long train behind her. The sleeves hung loosely on her wrists.

Sonja gazed at her face in the mirror. She was shocked to no longer see the little eight-year-old girl that she once knew, but a young woman. However, she still looked very plain, her skin pale, and dark circles were under her eyes.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, quick as lightning, as the image in the mirror changed. Sonja gasped- there was black shadow on her eyelids, black paint lined her eyes, and her lips were a deep blood red. She was. . . beautiful! She barely recognized the face as her own.

Then Sonja turned to face the large double doors that led into King Alexander's throne room. She pushed hard on the heavy doors, and then slowly opened before her.

Words could not describe the horror that Sonja saw in the throne room. There were the king's servants- lying dead in contorted positions on the floor. Blood stained the floor, as well as the walls. The room was filled with corpses, all brutally slain. Sonja walked further into the room, gazing around at the chaos before her. As she neared the king's throne, she saw her father, Alexander, lying dead at the foot of the throne. His sightless eyes were open, his mouth agape, as dried blood seeped from where his throat had been cut.

Strangely, Sonja felt no remorse for him. After all, this was the man who had locked her in a tower for ten years. Lastly, her eyes fell on the seat of the throne, where she saw a twisted silver crown of thorns.

Entranced, Sonja stared at the crown as she walked up the steps to the throne. She stopped to lifted the crown from the seat, as the sharp ends pricked at her fingers. She took no notice, as she lifted the crown, and placed it upon her head.

Slowly, a smile crept to Sonja’s lips. She turned around and sat in the throne, looking out over her dead subjects. She felt laughter bubbling up inside her, and it soon erupted out of her. Her evil laughter echoed throughout the castle, though no one was alive to hear it. It was a dreadful sound, as Sonja laughed long and loudly.

"All hail the Queen of Darkness!" Sonja cackled. Now all she had to do was sit and wait for her King.

The castle was isolated from the rest of the world for at least six, sometimes as much as eight months out of the year. In winter, heavy snows sealed off the narrow mountain passes. In spring, the roads were either washed out or turned into knee deep pits of mud from the runoff of melting snow and ice. Although the mountains were their most beautiful during autumn, very few people ventured into them for fear of being caught unaware by an early blizzard. Throughout the year, in nearby villages and farms, other, darker reasons to avoid the castle were also whispered about, usually on stormy nights around the fireplace. Only in the summertime did visitors of any sort arrive at the castle, and over the years, especially following the death of the mistress of the castle, the number of visitors each year could generally be counted on one hand.

But every summer, for at least a month at a time, the three girls, Eva, Heather and Shelly, came to visit the lord of the castle, their uncle.

They usually arrived in late June or early July, to escape the heat and crowding in town. Sometimes their father would stay with them at the castle, visiting with his sister and brother-in-law for as long as a week at a time. But for the last several years, especially following the death of his sister, he would part within a day or two of leaving his daughters within the safekeeping of their uncle.

For the first nine to ten years of his life, the young boy who lived in the castle had thoroughly enjoyed these visits with his cousins. It was a special treat for him to have anyone to play with, even if they were girls and several years older than he. Certainly, there were some boys his own age in the nearby village. But those boy’s parents would never even consider allowing their sons to play with the boy who lived in the castle. He was never sure why. His father told him it was the low born peasants natural unwillingness to associate with their superiors, but on numerous occasions in town, the boy would overhear some of the strange and disturbing rumors the townsfolk would share about the castle, his home.

As he was entering into his teen years, however, the boy became increasingly uncomfortable associating with his three cousins. They, too, were maturing, and he couldn’t help but notice the changes in their figures, the swelling of their breasts, the gradual rounding of their hips, the delicate curves of their arms and legs. Dark-haired, long limbed Shelly, in particular, with deep brownish-green eyes like bronze and emeralds, and fashionably tanned skin, held his attention and thrilled him in strange, confusing ways. Red-haired Heather and the blond Eva had surprisingly darker skin than their sister, but they also made him extremely warm whenever either one of them would speak to him. The boy was confused by the odd, disturbing sensations the girls stirred within him and his interest in such games as hide and seek, waned with the passing of each summer. He felt increasingly uncomfortable even being around the cousins because so many times he caught himself staring at them, particularly Shelly and having secret thoughts and urges that he didn’t at all understand.

On numerous occasions, the boy had tried to talk with his father about his concerns, but his father kept such odd hours, rising just after sunset and going to bed just as dawn was approaching. But at night, when such an opportunity would present itself, the boy lost what courage had built up during the day. Embarrassed by the thoughts and feelings he experienced whenever he saw or even thought about his cousins. He kept everything to himself, bottled up tightly inside him, like wine. But this was a wine that was spoiling, rather than fermenting to a fine vintage as it aged.

One hot July night in his thirteenth year, he was finding it hard to sleep. The sounds of crickets and night birds in the nearby forest kept him awake long past midnight. Not even the slightest stirring of air moved through his opened window. The buzzing of a mosquito tormented him, making him swat blindly in the darkness and cursing as he missed. He sat there and measured the passing of time with deep and even breaths.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, he became aware of another sound intruding upon the night. It fluttered lightly in the darkness, hissing like the soft whisper of the finest of silk. Once he became aware of it he realized it was the laugh of a girl…..or woman.

His mother had been dead for nearly eight years, and the few female servants employed at the castle had all gone back to their homes in the village for the night, so he deduced that the sounds must be caused by his cousins. Thinking about the girls instantly caused a cold, hard knot to tighten in his stomach, and his member hardened like a spike. Confused by his this tingling new sensation low in his belly, which he found occurring more and more frequently, he slipped one hand up underneath his sleeping gown and grasped himself, squeezing hard, hoping the pressure would make the throbbing ache disappear. It didn’t.

It only made it worse, pounding in time with the steadily increasing pace of his pulse. His ears were ringing with expectation as he arched his head forward and waited for the ripple of feminine laughter to come again. Almost against his will, his hand started moving up and down in tight, choking strokes. A quivering rush, like hot pins and needles, filled his lower belly. His head began to swim. Finally, unable to stand the pulsating sensation any longer, he swung his legs off of the bed, stood up, and began pacing back and forth across the cool stone floor.

After awhile, he began to doubt he heard the laughter at all, but then, like a bird song fluttering on the wind, it came again. In truth, it was barely audible, but it pierced his ears and drove into his brain like a lance. The sound teased and tempted him, exciting him so the stiffness in his groin ached even more painfully, painfully but pleasurably. He sucked in a deep breath and held it as he tiptoed to the door of his bedchamber, swung it open, and stepped out into the humid darkness of the castle corridor. In spite of the hot night air, a shiver tickled between his shoulder blades. Without a candle to light his way he was temporarily confused, but his feet, as if they had a will of their own, started him down to the far end of the corridor toward the chamber door behind which, he knew, his cousins slept. But they weren’t sleeping now.

When he was halfway to the door, he heard a hissing rustle of sheets, the ripple of laughter came again. This time followed by a deep groaning that made the boy wonder if one of the girls had eaten something bad, and was suffering from a stomach ache. The darkness of the corridor enfolded him like soft, heavy arms, giving him a slight measure of security as he pressed his ear to the door and tried to determine exactly what was going on in there. No words had been spoken, but the laughter and low throated moaning continued, rising louder, like a distant, gathering storm.

Somehow miraculously the boy kept himself from crying out when the door, apparently unlatched, swung open a bit under the pressure of him leaning against it. He jerked back, afraid that the subtle shifting of the door might have alerted his cousins that there was someone in their doorway, but the laughter and other sounds continued. Sweat stood out like morning dew on the boy’s forehead, and his throat was raw with tension as he took another deep breath and held it. He was still fearful of being discovered, yet he was also consumed with curiosity to discover what was going on inside that room. He had to know!

After several pounding heartbeats, and once his eyesight had adjusted to the faint glow of light, he dared to bring his eye back to the slitted opening of the door. A single candle burned on the night stand, casting the room in an orange glow. At first, all he saw was the corner of the large bed which his cousins shared during their stay. But by placing his fingertips against the rough wooden door and pressing against ever so slightly, he opened it just enough to be able to peer further into the room.

The sight made his heart stop cold, like a dead thing in the center of his chest. His member was still throbbing painfully, raising its head like a proud warrior, thrusting against the restraints of his sleep gown. One hand shifted down to his crotch and grasped the bulge tightly. Two of the cousins, he saw, Heather and Eva, were stark naked and crouching on their hands and knees outside of their bed covers. The third cousin, Shelly, was also lying outside of the covers on her back. She was naked except for a sash of white cloth that was wrapped around her waist and draped down to mid thigh. Her long, dark hair spilled across the white pillow like a splash of chocolate silk. Heather and Eva were running their hands all over their sister’s body. All of them were writhing in slow, undulating rhythms. Almost like a single beast, with three heads, six arms, and six legs. Shelly's soft skin glowed like wet sand on the beach at dawn, as her sister’s hands and mouths kneaded and caressed her thighs, breasts, shoulders, face and neck.

A hot rush of blood filled the boy’s head making him slightly dizzy. He continued to rub himself, keeping in time with the twisting undulations of the young girls. The boy longed to join them, but he felt safer, staying hidden in the darkness of the corridor and watching them at play.

With a high pitched laughter, Heather tugged at the white cloth that was wrapped around Shelly’s waist.

“Come on, darling,” she said in a low, teasing voice. “Don’t be shy, now. You must let your sisters see your precious treasure.

In an instant, Eva also grabbed at the cloth and started tugging at it, all the while laughing. “Yes…please, Shell,” she said with a slight lilt to her voice. “You must let us play with your toy too.”

“No! No! Please, not tonight!” Shelly cried out.

She twisted away from her sisters embraces and sat up in bed. Her eyes looked shocked, but her voice sounded without alarm. There was an excited edge to it, and the boy sensed that Shelly didn’t mean what she had said. No, not at all. He watched in fascination as the sisters pressed Shelly down into the sheets and grabbing the white cloth, and flinging it away. Heather’s hands engulfed her sister’s breasts as she held Shelly down on the bed while Eva took her sister’s legs and pulled them wide apart. All three of them were laughing now, but the sound was broken by deeper moans and sighs that seemed to come from the darkness surrounding them.

The boy felt equally repulsed and intrigued by what he saw. A wide swath of fresh blood smeared the inside of Shelly’s thighs, glistening a dark, oily red inside the thin whisps of dark hair at the joining of her legs. He watched in amazement, unable to even to take a breath as Heather and Eva both leaned forward and begin to kiss and lick the blood from inside their sister’s glazed thighs. He was motionless except for his hand, which continued to pump and down beneath his night clothes. When his groin flooded with a hot, tingling rush, he was suddenly fearful that if he continued to rub himself, something horrible might happen. But he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the entwined bodies and scarlet smears of fresh blood shimmering against Shelly’s skin

Suddenly his awareness was swept away by a dizzying rush as something hot, wet, and sticky shot out from inside his cupped hand. Moaning aloud, he leaned forward to catch his balance and advertently banged his head against the partially opened door. He was reeling with such a sensation, that he only experienced a small sense of alarm when he heard all three of his cousin’s squeal in surprise. He vaguely sensed that they had all turned and were staring at him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the streaks of blood that smeared Heather and Eva’s mouths.

“Well now, sisters,” Heather said in a low, throaty growl. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “We seem to have ourselves a little audience tonight.”

“Yes, a little peeping tom has crawled out of the walls to watch us play,” said Eva.

The boy could hardly stand, much less move. He looked down at his hand, still reached up under his clothes. The white cloth was saturated with a thick, clammy fluid. He looked back at his cousins and watched in utter silence as Heather rose from the bed, her arms extended toward him.

She moved so quickly to the door and pulled it all the way open so fast, that he staggered into the room. His brain seemed to have shut off, as he allowed Heather to take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. He moved on legs that were stiff as stilts. He cried out, but the sound was lost between another chorus of laughter, as she pushed him roughly forward, and he flopped face first onto the bed, landing between Shelly and Eva. In the next instant, Heather rolled him over onto his back and leaped on top of him. He was lost in the pillowy white softness of sheets, pillows and skin, as hands tugged at his gown, pinched his cheeks, clawed at his neck, chest, and stomach and much lower.

Within seconds, his night clothes had been torn to shreds, and his slim, slightly muscled body lay exposed, to the probing touches of cool fingertips and hot tongues.

“I say he has to pay a penalty,” one of his cousins said teasingly.

“Yes, he must pay dearly for spying on us.”

“Oh, yes,” said a third, more commanding voice. “A very severe penalty.”

The boy was lost in confusion. He could no longer distinguish the girl’s voices. They all blended into a chorus of birdlike laughter. And the words became muffled in the whooshing sound of the sheets flowing over his head.

“Better yet, we should force him to play with us.”

“Yes, yes! He has to play our game too!”

“No, I….I don’t like that idea,” said the more commanding voice.” I’m still embarrassed that he saw me like…like this, suffering as I am, under the woman’s curse.”

“Oh my dear Shell, it’s no curse.”

“No, not at all. Why it’s a blessing!”

“And if he’s so interested in watching us play, perhaps just like when we were children, he still wants to play with us.”

“Yes, perhaps we should invite him to share in your blessing, Shelly dearest and let him drink at your darling fountain too.”

The boy was lost in such a dizzying spiral of confusion that he thought he must be dreaming as hands and knees prodded at him, turning him over and over in the soft whispering bed sheets. The moist cushions of lips and breasts pressed and rubbed against his face, his stomach, his back, and his groin. As flexing fingers grabbed his male member, he felt it begin to stiffen again, pulsating with a strange, urgent heat. Then some one grabbed the back of his head and pushed his face down against the soft, yielding flesh of Shelly’s belly. His nose was squashed flat, making it difficult for him to breathe as the two other girls forced his head down….down. Not quite against his will, he found himself kissing a wet line along Shelly’s tanned skin until he was lapping at the sweet, saltiness in the cleft of Shelly’s thighs. A damp, musky taste tinged with the coppery sting of fresh blood filled his mouth making his head spin.

His male member was now stiff and insistent as his face was forced deeper into Shelly’s downy gash. He cried out in pain as one of the sisters grabbed his maleness and pulled on it hard.

“Perhaps this will get in the way of all of our fun,” a voice said.

“Yes, what shall we do about it?” another stated.

“I know what to do,” Shelly cried out, her voice restrained with passion.

She suddenly shifted around, pushing the boy’s head away from her crotch. Then she rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. She moved her face forward as if to kiss him, but her soft lips only brushed lightly over his blood smeared mouth before pressing against his neck. Her lingering kiss burned below his left ear, as the heated moistness of her tongue lapped at the vein that throbbed beneath his skin. The boy was swept up in such euphoria of seduction; that he didn’t notice Shelly’s lips as they tracked down his chest and stomach until, at last, her mouth came to rest upon his throbbing member. Moaning softly, she licked him several times, then opened her mouth wide to engulf him and started sucking on him. At first she sucked gently, but then her teeth started to nibble at him, hard enough to be hurtful. But, even that pain was exquisite, making him nearly delirious. Then Shelly’s gentle kisses were interrupted by a cold, sharp sting, like the slice of a dagger as her teeth bit at the base of his member. He was too lost in the mind numbing swirl of pleasure to care or worry about what she was doing to him.

“No, Shell! Don’t!” one of the girls suddenly shouted.

The boy detected a slight panic in her voice, and he sensed a flurry of movement as the violent sucking and nibbling abruptly ceased. As he struggled to sit up in bed, his vision cleared slightly, and he let out a shout of fright when he saw Shelly. Shelly was crouching on the edge of the bed, glaring at him like a cornered animal. Her eyes, wild, glistening with raging lust. Her lips were peeled back, exposing two sharp, curved teeth that stuck out like wolf’s fangs. A bright trickle of blood ran from her lower lip, which was trembling with anticipation. She stuck out her tongue and circled her lips, smearing the blood. Nearly numb with horror, the boy reached down to his crotch and felt the slick flow of blood on his skin.

“Please, Shell! You can’t do that!” Eva yelled.

“It’s not time yet!” shrieked Heather. “He’s not ready to become completely ours!” “No, not yet!”

The bite on the boy’s groin throbbed painfully with burning surges as the hot trickle of blood ran down between his legs. He was almost blinded by the hypnotic whirlwind inside his head as his hands reached out and roughly pushed himself from the softness of his cousin’s bed. As he scrambled to his feet, a bundle of shredded clothing shot from out of nowhere and hit him, as solid as an expertly thrown punch, full in the face. He heard a deep sobbing and was surprised to realize that the sound was coming from himself.

“Go!”

“Get out of here!”

“Leave us!”

“Leave us now!”

Shivering naked, and stinging with embarrassment and pain, he covered his wounded groin with the remnants of his torn nightshirt, and started backing away from the bed. He felt blindly behind himself with one hand until he came to the door. Then, he turned and ran into the corridor, swinging his arms wildly at the darkness, as if he could somehow tear it apart.

Suddenly he found himself in his own room. He hurried to the light of the candle on his nightstand. The glow of light hurt his eyes, but he leaned forward and stared in horror at his face.

He was shocked by what he saw, yet also strangely thrilled at the sight of the clotted blood that smeared his chin and lips. The stain looked like a fiery, dark beard. Tears streaming from his eyes blurred his vision as he leaned over the washbasin and splashed his face with water. All the while, his thin shoulders shook with unrepressed sobs.

In the flickering orange glow of the single candle, his reflected features seemed oddly distorted, and for a dizzying instant, he had the sensation of standing outside of himself. In the oval mirror, he saw, not his boyish face staring back at him, but the face of a much older man. The man stared back at him blankly, his eyes both black, swelling pools. Long, curved teeth pressed down against his lower lip, and when his reflection smiled, an ink dark flood of blood ran from his mouth and down his chin, staining his chest.

For what seemed like an eternity, the boy stood there, fixated by his own hypnotic stare. He wanted to cry out, but the instant his lips parted, another gush of blood flowed in twin dark red streams from the down turned corners of his mouth. A tingling rush of elation battled the surges of repulsion that swept through him. He was ashamed and thrilled by what he had done, by what his cousins had made him do. Against his conscious will, his member began to stiffen again, and he closed his eyes in pleasure as he began to stroke and caress himself lightly.

Uttering a low cry, he suddenly shook his head and tore his gaze away from the face reflected in the mirror. Still trembling, he scooped up a handful of water and carefully dribbled it over his crotch. Taking a clean cloth, he daubed gently at the still bleeding tooth marks on the flesh of his member. The pain was burning and strong, pulsing through him in hot rushes. He couldn’t deny or pretend not to know what Shelly was about to do to him, but what sickened and thrilled him most on a deeper level was the sudden certainty that, were she here right now, in his bedroom, he would willingly allow her to do what she intended, if only for the blinding instant of pure pleasure that pain would give him.

Once the bleeding had stopped, he put on a clean nightgown, blew out the candle, and threw himself onto his bed, curling up into a tight ball beneath the covers. As the glow of the moonlight slid silently across his floor, he lay there, clutching his bedcovers close to his chin, shaking and sweating as though suffering from a fever.

He sought escape from his pain, panic, and confusion in sleep, but sleep didn’t come for many hours, not until the first traces of morning light edged the eastern sky with gray. At last, once he had finally drifted into a fitful sleep, that sleep was haunted by twisted dreams of the pleasure and torment his cousins might have given him, and his own uncontrollable urge to taste once again, the intoxicating coppery sting of blood as it coursed down his throat.

"Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
I ask the Lord, the King of kings,
Protect me from, Her Black Wings
- Amen."

--

The desert stretches out in front of me. The hills of sand undulating, flickering in the heat, glaring back into my eyes. The air is still, no movement, nothing, like being in a vacuum. The sun beats down on me and my skin feels like it's sizzling from the heat. I raise my hand over my eyes and peer into the desert, looking for the next supply truck. I see nothing for miles.

I turn around and walk back into the small village. The homes of cracked wood and mud brick squat on either side of a road that is only a road because it's between the rows of homes. People sit in the doorways, gathered in small groups; young children, women, a few men, limbs thin, faces drawn, bellies distended, skin drawn tight across their skulls with dark eyes peering out at me, looking for the bit of hope that I can bring them. I feel like a god in my clean pressed shirt and pants, a large wooden cross dangling from my neck, my skin bronzed to a golden tan, a bronze god among the dark savages. I shake the thought from my head. I am not a god. I am just an emissary of the one true God, here to bring his word and his hope to these people.

A child steps from a doorway and walks over to me. Her hair is fallen out in patches. Her mouth is toothless. Still her eyes shine. They are alive. With the fire of God. Her hands stretch out to touch me and I kneel down, letting her pull me down to look her in the eyes.

"What do you need child?" I ask her, my hand draping across her bony shoulder.

She stares at me and says nothing. She only stares at me. Then I realize that she is a deaf mute. She has no tongue. She has no teeth. Her mother must chew her food and spit it into her mouth like a bird feeding her baby.

I stroke her head, feeling the bumps of her skull, the few strands of her hair slipping across my fingers. She reaches out and touches the cross hanging down from my neck.

"It is the cross of the Lord our God. You have one of your own," I tell her, knowing how these people see symbols like the cross as powerful talismans and though that seems like idolatry to me - and thus sinful - I am happy that they have accepted the cross.

She wraps her hands around the cross and closes her eyes as if she's drawing strength from it, pulling the spirit of the Lord into her soul. I almost expect to see her tiny, frail body to expand, filled with His strength, but nothing happens. She holds it in her hands, seeming to meditate upon it.

Then her eyelids open, her eyes rotated back into her head, the whites glaring out at me. Startled, I jump back from her. The leather necklace snaps from my neck as I fall backwards, her hands still grasping onto the cross, her head still tilted up, her body still like a statue.

I sit up to walk over to her, to see if she's all right and retrieve my cross, but I stop as a shadow drifts over me, blocking the sun. I see the shadow stretch out over me, my shadow swallowed by it. The girl is gone. My cross lies in the sand. I watch as it sinks slowly into the ground, the leather strap trailing after it until it's gone. My skin has broken into goose bumps, cooled by the oppressive shadow. As I breathe out I see my breath drifting from my lips.

I turn around, knowing what I'll see, knowing that she has come again, not wanting to look at her, my body tight with fear, my heart pounding, but I can't help but turn, my body is drawn to her. I must see her. My skin is cold, but my blood boils, and I must look at her.

I see her eyes first, always those eyes, a deep blood red staring down at me as if from some great height, two red shining orbs peering into my head to pierce my soul. Her wings are wrapped around her body, hiding her entirely except for those two eyes, and then she raises her head up, her face beautiful, cruelly beautiful, her lips red and wet, her skin brown, her hair drifting back in long, black waves.

"Come to me." Her voice resounds in my head, deep and sensual, reverberating in my head and then down through my body to my guts, sending waves of tingling pleasure through my loins, and I sigh, feeling my penis starting to harden.

Her black wings shift and then start to part as she unfolds them from her body. My mouth is dry, my body tight with anticipation, watching as her body is revealed to me. Slowly, she pulls her wings apart, the tips scraping across the sand at her clawed feet until she lifts them up, spreading them apart. My eyes trace up her brown legs as her wings unfold, eagerly moving up her calves and thighs, the skin seeming so soft stretched over the muscles, up high on her thighs, staring between her thighs, but I see nothing but darkness, her legs closed tightly.

Then her wings snap loudly as she flicks them apart, stretching out beside her and over her head. Her body seems to glow dimly, illuminating her sensuous curves from the shadows cast by her immense wings. Her chest rises and falls, her breasts large, the nipples black and round. She raises her long arms up, holding them out to me, beckoning me to her. I look at her face, beautiful and dark, her tongue slides between her lips, slipping between her sharp teeth.

She offers me everything, everything I've never had, everything I've always wanted, but am forbidden to have - every delight and pleasure, wallowing in sin, seeping into my skin. A sigh. Her breath soft on my neck. Her body close to mine, oh so close, and I can feel her in front of me, her heat prickling my skin, every nerve tingling. Her wings close around us, swallowing me inside of her, taking me in, and I lean forward, my head resting against her shoulder, my cheek pressed to her skin, so soft. I want to kiss it. I want to bite it.

Her wings slide along my back as she pulls me towards her, her hands at my waist, touching my body, and I'm naked now, nothing between us, just skin against skin, flesh against flesh, and my penis is hard, pushing between her legs, spread wide now, the soft hair tickling me. My body is in a rage, her fingers sliding down my waist and my thighs, her nails scratching my skin, and my brain is soaked with desire, wanting everything she offers, wanting more, and my body jerks as she grabs my penis.

She moves closer still, her breasts pushed against my chest, her thighs pressed to my thighs, her wings wrapped around my back, her tongue, hot and wet, licking across my neck, behind my ear, and I sigh, feeling my body let go, powerless in her embrace, each second an eternity of pleasure and want.

Her hand presses my penis up against her, between her legs, and she moves her hips, sliding along it, her fingers rubbing it underneath, teasing me, so close, oh so close, my moan making her hair flutter, the scent of perfume and cooked meat. Her fingers touch the tip and my body jerks as a spasm flows up my spine. She moves her hips, sliding the wetness, the soft folds of skin between her legs, along my penis, her stomach pressing against me and then parting as she moves.

I wrap my hands around her waist, feeling the skin, hot and smooth under my palms, her body soft, wanting to pull her towards me, push it into her, now, now, oh I need it inside of her now, lost in lust and desire, her fingers touching me, sliding underneath it, faster, pumping my hips, sliding between her hand and her pelvis, moaning loudly, her tongue stretching along the back of my neck, wrapping around to my face, parting my lips, and I touch my tongue to her tongue, my fingers digging into her waist, grasping her butt, feeling her muscles flexing and moving beneath my touch, moving faster, and then her fingers touching the tip, a quick stroke, and I almost double over as my body erupts.

Her wings hold me against her body, her hand wrapped around the head of my penis as it jerks uncontrollably, my whole body shivering and shaking, grunting, my hips pumping, pushing against her, her tongue diving into my mouth, as the fluid continues to burst from me, a release so wonderful and pleasurable that I want the moment to stretch out forever, never lose it, always feel her against me, around me, holding me, ejaculating into her cupped hand, her fingers stroking it underneath, drawing it out of me, pulling my whole body out tight on a string stretched out to her fingers.

She slides her fingers down my penis once more, pulling one last ejaculation from me, and then pulls away. I fall to my knees as she steps away, pulling her wings from me, the harsh sun now beating down on my body, exposed, pitiful and naked. I squint up at her, standing over me, her wings pulled in tight against her back, her hand held in front of her, my semen lying in a puddle in her palm. She lifts her hand to her mouth and her tongue shoots out, licking my semen from her hand. She rolls it down her tongue and into her mouth, her lips curled back in a grin, her eyes watching me, and then she presses her hand to her lips to suck it from her hand.

I fall to the ground, crumbling to the sand, all energy drained from my body. I feel the harsh light of God beating on my bare back. I try to crawl towards her to find the protection of her black wings, but I can't move, the sand is opening, pulling me down, and I'm so tired that I can't struggle against it. I look up at her, begging for help, pleading with her, but she's gone, there is nothing, and I sink into the sand until it covers my head and it's dark.



I wake with a start, sitting up quickly as my eyes jerk open, my heart pounding. I see the walls of my bedroom lit by the light spilling in through my curtains and not the desert swallowing my sinful body. I drop back onto the bed and rest my hands on my chest feeling my heart slowing down as I let the reality of my bedroom sink in.

I notice my hands clutching my bare chest and sit up again. I push the bed sheets to the side and see my pajamas lying in shreds between the sheets. I look down at my naked body and then notice the sticky wet fluid on the sheets and on my body at my waist and genitals.

I grab my tattered pajamas and wipe the semen from my body, scrubbing the skin, remembering the dream, the feel of her body, her hand, rubbing against me, her tongue on my neck and lips, and I can almost feel her against me again, the desire to enter her. I rub harder, wanting to get the semen off of me, rub those thoughts out of my mind, but rubbing myself is only arousing me more.

I throw the pajamas down on the bed and press my hands into my eyes, wanting to purge myself of the dream, those feelings. I need to pray, pray for strength, for forgiveness.

I slide out of the bed onto the floor on my knees and bow my head with my hands clasped in front of me. I pray to God, pray to please help me, help me fight temptation. My flesh is weak. My mind is clouded. I need His strength to help resist the sin. That sin. That lust. That feeling deep in my gut, in my head, a feeling like none other, pure desire and lust, so tempting. Oh God, I need your help. I need it more than ever. As I kneel here before You praying for Your strength and love. Kneeling here, trying to rid my soul of this sin, praying, my penis erect and waiting.


"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

"When was your last confession?"

"It's been four weeks."

"Go on my son."

I swallow hard, kneeling on the cushion, trying to think how I should start. How can I tell the Father about my dreams? About the lust that seems to control my life? I have resisted telling him during confessions before, but I must, for my eternal soul I must.

"Go on my son," he says again.

"I'm sorry Father. I just don't know where to start."

"Your heart is heavy. Your sins weigh upon you. That is just. But you will not be absolved until you can open your heart to the Lord."

"Yes, Father." I bow my head, closing my eyes, wanting to shut out this confessional, blot it out, feeling the walls hovering over me, closing in on me. "I have lied in the past."

"Go on."

"I have lied to you. I have not confessed all of my sins." I have begun now and I cannot turn back.

"Yes?"

"I have been tempted and I have not been able to fight it. I have been tempted by lust." Hearing the word spoken in this confessional, in this church, by me, I feel as if I've tainted the house of God with my sin. The word seems to echo between the walls, accusing me, judging me. The silence holds for several seconds, the Father waiting for me to continue. "I have had dreams, very vivid dreams. Dreams, that, that are sexual in nature." I cringe at that word. Another word I thought I'd never say in the church. I want to leave the confessional and run away. But run to where?

"Such dreams are normal. How long have you been having them?"

"Soon after I turned eighteen. About six months ago."

"Yes. These are normal. Especially for a young man of your age. But you must fight the temptation of lust. It's the most evil sin and leads the most men astray." I let his words sink in trying to find solace. I know that such dreams are normal, but I know that mine are different. "Tell me of these dreams."

"In my dreams," I say, my eyes still closed, picturing the desert. "I am a missionary in some desert country. I am trying to help the sick and the hungry. Do God's work." I pause, thinking of the cross sinking into the desert, sucked into the earth. "And then...then she comes to me." I pause, trying to not think of her, but still feeling her black wings over me now and I resist the desire to turn and see if the shadows around me are cast by her wings about to take me in.

"Go on."

I sigh and push myself to continue. "She is not a woman. She has wings. Large, black wings that block out the sun." I stop, hearing the Father move suddenly on the other side of the wall, a loud thunk as something hits the wall. "Father?"

"Continue," he says, his voice faltering.

"Um...She has large black wings and she covers me with them and..." I stop, unable to speak the rest, hoping that he will know the rest, feeling dirty, so dirty that I infect the world with my filth.

"Yes?" he says expectantly. I open my eyes and see the shadow of his form close to the grate between us.

"Well, she touches me and...and I can't stop her. I don't want to. It feels good." I wrap my arms around my shoulders, remembering her embrace, her skin, her body, and I can feel myself becoming aroused. "She...makes me...well, I, um, I...ejaculate," I say, pushing the final word out of my mouth quickly. "And then she licks it." My head is pounding. My hands are sweaty. My body is shivering. I want to collapse back against the wall, feeling so tired, feeling so...horny. I can feel my penis hard in my pants and I have to stop my hand from moving down to rub it.

"Yes," the Father says, the shadow of his head nodding.

"Help me Father," I whisper, unsure if he heard me.

"She is Lilith," he says, his voice floating through the air to me.

"What?" I ask though I heard him, just wanting to hear it again.

"Lilith," he says and the name is soft and comforting. I say it softly to myself, feeling my tongue move in my mouth.

"She is the devil's bride. She is his bitch goddess," he says, spitting out the words, and I flinch at the end, having never heard that word in the church before. "She has been sent to tempt you. You must be special or he would not have sent her to you. You must worry Satan himself." He hesitates, letting the words sink in. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes," I say immediately.

"Good. You want to be a missionary?"

"Yes Father. I want to go to the seminary and then spread the word of God to the poor and hopeless."

"Good. You have been touched by God. Given a mission from, Him. That is why the Devil pursues you. That is why she has been sent to tempt you and take you away from God's work."

"Yes, Father," I say, feeling that he is right, knowing it. I am special. I have been chosen by God. I had known it as long as I had lived. And the Devil knows it too.

"You must resist her. You must fight her. The more she tries to tempt you the more you must fight her."

"Yes, Father," I say, feeling my strength returning, my back straightening, lifting my head in the knowledge that I am God's chosen.

"The Saint Augustine was tempted by her, but he defeated her. You must as well."

"A saint?" I say.

"Yes. The Devil knew Saint Augustine was a miracle of the Lord and sent his mistress to tempt him. But he resisted her."

"Does that mean..." I start, feeling lightheaded, my chest rising. "Does that mean that I could be a saint? That I..."

"Well, it's possible. You never know God's plan for you."

I sit back on my heels, staring through the grate at the shadow of the Father and think that I could be a saint, worshipped by millions.

"You must keep your Bible close to you. And your crucifix."

"I'm wearing my crucifix now," I say and pluck it from my shirt to hold it in my hand.

"Good. Sleep with them at night. Keep them beside your bed or under your pillow. The Lord will protect you if you keep him close."

"Yes, Father."

He clears his throat and sits back, his shadow fading away.

"Say twelve Hail Mary's."

"Yes, Father," I say, bowing my head again.

"And pray for strength."


I look at the small wooden church developing before me. A few men are hammering nails, placing boards up for walls. The small steeple stretches above me. A bright white cross shines at its pinnacle. I place my hands on my hips, feeling strong. This church will help bring the Lord to these people so that they may have the comfort of Heaven when they do die of starvation or disease.

I feel comfortable. I feel that I belong, that this is what I was meant to do. I can feel Him here helping us bring this church up out of the barren sands, his grace working through my body. I can practically feel Him inside of me.

I tilt my head as I stare up at the cross. It is tilted like a wind has pushed it to the side a bit. It wasn't like that earlier and there is no wind. That must be fixed. I should find a ladder and climb up there to fix it.

I look around quickly and see no ladder leaning against the sides of the church. But there must be one around somewhere. I look back up and the cross has fallen more so that it now lies almost perfectly horizontal. It even appears that the steeple itself is bending, warping down to the ground.

No. This is all wrong. This must be fixed. I start walking around the church to find the men who are hammering to tell them to fix the cross and the steeple now. But I don't hear the hammering anymore. I stop and listen for the men to make a noise, to speak, to move. But, I hear nothing.

I look up and the steeple is bending down now with the cross pointing down to the ground as if the whole church is being pulled to the ground, sucked down into the sand. How can this, happen? The boards are bending, not splitting, warping into large curves as the steeple is pulled slowly down in a large arc.

I watch as the cross touches the sand and then disappears into it, buried by the earth. The air is still. The only noise is the slight rustling of sand as the cross and now the spire are sucked into the sand.

I'm drawn to the front door of the church, now warped, curved to the side. I peer into the dark interior but I see nothing, only darkness. The harsh sun outside is unable to break the shadows just inside the doorway.

The church sits still now, curved in a long arch, the cross and half of the spire now buried in the sand. It no longer seems like a holy place. It's some evil madhouse, everything distorted, unnatural. The opening in the front is a gaping mouth into Hell.

I walk towards the doorway, pulled forward, unable to stop my feet from moving. I grab the cross hanging from my neck. I must keep God close.

The doorway looms before me. The darkness inside is thick, no light able to penetrate it. I tilt my body to the side to step through the doorway. The air is bitterly cold, biting my exposed skin. I stand up straight and peer into the gloom, trying to discern the interior of the church. My feet keep moving forward, down what should be the aisle between rows of seats, and I can almost see the pews on either side of me.

I look up and can barely see the wall curved over me and turn my head to the side to see the wall stretching over me and then down to the ceiling. I stumble and almost fall over as I lose my balance, my mind unable to make sense of the distorted room. I drop my head and see the altar in front of me, the darkness unable to mask it. I stop in front of the altar, a large gold cross glistening and a large bible with gilded edges sitting on it. I reach out and touch the cover of the Bible softly, seeking its comfort, but the cover is cold.

My heart stops and I hold my breath as I hear a rustling noise behind me, wings flapping softly, large wings. It's her.

I turn around slowly and stumble back against the altar when I see she's standing directly behind me, seeming to loom over me, her black wings spread wide from one side of the church to the other, her eyes glowing a hideous red.

"Lilith," I groan and pull the leather necklace tight, trying to hold the cross out to her.

She doesn't move. She is still, her heavenly body unmoving, as she glares at me, her legs spread slightly, planted firmly on the ground, her hands on her hips.

I lean forward slightly, holding the cross in front of me, almost touching her with it, but she doesn't flinch. I break her gaze and notice the cross is upside down, the leather strap strung through a loop at the bottom of the cross, inverting it. I twist it around and push it towards her again. The only movement is a slight grin that breaks across her cheeks, her red lips drawing tight into a sneer. I look at the cross and it is still inverted, the leather strap now strung through a loop at the top of the cross, and I am holding it upside down. I twist it over, but as I do, it flips again, and is still inverted.

Then, her hand moves quickly and wraps around my hand holding the cross. Her hand is hot, almost scalding my skin. She grips my hand tightly like she's going to crush it. I groan and start to fall to my knees as she tightens her grip. Then she yanks it towards her and the strap breaks from around my neck. She opens her hand, relieving the pressure on my hand, and I open it to see just dust lying in my hand. I tilt my hand and the dust falls to the ground.

I jump as she snaps her wings, the sound like a popping in my ears, and then there's darkness as her wings fold over me. I back against the altar, my hands falling back against it. I tilt my head to look up, looking for some light, the light of God, to break through and save me. But the only light is a bronze glow from her skin.

Then I feel her body against me and I am naked, our flesh touching again, and I know that I am lost. There is nothing I can do. Her skin is pressing against my skin and there is nothing between us, and I don't want there to be. I can't think. I can't pray. I can only want. My body is rigid with fear and anticipation, afraid of her yet yearning for her, unable to move or act, waiting for her to have me, do what she will with me, wanting her to do it.

I look into her face, exquisitely beautiful, her skin seeming so soft, her lips full and wet. I feel her hands on my sides and then her breasts pushing against my chest, her nipples hard. Her hands slide down my sides and she grips my butt in her hands as she starts to writhe against me, rubbing her breasts against my chest, the hair below her stomach rubbing against my groin, and I'm hard, painfully hard, my penis trapped between our bodies. She lifts her leg and slides her thigh down my side and butt, her skin so soft that I want to touch it, kiss it, lick it, be lost forever in her flesh.

She drags her nails up my side and I flinch as I feel them break my skin, the pain bringing a sigh from my lips, and then her mouth is covering my mouth, her nails dragging up my back now, making my body writhe against her undulating body. Her lips seer my mouth, her tongue dives into my throat and I struggle to breathe, but kiss her back, kiss her hard, wrapping my tongue around her tongue, wet and hot. Her pelvis is moving in circles, rubbing my penis against her stomach, her leg hooked over my hip, the wetness between her legs rubbing against my thigh, and I can barely stand it, getting lightheaded, delirious.

She breaks the kiss, raking her teeth across my lips, sucking some blood into her mouth and then she drops down, her body heat gone, and she's kneeling before me, her hands gripping my butt. I tremble before her, feeling the altar behind me shutter, watching her face hovering in front of my engorged penis, wanting her to do it now, wanting to feel it, wanting the release. She glares up at me, fires blazing in those eyes, waiting for me, offering everything to me if I just say yes, give over to her. And I nod my head quickly, knowing everything is lost now. It's all gone. I am now damned. But I don't care. There's nothing I've wanted more than this. Nothing.

She watches me, her sharp teeth gleaming through the twisted grin, her lips shining with my blood, taking me in. And then she opens her mouth, a quick lick along my penis and it's in her mouth, her lips gripping it tightly. I moan loudly as she starts to move her head back and forth, her lips moving up and down the length of it while her tongue is wrapped around the head, the tip of her tongue rubbing it. I almost crumble to the ground as waves of pleasure roll up my spine to explode in my head. I grip the altar tightly, my arms locked.

Her nails dig into my butt, making my body stiff, my muscles tense, wanting to feel the pain, sharp and hot. She moves her head faster, every inch of my penis touched by her lips, her mouth, her tongue, and my body trembles as she pulls me inside of her, pulling me further, higher, wrapped around me, and I almost collapse as an orgasm breaks over me, fluid exploding from my penis, pumping frantically.

My arms buckle and I start sliding to the ground, moaning, my body tight, as she keeps moving along my penis, her tongue wrapped around it, pulling each ejaculation from me, making my body jerk. My hands are tangled in the cloth lying on the altar and I fall down, my butt hitting the cold wood floor. I fall to my side, my body folds over as she slides her lips and tongue up and down my penis, still squirting into her violently, feeling like the tip of my penis will be torn apart by the force. I clench my butt, pumping into her and she swallows me deeply, pulling my penis deep into her mouth, and she drinks from me like a fountain. I lay on the ground for what feels like an eternity, her mouth working on my penis, pulling more from me, my mind and body soaked with ecstasy.

Slowly it subsides, each ejaculation less violent, her tongue moving lovingly up and down my penis, caressing it, coaxing the last bit of fluid from it. I feel my penis go soft in her mouth and her tongue licks the head, the tip of her tongue pushing into me slightly and then, she's gone.

I open my eyes and a harsh red light almost blinds me. I scramble to my knees and pull the cloth from the altar. The cross and Bible tumble down. The cross hits the wood floor with a crash and the Bible slams down onto it and the cross splits with a deafeningly loud smash.


I bolt awake, the smash still echoing in my ears. My body is coated in sweat. The sheets have been tossed from the bed and my new pajamas are lying in shreds beside me.

I rub my eyes, trying to wash the images from my head, images of a waiting grin and then a broken cross. I clutch at my chest, raging with a deep fire like my soul has been ripped from my body. I fall to my side and curl into a ball. I reach between my legs to touch my sore penis. My groin and the bed are dry. I cup my genitals and pull my legs up to my chest.

I am lost. I have given over to lust. And I did it so easily. I have no resistance to her. She manipulates me, tortures me, and brings me pleasure that I had never imagined. I feel drained, my body weak and tired, but my mind is a twisted mass of desire and shame. I won't sleep tonight.

I must ask for forgiveness. I must beg. I must plead before the Almighty to take me back before it's too late, if it's not already too late.


The church is dark, a few candles burning, prayers that humanity hopes to have answered. My steps echo silently as I walk between the pews, my dream of that night haunting me. My sore penis is being rubbed raw in my pants and to my horror is being stimulated to erection.

I look into the darkest corners of the church as I approach the altar, wanting to make sure I am alone, that no other lost souls are here at this late time of night. I need time alone to search my soul and become right with God again.

I kneel before the railing and bow my head. I cross myself, muttering the Lord's prayer. opening my heart to feel Him come into me. I fold my hands in front of me. I lift my head and look at the gaunt figure of Christ hung on a cross above the altar. Blood drips from the nails driven into his hands and feet. A crown of thorns rests on his head. His head hangs low, his chin touching his chest, the posture of a beaten man.

I turn my head away from the Crucifixion. I've never liked it. The anguish, the pain, the horror, all seemed out of touch with the love that I had expected when entering this church. To the far right of the altar under a high-pitched arch sits Mary, dressed in a blue robe, the baby Jesus curled in her arms, her head tilted down with a smile on her face. I smile as well. This is what I look for when I come into God's house, the love of a mother for her child like the love of God for his children.

I feel my heart getting lighter and I open myself up to Him. Dreams and mistakes slip from my mind and I see only His love for me. I am His special child, a saint. I can feel it again. I have been tainted, but He will restore me.

I turn my head and look down the sides of the church at the stained glass windows, each picturing a saint. I have long thought that someday my image might join the saints in the stained widows of churches for others to look at and remember the works I had done. That is my destiny. To rise above the mediocrity of men and become greater than any man, surpass the flesh that binds the soul within and shine brighter than any star in the sky. A god among men.

I bow my head, thanking God for reminding me of my part in His plan and ask for His protection against the forces of Evil. I will conquer them. I will conquer her. A quick flash of her body, golden, radiant curves of flesh and muscle. No. She will not tempt me again. I pray to Him to strengthen my weak flesh, make me resilient to her attacks, so that I will be able to continue His work.

I raise my head, my eyes wet from clenching them tightly closed, trying to drive her from my mind to let Him in. I look up at Christ on the cross and gasp, raising my hand to my mouth.

"No," I mumble to myself.

His loincloth has fallen from his body and a large erection stands out. My mind is playing, tricks with me. I am not asleep. This can't be real. I fall back on my butt. I close my eyes, shake my head quickly, and open my eyes again.

I sigh with relief. The loincloth has returned and he hangs as before. I rub my hand across my face. I pull my hand away and look to the solace of Mary. Her face is radiant as ever.

I smile to myself, the Mother would never betray me, but then the smile falters. Her robe has fallen open, and her legs are spread wide, revealing her full, pale legs and the glistening softness between them. That can't be. The devil is playing tricks on me, turning these statues of godliness into his profane pornography.

I stand up quickly, my fists clenched, anger rising from the shock and humility. She has invaded the house of God, my one place of refuge. I must drive her out.

"Be gone slut of Hell," I snarl. "You are not welcome here!" I turn around in slow circles, looking into the darkest depths of the church, looking for her form, her black wings, to confront her, but there is nothing.

I hear a loud crash behind me and turn around. Mary no longer holds the baby Jesus. He lies on the ground several feet away, rolled onto his face, a large gash taken from the back of his head. Mary lies back on her bench, her head back, her eyes closed, her lips parted in ecstasy, and her hands are between her legs with her fingers pushed deep inside of her.

Blood rushes to my face. I feel lightheaded like I'm drifting in some terrible dream, but I know I'm awake. This must be stopped.

I stomp towards the figure of Mary, my eyes locked on her, looking for movement, but seeing nothing. I step over the cracked Christ child and stop before her. She looks like a statue, hard and immovable. My eyes drift down between her legs, the details of her genitalia seeming so real, even wet, and instantly feel the anger pushed back by lust.

I reach out to grab her arm to pull it away in a last desperate attempt to fight the sin. But her arm is cold and rigid like a statue. It cannot be moved. My hand slides down her arm to her wrist and I pull again, but she doesn't move. My eyes are drawn between her legs, spread wide. My body between them, her sex open to me, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest as the most perverse ideas and images course through my brain.

I step backwards, holding my hand over my eyes, and try to push those thoughts away, willing myself to remember Mary as the mother of God, loving and pure. But I can't wash the images of her seated spread before me and me kneeling before her, my penis in my hand, bringing it towards her, putting it inside of her.

I scream, a distressful wail that is barely able to escape my throat and then stumble backwards, falling hard against a pew and then onto the floor. I climb to my knees, my head lying on the floor, my arms covering my head, and I rock back and forth, moaning to myself, feeling helpless and weak, my erection tight in my pants. There is nothing left for me. I have been forsaken and there is nothing left. No sanctuary. No reprisal. I am alone. Forgotten.

A hand touches my back and I am too lost in my misery to care. The hand settles near my shoulder, tender and soft. I continue rocking back and forth as the hand caresses my back, moving in slow circles. The touch starts to feel good, reassuring, caring, and I can feel my despair starting to lift. A touch, that is all I needed.

I lift my head from my arms and see her kneeling beside me, her black wings stretched high over her head, her eyes a dim red staring back at me. I feel her nails lightly scraping across my back.

I scramble up to my knees and throw my body against her, wrapping my arms around her back. She folds her arms around me and I am enclosed in her heat like a mass of rolling steam engulfing my body and I lay my cheek on her shoulder. I feel like a child in my mother's arms, warm and comforting, my worries dissolving away. I want to cry out of despair and joy, the feel of her body pressed tightly against me, her hands gently stroking my back, her hair brushing against my face. I slide my hands up her back and touch the thin, smooth skin of her wings. A shudder passes through me quickly and then subsides as her lips touch my neck.

"I am here for you, my child," she whispers in my ear, her voice deep and soothing. "When all seems lost I will always be here for you."

I press my face to her neck, my head cradled by her shoulder, as the tension in my body recedes and the torment fades away, her soft kisses against my neck, my shoulder, my ear, my cheek. She leans back, lifting my head from her shoulder and looks into my eyes. Her face is dark and beautiful, her eyes glowing softly. She touches my face and caresses my cheek.

"You are my chosen one," she whispers, her red lips barely moving. "My beautiful angel."

Her thumb slides across my lips and she smiles at me. I kiss her thumb softly and she pushes it between my lips and I suck on it, her skin tasting like cinnamon and smoke. She slides her wet thumb across my cheek and ear. She leans forward and presses her lips to my lips. Her mouth opens and I kiss her back deeply, her hands holding my head. Her tongue slips into my mouth and I push against her, feeling the need come alive like a wild beast in my gut.

Her hands move down my body and pull my pants open, ripping the buttons off. I kiss her urgently, panting, wanting to dissolve inside of her. She tears my shirt from my body and then pulls me close to her, our bodies pressed together tightly, her breasts mashed against my chest, and I grab her waist to pull her pelvis against me, rubbing my cock on her stomach.

She pulls away from me and the cold air swirls around me, devoid of her heat and passion. She crawls away, facing me, her eyes glowing lustily, her body glistening, and slowly lies down on the floor by the altar. She slides her legs apart, her knees pointed to the ceiling, her body tilted up as she watches me, her chest heaving. I crawl forward, pushing my pants and shoes off of my body until I'm naked, moving towards her.

I kneel between her legs, her sex open to me, and I hover over her, my cock pointed out straight and hard, staring at her brown body, her wings laid out underneath her, stretching out to the sides, and the desire gnaws at my gut, twisting inside of me. I need to be inside of her, feel her wrapped around me, fucking her.

She sits up and grabs my cock. She pulls me down to her gently and I drop my hands on either side of her, my palms pressing into her black wings, and then I feel it up against her, wet and hot and I push forward and it slides into her and I sigh as a shiver writhes down my spine to burst in my head. She raises her hips underneath me and pulls me into her entirely. She lies back on the floor, presses her thighs against my waist, and grabs my butt in her hands, urging me on.

I move out of her slowly, feeling her wrapped around me, tight and wet, deliciously hot, and groan loudly as I sink back into her, my whole body shuddering.

"Fuck me, my angel," she whispers, her voice sliding through my lust soaked brain.

Her cunt ripples around my cock, encased in side of her. I pull back and her pussy sucks at the head of my cock, her flesh rubbing the head. I push into her, her cunt gripping me tightly and I twist into her, wanting to be entirely inside of her. She wraps her legs around me, her thighs grip my waist powerfully, and she digs her heels into my butt.

I collapse on top of her, our bodies pressed together, my face hovering over her face, and she starts rocking below me, moving my cock inside of her slowly. Her hands slide up my back, her nails scratching my skin, and grab the back of my head.

"This is what you've wanted for so long," she whispers, her lips almost touching mine. "Does it feel as good as you wanted?" She moves under me, her cunt vibrating around my cock, stroking it inside of her as she moves it in and out of her. I'm lost in a haze of drunken ecstasy. I nod my head. It's all I'm capable of.

"Do you?" she whispers, her lips brushing mine, her tongue licking across my lips, her eyes burning red. I groan and move in and out of her, concentrating my will inside of her, feeling every inch of my cock sliding into her, her cunt clenching and loosening around me.

She grabs my shoulders and pushes me to the side. I tumble over and she shoves me to the ground, her thighs gripping me tightly, her cunt holding me inside of her, and she flips her wings quickly behind her as she slams me onto my back. Her hands press my shoulders into the ground, feeling like they are melting into my skin.

She hovers over me, her knees drawn up to my waist, as she moves up and down my cock, her eyes watching me, burning into my brain. I watch her radiant body moving on top of me, thrusting, her breasts pushed out as she arches her back, her stomach narrowing down to her curved, writhing hips. Her weight holds me to the ground and I can't move if I wanted to. I'm paralyzed by the waves of lustful pleasure radiating through my body from my cock, every nerve connected to my cock, and she holds it firmly inside of her, stroking it, rubbing it, her cunt rippling about it.

She throws her head back, her black hair flying through the air, her black wings snap out over us, extending out across the width of the church, and she spreads her arms over her head as her body stretches out long and lean, her skin dark and tight around her flexing muscles, and she pumps her hips frantically, thrashing on top of me, and my vision explodes in a bright, red light, my back arches uncontrollably like electric current is passing through my body, and my will, my strength, my soul, explode from my cock and into her.

Images form in my head as she whips her body on top of me, images of me going to the seminary, talking to the other students in hushed tones, bringing them her decadent promises, and watching as she seduces them in the night, images of me leaving to a barren country to introduce the destitute population to her as their new goddess, images of her visiting me at night, caresses, kisses, orgasms more intense each time, and I give in to them all.

I shudder as my body falls back to the ground, completely exhausted, drained, feeling like my body has been skinned and every inch of me is raw and alive. She moves slowly on top of me, letting my cock shrink inside of her, still dribbling the last of my semen into her.

She leans over me and touches my face softly. I open my eyes to stare into her face, dark and terrible, horrifyingly beautiful. I see my future and I accept it, taking it into me, wallowing in the knowledge that I'll be her angel, her messenger.

"You'll be my saint," she whispers and folds her black wings over me.

Roman watched the room for signs of healthy prey. The dance floor was packed and all the couches in the lavish mansion were full of party goers enjoying their drinks and exchanging small talk. The men of the room were either showing off the beauty of their wives and the jewelry they had bought them that cost six figures or more or trying to entice the hookers in the mix with more than just their wallets. The latter still confused Roman, if all they needed to do was give the women money then why not just hand it over straight away? The women in the party weren't stupid they could easily see through the flashy smile and read between the cheesy pick-up lines that the men tried to use on them. Were they hoping for a discount maybe?

Roman had little interest in the call girls present at the party, money wasn't something he had in unlimited supply and most of them charged enough to buy a used car. Besides, why bother with the hunt if your prey was all too willing to wander into your trap? He wanted a genuine challenge a beautiful woman who had to be lured into his trap with something other than a fat wallet.

As he walked through the groups of people he said occasional greetings and stopped to listen in on the occasional conversation. Most of the people were talking about their jobs, corporate executives like these didn't seem to know about anything else and he found it difficult to listen for any length of time. After several minutes of aimless wandering the one he was seeking finally caught his eye.

The fact that she was included in this group of elitists astonished him, her body type was perfect with wide hips, ample buttocks and large breasts that threatened to burst free from the corset she was wearing at any second. A sheer scarf was draped over her forearms and across her back and a long skirt flowed down from the waistband of the corset. Her hair was extremely short, golden in hue, but her eyes were what caught his attention. Large and beautiful a man could stare deep into this woman's eyes and become lost in a sea of emotions and thoughts. Any man, aside from Roman anyway, could hunt forever and never meet prey like this creature. She was perfect in every detail and lost in a sea of pomp and circumstance making it easy for him to slip up next to her without being noticed.

"Beautiful evening isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"Huh?" she spun around startled by his sudden appearance. "Oh yes, nice." She said without feeling.

"You seem distracted anything I can help you with?" he asked politely.

"I had a man around here somewhere. As usual he seems to have found better company then me to spend his time with." Her irritation was plainly audible in her voice but he found it hard to read her expression. Her facial features suddenly became plain betraying nothing.

"Like you I am alone for the moment. My companion has found it easier to mingle in this crowd than I have."

"Two peas in a pod, you and me I guess. Come on, I need a smoke and to vent." The woman hooked her arm into Roman's when he offered it and the two of them traveled through the gargantuan mansion to find a balcony that overlooked the grounds where they could be alone. Upon further inspection Roman realized that the corset she was wearing was cinched so tightly her waist was about half as wide as it should have been.

"Been corset training long?" he asked as she lit up a cigarette.

"About three years, why?" she responded raising a querying eyebrow.

"I couldn't help but notice how tight your waist is underneath that thing. I'm impressed." He said smiling. She blew out a length of gray smoke and smiled back.

"Thank you, it’s nice to hear a genuine compliment." She held out one gloved hand. "My name's Alicia, what's yours?"

"Roman. And if you call me Sir I'll end our acquaintance by pushing you over the edge of the balcony." He said shaking her hand.

She chuckled softly and took a drag on her cigarette. "Fair enough. So, are you married?" she asked examining him. Roman began to get the impression she was sizing him up for something, his attempts to get close to this fabulous animal were working like a charm.

"Not at the moment." He answered.

"Divorced?" she asked cocking her head to one side.

"No, widowed actually. Poor thing died in her sleep several years ago." He left out the fact that he had been holding a pillow over her face at the time.

"Oh I'm sorry. That sounds horrible."

"Waking up next to a corpse was quite a shock but we move on. It isn't fair to those we love to dwell on their passing for too long I feel."

"That's very strong of you. I'm with someone myself obviously but I'm not sure for how long." She turned away from Roman to look out into the night sky. "I love him very much but this being left alone is starting to get to me. I know how important his job is and all but it’s tough to be second string to the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with." She sighed deeply and Roman moved in close to wrap his arms around her in a soft embrace. She leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder.

"I just wish I could come first more often like at these damn parties. I've been here for three hours and I've seen my husband for all of about thirty minutes. I've spent more time with his damn receptionist than I have with him." Alicia complained.

"It sounds very difficult for you." Roman soothed her.

"You have no idea. I'll bet your woman never left you to her co-workers whenever she had more important things to talk about."

"We weren't exactly high society if you know what I mean? Most of the people here make in a day or two what I make in a year." He sighed.

She backed away from him a couple steps and turned to study him closely. "How'd you get invited here then?" she asked, confusion clear in her voice. Once again Roman could hear her emotions better than read them, which was starting to set him on edge. Her face remained calm and still and betrayed none of the confusion she seemed to feel.

"I have a good friend who was invited here and asked me to tag along. I had nothing else to do so I agreed." He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. Alicia chuckled again and took a drag of her cigarette before flicking it over the edge of the balcony.

"Guess it helps to have friends in the right places."

"Or wrong places depending on your point of view." They both laughed.

"This party is boring the shit out of me and I'm horny as hell, let’s bounce." She cocked her head towards the door and they hooked arms before leaving the balcony.

Roman was ecstatic, she had fallen for him hook line and sinker now all he had to do was decide how best to enjoy her before the night was over. He decided to go the romantic route, wine dine and worship her until the moment finally came allowing him to enjoy her to the fullest.

Alicia led Roman by the hand outside and offered to drive him to her place. After they had driven away from the party Roman asked her why she was so willing to cheat on her man.

"He's always buying some hooker for a romp in the sack. He doesn't even bother to hide it so I have my fun once in a while. Its not cheating if he does it first you know?"

Roman was forced to agree although he didn't quite get the logic of her argument. "Do you always meet someone at these parties like you say he does?"

"So many questions all of a sudden, usually but most of the time I'm not in the mood so I just go home early and wait for him to catch up."

"I'm sorry I don't mean to imply anything I'm just curious about how a beautiful woman such as yourself, could be left alone so casually." Roman decided not to ask any further.

"Well as you said earlier you aren't exactly high society so I can't expect you to understand. Let’s just say that most of the women at that party are married only for their looks and how they make the man they're with look. Most of them are cool with it but unfortunately I'm not." She pulled up to a large wrought iron gate and slid a key card through the slot on the driver's side of the vehicle. A loud snap could be heard before the gates starting rolling open and Alicia drove them inside.

It only took a couple of minutes for them to reach the front of the house where a servant was waiting to take the keys to the car.

"Renee you still here this late? I hope Robert is paying you overtime."

"Of course miss." The tall blonde youth responded before eagerly jumping into the expensive sports car. Roman recognized the eagerness to drive the car, which Roman assumed was probably the primary reason she had decided to stay so late. Alicia escorted Roman into the house and led him up to her room on the second floor.

"She stays late because she loves your car." Roman said out of nowhere.

"Who?" Alicia asked caught off-guard.

"Renee, the young girl downstairs who you gave the keys to."

"Why it’s just a car?" she said placing her hands on her hips.

"Not to her." Roman smiled and moved in close to her. Once he got close enough he placed his hands on her hips and looked deep into her eyes. She did the same and for a time neither of them said anything until Alicia broke the silence.

"Come on playboy, let's get some drinks. I'll fuck your brains out soon enough." Holding him by the hand she took him to a small room attached to the main bedroom. It had sparse furniture and seemed to be a lot roomier than it really was, Roman couldn't help but be drawn into the coziness of the room as he sat down on the only loveseat near the back. Alicia walked over to a small wet bar and poured herself a drink.

"Hope you like Pinot Grigio, that's all I have left in any real quantity." She apologized.

"That's fine thank you." He accepted the drink and took a deep swig sloshing the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing and enjoying the sensation that followed. Alicia sat next to him and the two cuddled talking the night away. She told him stories of her travels to this corner of the world or that hot spot in some foreign country and he pretended to be interested. He'd heard many stories like hers before and probably could have filled in many of the details for her. He did his best to tell her about some of his own adventures but had a hard time believing that she was any more interested in his stories than he was in hers. After several minutes and a couple of drinks Roman could tell that Alicia was getting loosened up by the way she leaned against him. He was glad she had decided to get tipsy because it lowered her mental resistance and he could probe her mind bringing up precisely the emotions he wanted.

Alicia stood up and walked back into the main bedroom untying her corset the whole way, Roman followed watching her slowly undress in front of him. When she was nude she lit another cigarette and breathed in deep, slowly she opened her mouth allowing a long plume of smoke to escape from her lips. Roman stood mesmerized by her beauty, her hips were shapely and her thighs were deliciously thick but her tits were fantastic, jutting out at the same time. He couldn't get over her perfection and his luck at finding such a gorgeous animal.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked coyly drawing in another breath of smoke. "It's not like we're going to be caught." She ran a hand in between her thighs as she slowly allowed the cigarette smoke to escape from her lungs. Roman walked over to her and took a fistful of hair tugging backwards forcefully. Alicia hissed in reaction and tensed for a moment but relaxed as he kissed her neck gently starting at the base of her neck and working his way up to her earlobe. Using his mind he intensified his grip on her state of arousal distracting her from what was soon to come. She removed his clothing after placing her cigarette in an ashtray and took his cock into her mouth sucking greedily.

It was Roman's turn to hiss in delight as she blew him where he stood. Her lips provided the perfect amount of pressure and her tongue danced along the length of his shaft driving his own state of arousal through the roof. It made it hard for him to concentrate on her mind and hold her senses in check but he managed as she sucked him to hardness and beyond. Holding her hair he pushed her head back and forth over his cock and she clutched his thighs holding on tightly. The pain of her fingernails digging into his skin nearly drove him over the brink of his arousal and he was barely able to keep from coming into her mouth but only barely, having had enough he pulled her off of him and stood her up.

Embracing her tightly he began kissing her neck again and expanding his control of her mind until she could only feel what he wanted her to feel, that being any sexual stimulation he was trying to provide. Now having total control he picked the spot carefully, the left side of her neck, directly above the large artery that pumped hot fresh blood to the rest of her body. He fondled her tits teasing the nipples to provide extra stimulation to distract her, she responded perfectly moaning and breathing heavily while playing with her own sex distracting even more without even realizing it. Roman chose his chance carefully and right as she was about to orgasm two razor sharp fangs grew in place of his canines and he pushed them through her skin, deep into her flesh to puncture the vital artery that gave her life and now fed him. He grew excited hearing the tissue around her neck tear underneath the pressure of his fangs and when her blood burst from neck into his mouth he became overjoyed, the taste of her life was more intoxicating than any liquor could ever have been and he savored it greedily.

"Oh God Roman, don't stop." She begged not realizing that she was begging him to kill her. He stopped feeding long enough to lay her down on the bed and maintain his control over her mind, without his constant input she would noticed that her neck had been punctured and that she was bleeding to death. Not that it mattered much, she was doomed already but any fighting or panicking on her part would ruin the mood and he intended to make the best of it.

Her blood spilled rapidly from her bite wound forming a pool at the base of neck that soaked into the sheets. Roman pushed his cock into her wet pussy and began fucking her like mad, occasionally leaning over to drink from the fountain of blood spraying from her body. Alicia moaned and clutched him tightly as he fucked her raking her fingernails over his shoulders and back. Roman thrust into her forcefully and rapidly trying to get himself off before she died, he figured she only had another minute or two tops before the blood loss became too much for her body to take.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me faster, oh god I'm coming!" she shrieked loudly, her body arched and bucked almost tossing him off her in an impressive display of strength. Roman held on tightly and fucked her even harder and faster feeling his own orgasm build to a fever pitch.

Alicia's body grew still and her breathing slowed until she was rasping long quiet breaths. The blood that was spilling from her neck a covered a large area underneath her body and soaking her hair and turning it red, along with the bedding and occasional spurts of blood from the wound in her neck were fading until they finally stopped along with the woman's breathing.

Without understanding how, Roman came inside the woman he had just killed, quite a feat for a vampire who was little more than a walking corpse. Cleaning himself off and dressing, he made as little noise as possible when leaving the bedroom that had become a tomb. While he was showing him self out, a young female servant approached the door.

"Shhhh." Roman placed one finger over his lips indicating that she should stay silent. "Your mistress is sleeping like the dead. I guess the party wore her out."

"Yes sir. Shall I show you out?"

"I can find the way on my own, thank you." Satisfied in both hunger and feeding Roman entered the night wondering where to find his next prey.

The next morning the same young servant opened the door to Alicia's bedroom to find her lying where Roman had left her, perfectly nude blood still damp on the sheets from where it had spilled from her neck. The stain covered the entire area around Alicia's lifeless body and some of it was even dripping onto the floor. It clung to her pale skin and made the servant gag in horror at the sight. The bite wound was clearly visible in the light and the servant tried to scream but found her voice was failing her. Suddenly, Alicia's eyes opened and she sat up to look at the servant.

"Oh my god Alicia, are you ok?" the young girl ran up to Alicia's side looking her employer up and down. Without word or warning Alicia pulled the young woman's neck to one side and bit through the skin at the base just above her shoulder. The girl screamed in pain as Alicia's fangs tore into her shoulder and she tried to push her away. Alicia released her after drinking her fill and the servant stumbled and fell clutching the wound in her neck that was still bleeding profusely.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She told the wounded girl.