Future of Porn

Craig looked a bit alarmed at the size of the lumbering contraption.

“Are you going to put me in that?” he asked, a little apprehensive.

“Don’t be afraid,” Zula laughed. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

The apparatus had four connective arms that extended outward from its central section for the placement of a man’s arms and legs. Once the subject was placed in a prone position inside the device, the upper portion of the maw was lowered onto his body, effectively “sandwiching” him in place. There were holes in the upholstery to allow him to keep his face, genitals, and ass exposed so that his trainers could manipulate these areas without any interference from him. Four hydraulic arms, attached to the four metal corners of the machine, allowed the machine to be positioned at various angles, and was operated by remote control.

“What a deliciously devious device!” Janet said, looking at it with a mixture of amusement and awe. “And to think,” she said to Craig, “that you have to keep all that nasty sperm inside you while we work you over in this beautiful machine!”

“In effect,” Felicia remarked, “you will be prevented from coming until the day of the contest: five entire days of being masturbated without release. I hope you’ll be able to hold out.”

“He’d better,” Joanna observed. “Or we’ll be watching from the sidelines.”

“Don’t worry, ladies,” Craig said, trying to look brave. “I won’t let you down.”

“Zula, do you have today’s training schedule with you?” I asked her.

“Right here,” she replied, as she pulled a piece of paper from her pants pocket.

“Okay, good. Craig, I want you to get undressed and hang out for a few minutes while I go through the program with the girls.”

“Okay, Holly,” he said, good-naturedly.

“The changing screen is right over there.”

Janet laughed. “It’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Why bother using the screen when he’s going to be completely naked in front of us for the whole week?”

“And doing things to his body he never dreamed possible!” Felicia added.

“I guess it is foolish,” I said. “Craig, feel free to take your clothes off right here in front of us. We’ll start in a few minutes.”

“Whatever you say.”

The girls had a hard time concentrating on my directives with my handsome friend undressing himself not more than a few feet away. When all he had left on was his blue bikini underwear, with his huge, inviting package on display, they started to act like juveniles, inviting him with lewd remarks to remove the last particle of clothing so that they could see what he was hiding underneath.

“Go ahead,” Joanna said to him. “Take it off. We need to take a measurement of you anyway in your erect state.”

Craig dutifully obeyed her instructions and began to remove the bikini.

“There should be a tape measure somewhere on that table over there,” the doctor said, pointing to a small metal-top table in the corner of the room. “Felicia, do you mind?”

Felicia was too busy watching Craig to pay the doctor much attention. In fact, all of us were having a hard time focusing on anything else. He was already partially hard, and it was obvious this was no ordinary penis that was soon going to make its debut for at least some of the women in the room. All of us had a good laugh as we watched his prick first bend downward and then bounce up again as he pulled down on his underwear.

“Oh, Jesus!” Zula exclaimed, her eyes focusing on his cock. “Did we get you excited already baby?”

“Yes, ma’m,” replied Craig, looking a bit bashful.

Janet eyed him like a piece of candy. “I’m going to love working with that!”

Charlotte looked at me with a huge grin and then looked at Craig’s slowly rising penis. “Impressive,” she said to him, nodding appreciatively. “I like your tan lines, too.”

Craig looked down casually at the small triangle of whitish flesh that had been protected by the thong and gave her a big smile.

“Get it nice and hard for the doctor,” Felicia said to him.

“Felicia, the tape measure, please,” Joanna insisted.

“Oh! “I’m sorry, Joanna,” she replied. “It’s just that…his cock is so huge!”

Joanna just stared at her, expectantly. “Okay. Okay. I’m getting the tape measure.”

Felicia began to search in several of the drawers of a nearby table and came up empty-handed.

“I said “on “the table, not inside it,” Joanna said. “Stop drooling over his cock and listen. It’s right there on the table in the glass container.”

“Oh, I see it,” she said, reaching for the tape. “Sorry!”

“Keep stroking it,” I told Craig. “After Joanna measures you we’ll begin.”

“You got it,” he replied, jerking his cock at a steady, leisurely pace.

In just a matter of minutes he was fully erect. Felicia handed the tape measure to Joanna who then sat down on a stool beside Craig and placed the tape measure alongside his penis, extending the tape outward from the base of his shaft to its burgeoning tip.

“Just as you said, Holly,” she said. “Twelve and three-quarters inches long.”

“What’s the circumference?” I asked.

She ran the tape around the middle of his cock and whistled loudly. “Almost three inches around. Wow!”

“That’s one fucking big prick!” Janet remarked, moving in closer to inspect it.

“It’s a beauty!” Joanna agreed.

“Well, since you’re already down there,” I said to Joanna, “why don’t you start him off?”

“I’ll be happy to,” she said, laying the tape measure aside.

As she reached for a bottle of lotion, I instructed Craig to relax and let the doctor take control of his cock.

“We’re all going to take turns with you tonight,” I said. “But you are not to cum under any circumstances.”

“I understand,” he said, watching as Joanna squirted a generous amount of white cream into her palms.

“I want you to get used to each woman’s technique. Once you do, you’ll be able to improve your control.”

“What about tomorrow? Are you going to be…?”

“Yes, I’m going to jerk you off for the judges. But don’t worry about that now. Just let Dr. Monroe stroke you for a while. And then the other girls will jerk you off, too.”

Craig sighed heavily as Joanna rubbed the cream into her skin and then placed both her hands on his swollen tool. Her short dress exposed almost all of her long, well-proportioned legs and the view was not wasted on Craig, who tried valiantly to keep his hands from touching those enticing limbs. He had mentioned to me a few days earlier that his own physician was a woman who resembled Joanna in several respects—short, copper-red hair, a turned-up, freckled nose, large blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. He also said that she liked to wear high heels to accentuate her already very long and shapely legs.

“You have a very handsome penis, Craig,” the doctor said to him as her hands glided effortlessly up and down his shaft. “I find most guy’s penises rather unattractive, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot.”

“Thank you, doctor,” he replied, gently rocking his hips back and forth in time with her strokes.

The girls and I stood around Joanna as she worked on his prick, admiring her imperious technique as one would admire the skillful ministrations of a master craftsman.

“Take a good look at his testicles,” Joanna said, as she lifted his cock up and out of the way. “I don’t think that pygmy has got anything on him, do you Zula?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Zula replied, looking over the doctor’s shoulder.

“Which is good news for us,” Felicia said, smiling.

“Very good news,” Joanna noted. “Bigger testicles hold more sperm. More sperm means greater pressure. And greater pressures ensures a more robust cumshot.”

Having said this, she gave Craig’s prick several quick pulls that made him moan.

“You obeyed my instructions, didn’t you Craig?” I asked him. “You said you wouldn’t come for three days.”

“I…I kept my promise, Holly,” he replied, trying to keep his breathing regular thereby forestalling the urge to ejaculate.

“I believe you,” I said. “I’ll bet you must really want to cum badly.”

“Oh, yes, I do!”

“You also realize that if you cum now, your ejaculation won’t be nearly as powerful tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“So you’re going to let us know if you feel yourself losing it, right?”

“I…I promise.”

Joanna’s hands continued to pump him without pause. She licked her lips every now and then as she stroked him, and I think that if his prick was not already slick with lotion, she would have popped him into her mouth.

“Such a lovely penis,” she said again.

“I’m going to let Dr. Monroe masturbate you for a few minutes more and then Janet is going to take over,” I said to him.

“Yes, mistress,” he replied, surprising me by his use of the word.

After Joanna finished with him, I had the other girls continue where she left off, masturbating him for five-minute intervals in quick succession. I had to admit that he displayed exemplary control. When it came time for Charlotte to stroke him, he almost gave in to her handiwork and had to ask her to stop.

“I’m sorry, Holly,” she said. “Masturbating him is making me very horny. I guess I got carried away.”

Craig was breathing so hard he looked as through he had just run up a flight of stairs. “It’s your technique, ma’m,” he said to Charlotte. “Please slow down or I’m going to shoot off.”

“You have to adapt yourself to her style of masturbation, Craig,” I said. “Just as you did with me and Joanna. The judges want to see a vigorous masturbation technique; otherwise we’ll be disqualified. Let Charlotte jerk you off a little more and employ that famous control of yours. You can do it.”

With a little encouragement from the girls and me, he did manage to survive her blistering handjob, but I could tell that he was relieved when it was over.

“Charlotte is my second in command,” I told him. “If for any reason I can’t masturbate you, she will have to take over. That’s why it’s important that you become accustomed to her style.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, panting heavily.

“Zula. You’re next.”

Craig found Zula’s hard and fast approach very difficult to withstand, but he managed to endure an intense five minutes of continual masturbation by her. Felicia then took over and brought him to even greater heights of pleasure, but Janet almost brought him over the edge.

“Oh, God,” he told her. “I can’t take much more of this!”

Janet laughed as she continued to milk him despite his protests. “Thirty more seconds big boy. Don’t you dare give in!”

“Oh!” he groaned, as he thrust his hips forward.

And then it was my turn.

I knew that any determined effort on my part would result in an orgasm, so I allowed him a few minutes to rest and take a drink of water. I then had Joanna apply more lotion to his penis.

“Five more minutes, Craig,” I said, as I wrapped my fist around his cock. “And then you go on the machine.”

Before he had a chance to respond, my hands began flying up and down his greasy pole at top speed.

“Just think, Craig,” I said as the other girls watched me tease and coax his shaft with both hands. “Tomorrow I’m going to jerk you off in front of 700 women. Does that turn you on?”

“Yes…I love it when girls watch me cum.”

“Not only girls, but older women too. You know, like those older ladies who used to milk you when you used to clean out their pools. They’ll be watching as you shoot your thick, creamy-white sperm for them. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!”

“That’s why we’re teasing you so much now. Because tomorrow you’re going to show us an amazing cumshot, right?”

“Yes!”

“It’s going to sail across the fucking room!”

“Ah! Holly!” he screamed. “You’re making me crazy!”

He took in several great gulps of air, as if this action would somehow forestall his desire to cum. I then noticed that a tiny bead of pre-cum had formed at the tip of his cock and decided it was time to stop.

“Be careful,” Zula said to me. “He’s really close.”

I gave him two hard and long pulls and then removed my hands and got up. It was time to introduce him to our newest mechanical device.

“Good job,” I said to him as he fell onto the stool I had just vacated. “Rest for a while and then we’ll get you on the machine.”

“I won’t survive,” he said, out of breath.

“I’ll make sure you do,” I replied, patting him gently on the head.

While Craig took some time to refresh himself, the girls and I examined the remote control panel that sat on the table next to the “Extractinator.” It was, essentially, a computer no larger than a standard laptop, with a keyboard and monitor that displayed a 3D replica of the device and what keys needed to be pressed in order to activate its many functions. Zula, being the most computer-adept among us, figured out its rather sophisticated program in a relatively short time, and then proceeded to give us a demonstration.

“I’ve seen similar programs but this one is a little more involved,” she said, as she pressed a few keys in succession. “Basically, there are about a half dozen functions that we need to concern ourselves with. Here, let me show you.”

Upon pressing one of the computer’s keys, the top section of the giant maw was slowly lowered down via its hydraulic arms onto the bottom piece. Meanwhile, on the computer’s monitor screen the 3D image of the machine faithfully reproduced this action. She then pressed another key that reversed the procedure, and this action, too, was simultaneously performed on the screen before our astonished eyes.

“Look at this,” Zula said, pressing a few more keys.

Suddenly, the four hydraulic arms drew inward and then up, so that the entire assembly was hoisted into a vertical position. Another keystroke allowed the arms to further retract, enabling the human-encasing shell to be tilted and paused at any angle before reaching a fully horizontal position. Considering the size of the motor, all these functions were carried out with whisper-quiet operation.

“This is all very well and good,” Charlotte said. “But just what does this thing do?”

“Oh, come on, Charlotte,” Joanna said. “It does just what its name implies. It extracts sperm.”

“You’re not going to put me in that thing are you?” Craig asked me, looking worried.

“No harm will come to you baby,” Zula said. “It’s one hundred percent safe.”

Charlotte wasn’t impressed. “Why go through all the trouble and expense to use such a machine when you can get the same results from using your hand?”

Zula snickered. “This is why. Watch.”

She pressed one key and a series of functions were carried out in succession. They all happened so quickly that I couldn’t figure out what exactly was happening.

“Would you care to explain what’s going on?” I asked Zula.

“No problem. Do you see that opening there? A robotic arm is going to come out.”

We waited a few seconds but nothing happened.

“It should come out,” she said, looking a little concerned.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Charlotte complained.

“Just be patient will you?” Zula said, pressing another key.

This last maneuver did the trick. From one side of the apparatus a robotic arm extruded slowly outward and folded itself at the elbow before stopping a few centimeters above the hole where the subject’s genitals were to be placed. What startled me was that the entire arm was designed as a human appendage, the hands of which were composed of simulated human skin and shaped like a woman’s hand, with anatomically correct and fully functional fingers. After we overcame our astonishment, we broke down and laughed at the sight of the mechanical hand that Zula had set in motion by hitting another key. The hand moved up and down on its metal axis with perfect, machine-like precision. All that was missing was a penis.

“Oh, Craig, you’re in for a treat!” Felecia squealed.

He looked at the device with uncertainty, not fully convinced that he wanted to have anything to do with it.

“What if that arm malfunctions?” he said to us. “That thing could rip my cock off!”

“It has several failsafe mechanisms,” Zula said. “And the lower arm will not extend beyond 45 degrees. Your cock isn’t going anywhere.”

“And what’s that thing coming out now?” Janet asked.

“It looks like a plastic receptacle,” Joanna observed. “For sperm collection I assume.”

“How convenient!” Janet laughed.

The plastic container was moved into position near the hole by two small hydraulic arms. It seemed very efficient-looking to me.

“This machine can be programmed for hands-free operation for up to 30 minutes at a stretch. Then it automatically shuts itself off,” Zula said.

“So, in essence,” I remarked, “the subject is virtually a prisoner inside that thing, with no recourse to the use of his limbs whatsoever.”

“That’s right,” Zula replied. “We can do anything we like to his body. Well, the genitals, ass, and face anyway.”

Her eyes lit up as she said this, and I had a feeling she was anxious to get Craig inside it.

“We don’t have to use our hands at all,” she continued. “Once he’s in the machine, the mechanical arm can take care of that chore. And the nice part of it is, the hand can be programmed to act almost like a human one, with all the nuances and subtleties of an experienced masturbatrix.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that,” I said, doubtful that any mechanical arm could ever accurately simulate the actions of its human counterpart to such a degree.

I had Zula return the assembly to its original position and then ordered Craig to get in.

“Do I have to do this?” he asked me, as the top portion of the mouth came to a silent halt.

“Do you trust me?” I replied.

“Of course,” he answered. “But I’m not so sure about this machine.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. If you find you don’t like it, we’ll stop it immediately and you won’t have to go back in. Fair enough?”

“Okay,” he said, with some trepidation. “I’ll try it.”

Using the hand supports that were built onto each side of the machine, Craig lifted his body onto the maw and placed his extremities in the appropriate spots and lied down. Once he was securely fitted into place, I instructed Zula to lower the top lip of the maw down over his body. In less than a minute he was lying comfortably within the confines of the machine, a little nervous but trying to be a good sport about it.

“How does it feel?” I asked him.

“Pretty nice,” he replied. “But I can’t move a muscle.”

“The only muscle we want you to move is that big one between your legs,” Joanna kidded. “Are you comfortable?”

“I thought it would be hot inside this thing, but I feel just fine.”

“That’s because there are ventilating holes running throughout the fabric,” Zula said. “You’ll be okay.”

“I think we should give this machine a try,” I told the girls. “Are you ready, Craig?”

“Anytime you are.”

“Okay, Zula,” I said. “Let’s see if this ‘Extractinator’ gizmo can live up to its name.”

Zula once again began keying in numbers on the control pad and within seconds the area around Craig’s genitals began to vibrate.

“The vibration mode should help him to produce an erection,” Zula informed us.

“Wow!” Craig exclaimed. “It’s like having a dozen hands working on your dick all at once!”

I could feel the vibrations through the floor, but the machine barely made a sound.

“I can feel it working from here,” I said.

“Me too,” Charlotte remarked. “But it’s so quiet.”

Joanna had told Craig to keep us alerted as to how he was feeling and to report any discomfort immediately. So far, he seemed to be doing fine.

“It’s really tingly,” he reported. “God, it feels nice!”

Moments later we gasped as we watched the head of Craig’s penis slowly begin to rise up from the center of the hole.

“It’s working!” Janet exclaimed.

Felecia laughed. “Look ma, no hands!”

Craig chuckled at her joke even as his prick continued to expand under the influence of the insistent vibrations. He was fully erect only moments later.

And then … nothing.

The stern voice spoke again. Men took Faith by the arms, this time careful to avoid touching her anyplace else, and guided her down a steep muddy slope.

The river. Were they going to drown her?

She was lifted, another man or two bending to take her ankles. Despite her kicks and struggles, they carried her onto something that dipped and rocked. A raft, or a boat. Water splashed against wood with a hollow sound.

The men crowded in around her. Under the concealment of close quarters, one of them reached under her and groped her bottom. Faith writhed and squealed. Someone pressed a hand on her chest, pressing hard on her sternum, holding her down.

It was too much. Darkness crashed over her again, and she fainted.

**

Warmth and light awakened her, and Faith’s first muddled thought was one of an almost inexpressible relief.

A dream. The bloodshed, the death … it had all been just a dream. She was safe in her own tent, safe at the camp. Soon Camila would come in, bringing coffee, to help her wash and dress.

A trickle of hot water, coursing down her chest, brought her all the way awake.

And she saw that she was not in her tent at all.

She was bound nude to a slanting slab of rock, tilting back at a forty-five degree angle. Her wrists were above her head, her ankles tied immodestly apart.

A pair of young women stood on either side of her, one holding a large gold bowl while the other dunked a rag, then wrung it out over Faith’s body. The steaming water was scented with strange oils.

The women wore dark-yellow sleeveless tunics, the cloth so thin and sheer that they might as well have been bare-breasted. Their inky-black hair was swept up and pinned with ornaments of gold, and gold torcs graced their supple brown throats.

“Help me,” Faith whispered.

One of them smiled at her. She spoke in an unfamiliar language, words perhaps meant to be reassuring, and patted Faith on the cheek.

The slab to which she was bound stood at the center of a large chamber. The walls rose in a series of inward-decreasing squares, like the hollow interior of a stepped pyramid – which, Faith surmised, it was.

This had to be Tzikatal, the lost city her father had sought. Tzikatal, and the temple. The temple of the bat-god, known to many Central American tribes as Zotz.

And there, looming high on one of the walls, was an image of Zotz himself. The sculpture depicted a bat with a wingspan twenty feet or more across, and a body twice the size of a man. The head was that of a leaf-nosed bat, with sparkling yellow gems for eyes and a larger gem, a blood-red ruby, set into the base of Zotz’s throat.

The statue’s only human traits were its curled-fingered hands at the top of the wide wings, and its enormous stone genitalia. The erect phallus jutted up and out from the body, and while the rest of the carving was rough, this part had been polished to a satiny sheen.

The light and warmth in the chamber came from several large braziers, which leaped and crackled with flames. Craning her neck, Faith saw murals, pictographs, plinths and columns. She saw the glint of gold everywhere, shining in the firelight. She saw more maidens in yellow tunics approaching, carrying golden platters heaped with fruit and flowers.

“Please,” she whispered to the one who had smiled. “Please, you must help me. Let me go.”

Again, the young woman patted her on the cheek. Then she coiled a lock of Faith’s hair around her finger and admired the cinnamon-nutmeg hue. The other one pointed to Faith’s eyes – the sea-green color had to be unusual to them – and said something perhaps meant to be a compliment. The first one nodded, and reverently touched Faith’s creamy-white skin.

“Don’t do this, please don’t,” Faith said, though she was losing hopes she hadn’t even known she harbored.

She had listened to her father talk of native tribes and primitive ways long enough to know a sacrifice when she “was” one. They had undressed and bathed her while she was unconscious, and tied her to this slab in the temple. Next, she would be adorned with flowers, as befit a proper offering to the god.

True enough, the other maidens sprinkled her with fragrant petals, looped garlands around her neck and waist, tucked blooms into her hair.

The smiling one chose a piece of fruit and held it up, cocking her head inquisitively.

At the sight of it, so firm and ripe and juicy, and the succulent smell of it, Faith’s stomach growled. Her already dry mouth felt parched. She wanted to resist, wanted to deny them, but the lure of the fruit was too much. She stretched toward it imploringly.

Part of her mind was expecting it to be snatched away, as the women erupted in scornful laughter. But the smiling one held it to her lips. Faith bit deep, and the gush of sweet juice was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

“Zivia,” the young woman said.

Faith repeated it as a query, not sure if it was her name or the name of the fruit.

“Zivia,” the young woman said again, and this time tapped herself to indicate that it was her own name. She gestured inquiringly at Faith.

“Faith Calloway.”

“Fay-eeth.” Again, she smiled, as if proud of herself for managing the difficult foreign word.

“Where is my father? Where is Nick? What have you done with them?” Faith pulled at the bonds, disarranging some of the flowers and earning scolding looks from the other women.

“Fay-eeth,” Zivia said, chiding. She lifted a wide-mouthed clay vessel, painted yellow with symbols in red. Something sloshed inside.

The fruit had only roused her appetite, and Faith was overwhelmingly thirsty. She licked her lips. “Please.”

Zivia held it so that she could drink. It was chocolate, unsweetened the way the Mayans drank it. Faith drained the vessel despite the bitter taste. She tried not to feel renewed hope – if they meant to kill her, why would they waste precious food and drink on her? – and told herself that fed or not, she was still bound to this slab so like an altar, beneath the glaring yellow eyes of Zotz. At any moment, a priest could come in with a sacred obsidian knife and slit her throat, or cut the still-beating heart from her breast.

A commotion at the side of the chamber made her turn her head. The women fell back and she saw men, men in yellow robes, carrying two large wooden frames. Tied spread-eagle in the center of the frames, naked and battered, were the limp and motionless forms of two white-skinned men.

Her father and Nick.

Faith screamed, yanking on her bonds more fiercely than before. They remained unyielding. Neither man responded to her cry. Blood seeped sluggishly through the professor’s cap of thinning, greying hair. Nick’s face was puffed and purple from a vicious beating.

“Nick! Nick, can you hear me? Father!”

The yellow-clad men braced the frames upright, seating the long poles in holes in the temple’s stone floor. Then, silently, they filed off to the side and formed a line. The women, having finished fussing with the garlands of flowers, joined them. Only Zivia remained, holding a platter of fruit.

She should have been mortally embarrassed to be exposed like this in front of the men, and to be seeing what she was seeing. Yet decency was the least of her concerns. Even her very real fear for her life was fading as a strange lassitude slipped over her.

Drugged? Had the chocolate been drugged?

A low, slow chanting rose from the assembled natives in their yellow robes and tunics. It throbbed in Faith’s mind, driving away other thoughts. She felt it in her pulse, which had been racing but now slowed to that steady, rhythmic pace.

Her arms relaxed, going slack against the bonds. A mellow, languid warmth filled her body. At the same time, her senses became heightened. She could smell every different variety of the flowers that adorned her, the fruit, the smoke.

The melody of the chant was a symphony in her ears, underlain by the crackle of the flames. Her vision sharpened until she could make out every minute detail around her, from the smallest pictograph to the individual strands of Zivia’s shining black hair. The aftertastes of the fruit and the chocolate mingled into bittersweet. The stone slab was both silky and coarse against her skin. The chamber seemed to be swaying, spinning, subtly expanding and contracting around her.

Drugged, yes … no question of it.

Zivia took another fruit from the platter. Faith’s mouth watered, but the woman did not offer it to her. Instead, Zivia held it over her and squeezed. Clear juice ran from the crushed fruit, spattering Faith’s breasts and belly. Beaded droplets of juice sparkled like diamonds on the taut peaks of her nipples. Rivulets of it ran, tickling, down her sides.

“What … what are you …?” Formulating words was too great a challenge, speaking an effort for which she hadn’t the strength.

Still with that reassuring smile, Zivia crushed a second fruit, the juice dribbling over Faith’s legs and the nest of russet curls between them. With her preternatural senses, Faith felt the juice trickle over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

A groan from her left made her turn her head, to see that Professor Calloway was stirring. Her father raised his head, blinking blearily at the surroundings. He looked dazed, and whether it was from the head blow he must have sustained, or whether he, too, had been drugged, Faith couldn’t be sure.

More figures came into the room, a procession of them, all walking tall and proud. Faith recognized the man in the lead, the one in the gold bat-winged headdress who had tied her hands. He was flanked and followed on both sides by tall, dark shapes wrapped in cloaks …

No. Not wrapped in cloaks.

Tall, dark shapes with their leathery wings folded about their furry bodies.

The bat-things, the creatures, the monsters. Their talons clicked and scraped on the stone floor as they moved.

The man in the headdress stopped in front of the tilted slab. The bat-things surrounded Faith, their wrinkled black noses twitching and sniffing eagerly.

“Get away from her, you devils!” Nick shouted.

Faith could barely see him past the bat-things, but she could hear him thrashing in a sudden fury, the wooden framework to which he was lashed creaking with the force of his struggles.

“Faith?” her father called querulously.

“Fay-eeth,” Zivia said, stroking her cheek.

Feeling dreamy and distant, Faith rolled her head back to its original position.

Zivia’s pretty features were blurred. At first Faith thought that this was through some fault of her eyesight, but her vision was still uncannily keen. Then she saw what it “truly” was … the short dark fur sprouting from Zivia’s skin … the melt and flow of bone as Zivia’s face altered.

Her body was undergoing a similar transformation. She shed her tunic as her shape changed. Upraised arms shortened, contorted. Her pinkie fingers stretched to impossible lengths, curving, extending.

Bat-thing … bat-woman … her torso still with something of a feminine shape, though covered with downy black fuzz … bat-woman with long and lovely legs ending in dainty claws …

Far down in some portion of her mind, Faith voiced a silent inner shriek. On the outside, she could only stare as Zivia completed her transformation. The bat-woman still wore a gold torc, and golden ornaments in her hair.

“Faith!” Nick threw himself side to side. A piece of wood made a loud splintering crack. “Faith!”

The man in the headdress – the high priest – gave an order and gestured. Four men hurried toward the captives.

Even in her floating, drifting, serene state, Faith caught her breath, expecting to see the flash of knives, the spurt of blood.

Instead, she heard a quick series of thuds and grunts, and when the men stepped back, Nick slumped with his head down and his chest heaving as he sucked in gasps of air.

Zivia brought the cluster of fingers atop one of her wings to stroke Faith’s cheek again. Shuddering, she tried to twist away from that abominable caress. The bat-woman’s black lips curled in a smile. Her teeth were sharp, almost fangs.

“No!” Faith meant it to be an outraged scream, but the best she could do was a soft moan.

Bending, Zivia lapped sticky-sweet fruit juice from the sideswell of Faith’s breast. Her tongue was rose-pink, warm and slippery. Her breath was cool. She licked again, a slow and teasing lick that spiraled around and around the hardened nipple.

“Oh, God, no!” whimpered Faith. As horrified as she was, her body with its inflamed senses was responding to the illicit contact.

Zivia licked up another runnel of juice, taking her time. Faith clenched her fists, trying to will away the tingle that coursed through her, that pulsed strongly between her legs.

This could not be happening! With the silent men and bat-things looking on, with her helpless father and Nick right there … hearing her mewl and sigh as Zivia’s tongue teased her nipples and ran in lingering wet swipes along the valley of her cleavage.

The black, misshapen lips pressed a trail of kisses from her breasts to her belly. Soft kisses with the pinprick threat of sharp fangs only adding to the intensity of the sensation.

Faith tossed her head from side to side, her fingernails digging into her palms, her words begging Zivia to stop while her treacherous body quivered with anticipation and “wanted” the bat-woman’s delicious, tormenting tongue to move lower and lower.

Leathery wings, not rough but smooth as suede, draped over Faith’s legs as Zivia crouched, grasped her knees in those clustered fingers, and urged them open as far as the bonds on Faith’s ankles would permit. The bat-woman licked away the dribbles of juice that covered Faith’s thighs. Her cool breath was an icy susurration against the molten core of Faith’s being, and with no more thought for her father, for Nick, for modesty or decency or the onlooking natives and bat-things, Faith tilted her pelvis to present herself to Zivia’s mouth.

“Ah! Oh, oh, yes!” was the cry torn from her throat as Zivia’s tongue slid wetly along her folds.

She tried once more to free her hands, not so she could push Zivia away but so that she could pull her closer. She had never experienced anything like this, never, not even in her most torrid daydreams. The arousal she’d felt when kissing Nick was nothing compared to this. She wanted more, ached for something she couldn’t name, needed and craved it with such a maddening fire that she could barely think.

“More, yes … oh, a little more … oh, yes, yes, like that … more …” she panted, rocking her hips against Zivia’s face, feeling that tongue probe her depths and dart with coaxing urgency against a spot that made her reel from ecstasy. “Just … just a little … no!”

This last, bursting from her in a cheated cry as Zivia abruptly drew back, leaving her poised on the brink of some unimaginable precipice. Faith wailed in frustration, bucking her body, opening herself, offering herself.

But the bat-woman rose, sloe-dark eyes fixing hungrily on Faith’s, showing those sharp teeth again in a smile. Zivia stepped to the side. She folded her wings around herself.

“Faith!”

She became aware that during the entire sordid scene, her father and Nick had been yelling her name, and spewing curses and threats at their captors.

The high priest ignored Nick and the professor. He surveyed Faith, his gaze sweeping her body with possessive insolence. He snapped his fingers, and two of the flower-bearing maidens rushed to remove his yellow robe.

He was naked beneath, his brown-skinned body almost totally hairless, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Above and behind him, the stone image of Zotz boasted its enormous erection; the priest boasted a less impressive but substantial one of his own.

Faith’s head had been somewhat cleared of the drug by the combination of Zivia’s depraved attentions and the burning realization that Nick and her Father had witnessed the entire thing, seen her writhing and begging.

Now she looked at the priest with dread, understanding that he meant not to kill her, but take her. Deflower her, the virgin on the altar. Perhaps then, after, would be the obsidian knife.

The male bat-things keened their high, excited cries, and she saw that they, too, were stiff with need. Some had already seized the young women, rudely tearing open their yellow tunics and pushing them to their hands and knees to penetrate them from behind, as Faith had seen done to Inez.

But rather than scream in agony, as the women of the camp had done, these ones welcomed their inhuman ravishers with rapturous moans.

Others of the bat-things only waited, looking at Faith with a raw desire that further blew the fog from her mind and replaced it with cold terror. She turned to the priest with a plea in her eyes – a plea that, even if he had to do this, he would be kind enough to kill her before the bat-things had their turns.

The priest gave no sign that he understood her silent plea. Nor did he immediately settle himself between her legs and plunge into her. He shouted more orders to the yellow-clad men, most of whose robes showed proof of their arousal.

The men dragged the wooden frameworks closer to the stone slab. Faith saw her father’s outrage, fear and confusion … saw something else in Nick. Although he struggled against it, he couldn’t control that part of him that twitched and swelled and rose from its bed of thick blond hair.

He met her gaze and immediately looked away, shamefaced … only to steal another glance at her breasts, her loins.

“Nick,” she pleaded.

“Fight them, Faith,” he said hoarsely. “Resist them. Don’t let them do this to you.”

“I … I can’t stop them.”

“Then don’t “like” it!” he cried. “Don’t – ah!”

Whatever else he had been going to say was lost as Zivia dropped to her knees in front of him and took the whole hard length of him deep in her mouth. Nick’s head flew back, cords standing out in his neck. His entire body went rigid, trembling.

“Nick!” Faith shouted. “Nick, no!”

Zivia’s head bobbed. She made slurping, sucking noises. Faith could see Nick’s erection sliding in and out of her mouth, spit-shiny and huge. Nick groaned each time Zivia swallowed him down again. Sweat stood out in beads on his face.

Another order from the priest made Faith wrench her attention away from Nick. Horribly, shamefully, seeing what Zivia was doing to him only made her want to try it herself, want to feel a man filling her mouth, taste him, see if she could make him groan like that.

The pulsing fire in her loins was stronger than ever, and she was now almost eager for the priest to take her. Just to have an end to it, just to be released from this purgatory of suspense!

But instead, the priest gave an order, and gestured to Professor Calloway. Two of the yellow-clad men cut the ropes that held him, and dragged his stumbling, protesting form toward the altar.

Faith paled at the hideous idea that they might force her “father” to take part in this unholy ritual, that they might position “him” between her legs.

“Anything but that!” she screamed. “Please, anything but that!”

The young woman who had helped Zivia bathe Faith knelt at the priest’s side, holding the same now-empty golden bowl. The priest raised an obsidian knife that could have been born straight from her worst imaginings. Its black blade gleamed in the firelight.

In a single swift movement, the razor-sharp edge slashed Professor Calloway’s throat.

The professor made a surprised, glottal sound that became a gurgle as a red-purple torrent poured from the wound. The young woman caught most of it in the bowl, though she, and the priest, were doused from the pumping arterial spray.

“Noooooo!” Faith howled.

Her father’s eyes, hazel and befuddled, met hers one final time as the men released him. He toppled slowly, mouth working, and fell dead on the floor of the temple he had searched for all his life.

The priest turned from his sprawled body and raised both hands, which were wet with blood. He began to chant. Other voices picked it up.

Faith wept, tears running as hot and copiously as had her father’s blood. They were going to die here, all of them, and their deaths would be terrible.

Yet even as her soul felt torn in two with grief, her body still hummed and throbbed, and when the priest knelt on the slanted slab between her knees, some part of her tensed in eager anticipation.

But he did not ravish her. He knelt over her with his member in his bloodstained hand, gripping it and rubbing up and down in short, hard jerks. His chanting voice grew huskier. Pearly drops oozed from the end of his erection.

“Get off her!” Nick rattled the wooden frame again. He had been abandoned by Zivia, the bat-woman having left him waving stiff and indignant in mid-air as she crouched avidly to watch the priest. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”

Ignoring Nick, ignoring Faith’s frantic struggles, the priest continued chanting and massaging himself, hand moving faster, leaving crimson smears. His back arched, and he convulsed, and the woman with the bowl used it to catch the gouts of thick white fluid.

The semen and blood swirled together, milky-red. The woman offered the bowl to each of the bat-things in turn. They dipped their tongues, sampling the delicacy, and their eyes burned with a feverish new intensity.

As this monstrous rite went on, Faith’s father’s remaining blood oozed from his body. It joined together and flowed in rivulets and patterns through the mortar joint channels between the stones.

Her eyes met Nick’s. “Can’t you do something? Can’t you get us free?” she sobbed.

Nick looked away. Guilt and shame suffused his features. “He didn’t … hurt you,” he said haltingly. “Maybe he …”

Somehow, she knew what was in his mind. The priest hadn’t “hurt” her, indeed … and now Nick was thinking, perhaps even hoping, that the two of them would be made to enact whatever perverse sacred marriage was taking place. Perhaps the yellow-clad men would cut him down and bring him to the altar-slab. The handmaiden of Zotz had prepared them both, after all …

If “that” were to be the case … another unwelcome throb of liquid heat in her loins made Faith squirm on the altar. Yes, oh, yes … to have Nick kneeling over her … to have Nick guiding himself … that purpled, bulbous head nudging between her folds … and then piercing her, inch by inch …

The priest took the bowl from the young woman and brought it to Faith. She recoiled, thinking that he meant her to drink from it – his seed and her father’s blood – and almost gagged. But rather than tilt the bowl’s brim to her lips, he tipped it over her body.

The milky-red mixture splashed over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. It was still body-temperature, and the smell of it was ripe and earthy and awful.

Stepping back, the priest spoke a single word and waved his hand. At once, the bat-things swarmed over Faith, in a voracious frenzy.

It was Zivia and the fruit juice again, but tenfold, as they licked and lapped with their many hot, flickering tongues. Their wings rustled, their fur brushed her bare skin, their greedy mouths suckled her nipples and delved between her legs.

Faith screamed again, a long and loud peal that rang to the heights of the chamber. It was a scream of horror, but also of unimaginable lust. The tongues, worming into her most sensitive places … slippery red-pink erections rubbing against her sides, her legs, as the bat-things crowded close.

One of them leaped high with a flap of its wings and landed with clawed feet clutching the upper edge of the tilted slab. It squatted over Faith, leaning forward with inhuman suppleness to lap up the milky-red drops that stippled her upper chest and neck. Its organ touched her cheek. If she moved her head even a little, the vile thing would be against her lips.

She dimly heard Nick, but his bellows, curses and threats were almost entirely drowned out by the squeals and chitters of the bat-things and the ongoing chant.

They licked her, licked her, slithered their tongues into her, rubbed against her. Faith wailed with lips pressed tight-shut, wailed wordlessly for them to do it and get it over with, to take her, she couldn’t bear it any longer.

She wriggled her hips and splayed her thighs as wide as they would go, sure that one of them must, any moment now, crawl atop her and bury itself with one rough thrust.

Once more, her body hurtled toward that precipice, and she strained for it with all her might, needing to get there, needing it before she died in her frenzy of depraved passion.

And suddenly, shockingly, the bat-things abandoned her. Faith stared around incoherently, her breath in heaving gasps, her body cleaned of blood and semen and cooling as the air evaporated the bat-things’ warm saliva.

The priest’s obsidian knife flashed twice. Faith expected pain and felt nothing, and then her wrists were released, the cords lashing her to the altar severed and hanging in loose loops.

Before she fully understood that her feet had also been freed, that her limbs were her own again, two of the bat-things flew down and seized her by the arms. Their wings beat furiously, and Faith was lifted from the slab. The crushed and rumpled remains of her floral garlands fell away in a petalstorm. She saw Nick, watching as she was borne up, up, over the heads of the yellow-clad humans and the other bat-things.

Carried high … carried toward the looming, scowling statue of the bat-god. Zotz’s jeweled eyes reflected the fires, lending a bizarre life to the stony features.

She didn’t know what was happening until the bat-things began to lower her toward the sculpture. Faith grasped wildly and caught hold of the upper edge of the statue’s spread wings. Her toes found precarious purchase on ridges.

The bat-things let go, and there Faith was, clinging desperately on tip-toe, her arms and legs already shaking from the strain of trying to hold herself up and avoid being impaled on the enormous stone phallus of the bat-god.

As it was, she couldn’t lever herself high enough to avoid touching it completely. The swollen round head nudged between her legs, pressing into the soft tender folds. If she tried to relax her feet from their tip-toe pose, or if she unbent her elbows, she would sink down onto it.

The more she moved, shifting her weight and trying to maneuver herself into a less vulnerable position, the more she caused the smooth-polished knob to slide and rub in agonizingly tantalizing ways.

She was moist and slippery from the ministrations of the bat-things, and her own body’s juices slicked the stone phallus. Her shoulders were on fire, her arms aching. An impending cramp nagged at one of her calves. Her toes had already gone white and numb from the pressure.

“Hold on, Faith!” Nick called from the chamber floor. “Don’t let go!”

More tears blurred her vision as she tried to look down. This was the most fiendish torture yet! She had been ready for them to take her, the priest or the bat-things or even Nick … she had been bound and helpless and couldn’t have fought them if they wanted to tear away her precious virginity. But this …

Nick was just visible, still in his wooden frame, and the sight of him filled Faith with an unaccountable anger. He would blame “her”, because if her arms or her legs – thrumming now like live wires, and her fingers had gone as numb as her toes – failed, it would be Faith Calloway’s own fault for being unable to hold on.

But how “could” she hold on? No one was going to rescue her. All she was doing was delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later – sooner, by the white-hot pain searing her limbs – she would lose. She would either plummet backwards, breaking her neck and back and skull on the temple floor below, or she would have to impale herself.

And it was unbearable, the hard push of Zotz’s eternal erection poised just so, taunting her. Hadn’t she wanted, “needed” penetration? Hadn’t she craved it?

“Faith! Faith, be strong! You’re better than this.”

There were conveniently-placed ledges where she could rest her knees, and she had no doubts that many other virgins before her had been in this very spot, faced with this very choice. To surrender and accept and perhaps even enjoy her fate, or to fight a futile battle and then be possessed by the bat-god anyway.

She looked down at Nick, hoping to make him understand that she could no more resist this than she could have fended off the priest or the bat-things. She couldn’t hold on. Her arms were weakening.

When she saw him, her earlier anger came back in an incensed fury.

Not only was Nick still rock-hard, but Zivia stood in front of him, positioning herself so that he could – if he chose – enter her from behind. Nick’s eyes darted from Faith to the bat-woman to Faith again.

Then, with a throat-tearing cry, he rammed his hips forward to plunge his length into Zivia. The bat-woman shrilled in triumph as Nick, his expression one of utter madness now, thrust savagely in and out, grunting through clenched teeth each time his pelvis pounded against Zivia’s furry backside.

The hypocrisy of it … and “she” was supposed to be better than this? “She” was supposed to be strong, hold on, resist … when “he” couldn’t?

“Aaaah!” Faith cried, and sank down, down.

The smooth, thick stone opened her, deflowered her. The pain was barely noticeable through the quaking rush of relief that flooded her agonized arms and legs. She felt stretched, filled, the breath knocked from her lungs in an explosive gust.

For a moment, she only rested there, knees braced, arms around the bat-god’s neck. Her pulse thundered, and she felt it most strongly down low. Being filled wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel more, to move. The ache in her limbs was quickly forgotten as she tried rocking her hips. The movement sent ripples of sensual euphoria through her body.

She raised and lowered herself in a quickening tempo, riding the immense phallus. She was aware that she was moaning aloud in a sheer blissful ecstasy, aware but heedless. It felt too good to care about anything else. Her father was forgotten, Nick nearly so.

The only thing that mattered was the climax she felt building in her, that precipice, and this time she would be allowed to reach it, to throw herself over. And if there was only darkness and death on the other side? What of it?

As it began, as spasms wracked her body and wrung delirious cries from her, she heard a strange and brittle crackling sound. The solid mass of the statue moved, the mighty wings flexing. Shards of thin stone fell away. The yellow gemstone eyes blinked, and when they opened again, they were “eyes”, glowing golden living “eyes”.

Her hands, which had been resting on stone, now touched thick fur and warm skin. She felt the change “inside”, too, as the stone phallus transformed into hot, firm flesh.

Despite this new and sudden horror, she could not stop the throes of orgasm. And as Zotz thrust into her, his erection now throbbing with life, Faith was sent into even greater realms of hitherto unknown delight.

The bat-god folded his vast wings around her, enveloping her in his leathery, musky scent. His talons gripped a perch below, and he swung down and away from the wall to hang head-down like a roosting bat. Clinging by his feet, wings wrapped snug around Faith, the bat-god drove into her again and again.

Dizzied by the tumultuous rush of blood to her head, and by the succession of shattering climaxes, Faith was swept away into darkness.

**

The rainy season lived up to its name, with an all but ceaseless downpour for weeks on end. Drywashes became creeks, creeks became rivers, rivers overflowed their banks. The green of the trees and plants glimmered like emeralds under the deluge.

But in the caverns below Tzikatal, everything was cozy and dry. There was ample firewood, and food, and warm, soft bedding.

Faith sat with Zivia and Camila, a large platter of fruit and fish resting between them.

Camila did not speak. She hadn’t spoken a single word in the months that had passed since the attack. She only stared blankly off into space, sometimes rocking back and forth, sometimes trembling.

Of the half-dozen women at the camp, only Camila and Marcela had survived … and Marcela had slit her wrists months ago, when the curve of her pregnancy had begun to show. Camila had never made any similar attempts, but Faith wondered what the girl would do when her time came. It wouldn’t be long now. Only a few days, at most. Even if Camila did not deliberately harm her infant, she was in no state to be a good mother.

In Zivia’s lap, a sleepy bundle of fur yawned and gurgled, opening granite-grey eyes to gaze adoringly up at her mother. Faith wondered what Nick would have thought, had he lived to see his daughter.

She ran the palm of her hand over her stomach, felt a lively kick, and smiled. She hoped it would be a boy.

Hyde stands behind Carla and begins to smack her ass with his long hard cock. It slaps in between her legs and across her cheeks. She groans and growls as he beats her ass harder and harder. Hyde twists his hips swinging his club size cock into her rear. Its mass and weight jolts Carla almost knocking her forward. Soon her ass is bright red and Hyde’s cock is swollen and purple. He holds it out in front of himself like a scepter stroking it in both hands. “Are you ready my love?” Hyde asks of Carla.

“Yes master, I am ready for you!” Her leash hangs to the floor. With one hand holding her weight, she reaches up for her pussy with the other. She rubs it and fingers it with two then three fingers. It is quite wet Michelle notices. Hyde hands Carla the end of his long thick prick between her legs. She takes the end in her little hand and presses it into her twat. Hyde helps by holding his cock steady with both hands and applying pressure when needed. Carla grunts and moans as the two of them push cock into her hole.

She takes six or so inches and Mr. Hyde takes over from there. Carla returns her hand to the floor and drops to her elbows bracing herself as Hyde starts pumping his long dick in and out of Carla’s tight pussy. He moves slowly at first giving her cunt time to open and consume his long flesh. He holds his cock in one hand now, his other resting on Carla’s ass. Michelle is stunned that an animal like Hyde could be so gentle and patient with Carla. He growls deep in the back of his throat as more and more of his organ disappears into Carla’s pink pussy. Carla on the other hand is already in what seems to be the convulsions of a long and continuous orgasm. Her legs are shaky but they keep her ass high in the air. Her breathing is rapid and her moaning is louder then ever.

Hyde is now nearly to the hilt and working almost his entire tool in and out of Carla. He keeps his hand close at the entrance of Carla’s pussy stroking his cock and keeping it straight as it comes in and out of her hole. Michelle can see cum from Carla’s cunt collect like foam on Hyde hand where he holds his shaft tight.

“Oh! My god!” Michelle utters uncontrollably.

Hyde pays her no attention. He keeps fucking Carla. Carla is now rocking back and forth on her elbows and her feet matching the beast’s rhythm stroke for stroke. Hyde’s face goes contorted and scrunches up. Spit flies from his mouth as he breathes hard and deep. His tongue sticks out and his sharp teeth are exposed as his lips curl back. Carla too is panting like a dog. Her tongue hangs out and spit and drool fall to the ground under her. She must be exhausted, Michelle thinks to herself. But Carla keeps pace never letting up.

Mr. Hyde feels his ejaculation building and building. His cock is like solid wood. Michelle is amazed at how hard he has become. Hyde removes his one hand from Carla’s ass. He grabs his balls squeezing them tight. He slows his pace for lack of energy, but Carla does not. She still rocks like a machine pushing and pulling her pussy on and off Hyde’s monster prick. He starts to howl and bark. Carla pulls herself off the end of his dick. She turns to face him on her hands and knees, her pussy still a gaping hole. Hyde grabs his cock at the end and jerks it hard and fast. A surge of blood rushes to his groin and cum begins to squirt from its tip. A strait long stream shoots out hitting Carla in the face and chest. Another and another shoot out landing in Carla’s mouth and splashing on the floor. He dumps what must be several mouth fulls of seed. Michelle is breathless and watches in wonder as Carla is bathed in a fountain of spew. She rubs the cum into her face, chest and crotch. Michelle can smell the creature’s jizm as the pungent odor fills the room. Her own mouth waters and she swallows out of reflex.

Hyde looks over at her and their eyes meet. He smiles and Michelle razes her eyebrows and before she realizes what she is doing, she smiles back at him. Hyde then lets Carla lick his shaft and suck on his balls. For a long time Hyde’s dick hangs limp and long past his knees. He walks over to Michelle after letting Carla finish. He looks her in the eye and she does not flinch. So, Hyde squats down in front of her and puts his muzzle between her legs and sniffs her twat.

Michelle looks down to see Mr. Hyde rubbing his nose in her snatch. She felt reluctant but did not struggle to resist. Hyde can smell that Michelle was conceding to his efforts. He sensed her arousal at watching him and Carla fuck and he now made his move while the kettle was still proverbially hot. His tongue moves out of his mouth passing his sharp jagged teeth and touches her pussy. She could feel it rub against her clit. She closes her eyes and feels his tongue very course, very large and very strong. Her pussy clinched at his approaches, but she feels the heat build between her legs. Suddenly she feels two hands reaching around and grabs her ass. It was Hyde. He was now pushing his entire face into her crotch. She lifts her legs up over his shoulders and rests her weight in his arms. She can feel his fangs and his lips pressing into her skin.

From behind her she feels hands reach around and grab her tits. She opens her eyes and turns her head. It is Carla embracing her. She kisses Michelle’s shoulders and licks her neck. Carla’s skin is still very sticky and smells like Hyde’s semen. Carla pinches and pulls on Michelle’s nipples. Michelle shudders as she feels Hyde’s tongue penetrate deep into her pussy. She closes her eyes again. Michelle begins to breathe rhythmically and trys to relax as best she can. She hears Hyde growl and feels the murmur between her legs. His claws dig into her ass leaving nail marks. His tongue undulates within her cunt. His teeth poke and pinch her fleshy folds. She can feel his lips sucking her hole like a cup stuck between her legs. His tongue retracts only to find its way below her twat. It laps at her anus. Its rough texture rubs and scratches her rectum. She lets her hole open and Hyde’s tongue ventures in. It pushes hard at her gate and pocks through pushing her tight prune apart. Michelle lets out a squeak as Hyde’s tongue moves in and out of her ass. His nose is stuck right in her cunt and she feels its snout rubbing her clit. Meanwhile, Carla is still kissing her neck and now her ear. She moves a hand from Michelle’s breast to her hair. Carla grabs a hand full of hair and pulls Michelle’s head back and begins kissing her mouth. Michelle turns her head to meet Carla’s open lips. She tastes Hyde’s cum on them in Carla’s mouth. Michelle licks around Carla’s lips and her chin. The taste is vulgar, but makes Michelle hot. Carla begins to untie Michelle’s elbows. She is now free. Her hands reach down and grab Mr. Hyde’s ears. Carla steadies Michelle and Hyde holds her in his arms, his claws still clutching her buttocks.

She pulls Hyde by the ears, forcing his face and his long tongue to return to her hot pussy. His tongue slithers in and out and all around her juicy hole. Michelle can’t stand it any longer. She leans back into Carla’s arms and begins to buck her ass up and down. Hyde keeps fucking her pussy with his long fat tongue never letting up. His head moves back and forth rubbing his nose and lips and teeth into her tender folds. Michelle pulls her face away from Carla’s sucking mouth and screams as she breaks down in an electrifying orgasm. Her legs and chest quake and her pussy spits into Hyde’s mouth. Hyde picks her up and caries her to the table. He plops her on the table and steps back. Carla slinks over and clings to his side. He says to Michelle, “Now will you tell me what you are doing in my house?”

Michelle struggles to recover from her climax. She shakes her head. She stammers and says, “I’m telling you the truth! I’m a guest of Dr. Jeckle’s. Please believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you, not after that tongue lashing.”

“You like Hyde’s tongue, do you?” He sticks it out for her to see. It is at least as long as most men are hung. Michelle marvels at its length and think of the last moments of her climax. She clutches her pussy with one hand rubbing her juicy lips. Hyde laughs. “If you like my tongue pretty girl, you will love my cock!” he grabs his still limp but hanging cock and flops it onto the table in front of her. Her instincts grab her and she retracts, but quickly her curiosity takes over. Michelle inches forward and reaches to touch it. She looks into the monster’s eyes and she holds the long muscle in her hands. He smiles at her and she looks down at the veiny protrusion. It pulses in her hand. She can feel it thickening and swelling as Hyde flexes it his one hand squeezing its base. “Lucky lady, it seems the taste and smell of your vagina has aroused my member.” He grunts and shakes his cock in her hands. Against her better judgement, Michelle moves to a kneeling position on the table and bows down to put the creatures prick in her mouth. Not being as skilled as Carla she can only fit seven or eight inches in before she starts to choke. Carla waists no time and sneaks around the table behind Michelle. In the kneeling position, Michelle leaves her ass and pussy in the air. Carla stands behind her and reaches for Michelle’s pussy burring three fingers at once in her slit. Michelle squeaks out the side of her mouth but keeps on sucking the long slick shaft.

Carla gets busy fingering Michelle’s pussy now with all four of her fingers. Michelle can’t believe it. Her cunt is wide open and her mouth is stuffed full. Hyde stokes his growing shaft and when it is near full length again he pulls it away from Michelle. “Enough! It is time!”

Carla removes her hand from Michelle’s rear. She walks around in front of the table again. She grabs Michelle’s wrist and twists it back. Michelle is forced back on her knees. Hyde grabs her legs and pulls them out from under her. Carla grabs her other wrist and the two of them force her on her back. The beast pulls her ass to the edge of the table and then lifts her legs into the air spreading them apart. Carla climbs on to the table with Michelle. She stands above her facing Mr. Hyde. She steps over Michelle’s arms and then squats down on her putting a knee at either side of Michelle chest. Carla holds Michelle’s arms locked behind her knees. Michelle’s head is forced down into Carla’s crotch as Carla sits on her face. Hyde hands Michelle’s legs to Carla to hold. Carla holds them with her hands behind Michelle’s knees. Now with his hands free, Hyde takes his hard thick cock and puts the tip between Michelle’s parted lips. Michelle’s face is covered in pussy. She turns her head to breathe. As she does she feels her cunt fill with cock. It opens and Hyde presses meat into her like a barge. He keeps pushing and she keeps taking it. She moans and grunts as the walls of her vagina stretch. He starts to fuck her even though she still has several inches of cock to take.

Michelle gasps for air and bights her lip as he pushes in and out. She feels her lips tight around his thick cock. Her lips drag as he withdraws and stretch as he shoves back into her. Her cunt is very wet and receives more cock it has ever before. Michelle feels her breasts being groped. The beast now lays into her letting go of his prick. She can feel his stomach on hers. He is deep in her womb and she feels him touch her insides like no one has. He pokes deep and pulls out half his cock then plunges back in. Michelle can hardly breathe. She wines and spits on Carla’s mound. Carla presses down with her ass and pussy. Michelle opens her mouth and takes her pussy into it. She bights and chews on Carla’s clit. Carl’s juices start to flow into Michelle’s mouth. She tastes it on her tongue as her tongue delves into Carl’s soft pussy. Carla responds by grunting and wiggling her ass in Michelle’s face.

Hyde really starts to fuck Michelle with ferocity. He never gives her to much cock trying not to hurt her, but his pace begins to quicken. Michelle starts to come and come. She breathes through her nose and blows exhaust into Carla’s cunt. Her body shakes from head to toe as her pussy pulses and leaks like a squeezed lemon. Hyde too begins to come. Michelle feels his hot seed squirt into her. He pulls his cock from her hole as it shoots sticky goo across her stomach. Cream oozes out of her open gash. Hyde sprays his seed into it washing her stretched pussy with his hot semen.

Michelle can’t believe how horny she feels. She sucks at Carl’s cunt with abandon. Carla now comes in Michelle’s face. It gushes out of her pussy and slimes Michelle’s nose and mouth. Michelle gurgles up as much as she can licking and sucking between Carla’s legs.

Mr. Hyde holds his cock at Michelle’s pussy and bounces the end on her clit slapping it gently at first and then harder and harder. Michelle grunts and Carla releases her by sitting up off her face. Carla leans forward putting her face into Michelle’s belly. She slurps up the cum Hyde has deposited there. Michelle puts her hand in Carla fitting all four fingers in her cunt. Carla accepts them with ease. Michelle fucks her with her hand while Hyde keeps slapping his cock on Michelle’s sloppy slit. Soon he tires of this and decides it is time for Michelle to take it in the ass.

Hyde grabs the head of his cock firmly and pokes her tight hole. Michelle feels him at her back gate. Her eyes widen and she grits her teeth and pushes back at him with her tiny hole. Hyde watches his cock stretch her open. Michelle lets out a soft wine and tears fill her eyes and spilling over on her cheeks. She lifts her head as he pushes hard into her. Her hole makes way for the huge cock with little resistance and after the initial pain it softens and holds Hyde’s cock tight. Michelle’s pussy couldn’t be any hotter. Carla still holding Michelle’s legs and taking her hand in the twat begins to bark and howl. Michelle growls too and Hyde pumps her ass in short hard thrusts. He holds his cock still with one hand the other rubs Michelle’s hard clit. Michelle has several orgasms during this anal penetration. Carla does as well spilling cream down Michelle’s arm.

Hyde then quits after Michelle’s spasms subside. He removes his dick from her ass and helps Carla down from the table. The two hold Michelle down and tie her to the table. “You are still my prisoner!” He says. “What? Did you think that you could fuck your way out of here? You’ll have to fuck a great deal more then that before I’m through with you! Haahaaahaaa!”

Michelle grins at the thought of having more of Mr. Hyde’s long thick monster cock in her delicate hole!

“What is that thing,” Liz asked, sipping her cup of water.

“It’s called a Terra-Ecto Area Compiling Historian. We call it TEACH. TEACH here taps into the floor or the foundation of a building or the surrounding area and analyzes it. Then, it filters historical information from the building itself and checks the data against the ectohistory…”

“The what?”

“Ectohistory. How did you make it through basic? Anyway. The ectohistory is a listing of hauntings or manifestations at a given site. By doing all of this, TEACH can tell us who had the house built, who owned it, who lived here, who died here, everything.”

“And by using that, we can try to figure out what Bronson meant and who he and the girl are afraid of,” Liz finished for him.

“Exactly. Except that for some reason, TEACH isn’t getting anything. We may have to use the actual foundation of the house.”

Liz frowned. “Which is down in the basement, right?”

“Yeah. But I’m not going down there alone and you’re in no shape to go with me.”

“Mike, I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed at first. Now that I know what we’re dealing with, I’ll be okay.”

Mike snorted. “Liz, you were moaning and writhing inside the energy tent when that thing was out here. Outside the tent, you may not have a chance.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” She started loading up her gear, including holy water, her gun, and a reliquary to help her shut things out.

Mike grunted and stood, loading himself up with similar items, but also included a combat knife and his axe. “You ready, kid?”

Liz chambered a bullet and nodded. “Whenever you are, partner.”

Mike gave her a quick look but didn’t say anything. He leaned down and picked up TEACH, stowing it in a shoulder bag. They nodded to each other and Mike stepped out, shotgun held level. Liz stepped out behind him and winced, but nodded her head. Whatever was hitting her was powerful to get through her training and a reliquary. Granted, the Bureau didn’t have the kind of money to get the finger bone of Saint Francis of Assisi, but these were saint bones nonetheless.

Mike led the way to the kitchen and past the attacking broom cupboard. He heard Liz snicker from behind him, but he didn’t say anything. He found the back door of the house, which sat next to the basement door. Just for fun, he tried to open the back door. Nothing, just like he thought. He turned and faced the basement door, reaching into a vest pocket and attaching a flashlight to the end of the barrel of his shotgun. Liz grabbed hers and held it up under the barrel of her Beretta with her left hand.

Mike looked at her and then grabbed the handle to the basement door and opened it quickly. A fetid smell reached his nostrils, almost as if someone had been growing mold down there. He covered his nose and heard Liz gag. They looked at each other and nodded, Mike heading down the stairs.

When he was halfway down, a light flared on above his head, but luckily behind him so he wasn’t blinded. He looked up the stairs and Delaroca had flipped on the light switch, grinning at him from the top. He smirked and continued down the stairs.

Mike looked around slowly, seeing nothing apparent, so he knelt and drew out TEACH, which he slammed into the ground. The whole thing lit up and started processing. At the speed it was moving, there was a lot of history in this house. That wasn’t good.

“Liz, Bronson was right. We’re…” He stopped and looked around. She hadn’t come downstairs with him. He ran to the stairs and saw Liz lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. Even from here, he could see the flowing purple energy from earlier starting to engulf her form. Before he could rush the stairs, the light went out, leaving only the ambient light from the mass of roiling energy to show him that Liz was vanishing along with the evil laughing face of the woman.

He turned to grab his shotgun and TEACH, but found his way blocked by David Bronson, as well as a few other spirits. “Mr. Bronson, you have to help me. You were right. We’re in over our head.”

Mr. Bronson looked down at the floor, a sad look on his face. “I’m sorry, Mike. Truly, I am. But, when the Queen gives order, we have to follow them.

“The Queen? Who is she, Bronson? She has my partner!”

“I know, Mike. There’s nothing you can do for her now. Now, please. Come with us. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Mike started to argue, but one of the spirits touched his back and he felt some of his strength drain from him, not to mention the numbing cold from the touch.

“Mike, please! Just come with us! It’ll be better for you in the long run.”

“Screw you, you bastard!” Mike reached back and grabbed a vial of holy water but was hit again by the ghostly attack before he could throw it. More of his strength drained and he fell to his knees. “Why, Bronson? Why are you doing this?”

Bronson smiled sadly. “Because I have no choice, Mike. I’m following orders, just like you. I’m sorry.” He reached out and touched Mike in the chest and Mike shuddered, the touch chilling him to the bones. “I really am sorry, my boy.”

“S’okay,” Mike responded mumbling. “Forgive you.”

Bronson reached out and touched his head and Mike’s world went black.

—

Mike woke up, his head throbbing. He tried to sit up and the world spun, making him nauseous. He lay there, face up, trying not to vomit on himself. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked around.

He was in a workshop, probably one of the outbuildings. A single electric light hung from the ceiling. There was a plate of food, causing his stomach to rumble both in hunger and in nausea, though it passed soon enough. There was also a pitcher of water and a cup, along with an empty bucket. He smirked, assuming that he was to be the middleman between the two.

He stood up, wobbling slightly, and then moved to the workbench and took the plate of food and the pitcher of water and sat back down. He began eating, first a peanut butter sandwich, then moving on to a roll, some fruit and a chocolate chip cookie. As he took a drink of water from the pitcher, he realized someone was in the room with him. He put down the pitcher and looked at the door. It was actually two someone. David Bronson and Runt.

“What do you two want,” he asked, not even looking at them.

“Mike, I want to apologize for what I did back in the house.”

“Okay. Fine. You’re forgiven. Now go away.”

Runt walked up to him and touched his arm. “Oh, please, Mikey. Don’t be like that. He really is sorry.”

“Okay, fine. Can you two help me get out of here?”

“No, Mike we can’t. But we can give you this.”

Mike turned and looked at the older spirit and noticed that he was holding TEACH. Mike stood up and took it from him. “Thanks, Mr. Bronson.”

Bronson smiled in return. “My pleasure, Mike. Now, come on, Runt. We have to go before we’re missed.” He gave Mike that knowing wink and they both vanished.

Mike sat back down and wondered what that wink meant. He knew Bronson had meant something by it and his parting comment, but he couldn’t piece together what it was. He fired up TEACH and began reading the entry on the house.

The house was built in eighteen seventy-seven by one Sir Reginald Montgomery. He had been in the United States for two years at that point, having made his money in shipping. He commissioned the house for himself and his new bride, a Ms. Lucinda Cummings, the daughter of a local trader, a fairly well off family themselves.

Shortly after building began, a worker fell from the third story walk and was killed instantly. It was attributed to his lack of coordination and left as an accident. The outbuildings were added fairly soon thereafter.

Once the family was settled in their new house, Mrs. Montgomery decided that she wanted to take up gardening, so Mr. Montgomery had workers cut windows in the sides of one of the outbuildings. During the work, a tradesman had a block fall and break his leg, while later that day, another man almost had an arm taken off by a saw.

During his few years at the house, Mr. Montgomery complained of bad sleep and of dreaming of a beautiful woman named ‘Ilianna.’ She would come to him in his sleep and arouse him, sometimes to the point of climax. He tried to hide it from his wife, but couldn’t. They were trying to have a baby and when she couldn’t get pregnant due to what the dreams took out of him, there were rumors of infidelity.

Mr. Montgomery’s health, both mental and physical, declined. It was only after his back was stooped and his hair turning gray that his wife convinced him to move out of the house closer to the ocean, which would be better for his health. He agreed and she was apparently right. Within six months, his faculties as well as his physical strength returned and nine months after moving into the new house, Mrs. Montgomery gave birth to a wonderful daughter.

There were numerous entries between eighteen seventy-seven and today. Such as eighteen eighty-six. Two spinster sisters moved into the house with no occurrences of violence, as noted by their infrequent visitors. Until one day, when a ‘loud commotion’ was heard from their house. It consisted of screaming and smashing sounds from inside.

The police were called and had to break down the door, as all entrances into the house were locked. Police Sergeant William Kelly found the two sisters dead on the floor, hands at each other’s throats. His search of the house determined that there was ‘immense jealousy’ between the two.

Eighteen ninety-five. A man killed his wife after her complaints of jealousy over ‘Ilianna.’ Who that is never determined. The man is sentenced to death.

Eighteen ninety-seven. A woman who had taken up Mrs. Montgomery’s hobby of plants is found dead in the outbuilding, stabbed with a pair of pruning shears. Her husband is found guilty and sentenced to death.

Nineteen hundred. Two male friends attending university in the area are found dead in their rooms, each ‘drained of life’ according to Sergeant Kelly. ‘There’s something wrong with that house. It needs to be burned down,’ Sergeant Kelly’s report said.

Mike read through entry after entry, always of someone dying in the house. But there was a thread there that he just wasn’t getting. Men and women both died in horrible ways. He scrolled a little faster to find the entry on Mr. David Bronson. He noticed that there was a gap between nineteen forty-seven and nineteen sixty where no one owned the house.

David Bronson, the current owner, purchased the house in nineteen-sixty with his wife Lorraine. They had one child already, Daniel, and one on the way, which was Donald. They moved into the house despite warnings from ‘local weirdoes’ that the place was haunted and that it was dangerous.

Lorraine Bronson gave birth to Donald three months later in the house. There was nothing unusual that happened, not even when Lorraine announced to David a few months later that she was pregnant again. Then, the oddness began.

David began having dreams of someone named ‘Ilianna,’ who was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She would come to him, usually on nights of his and Lorraine’s love making and somehow arouse him during his sleep, sometimes causing nocturnal emissions, which he tried to hide from his wife.

David’s healthy started to slowly decline, only a little bit at a time. He had been slightly pudgy his whole life, but started losing his stomach, assuming that somehow he was burning more calories than usual. Only once his hair started to change color did he take notice that, at thirty-four, his health was declining.

A brief respite came when Lorraine gave birth to Denise, their only daughter. David regained some of his weight and he felt healthier than he had in a long time. Then, Ilianna came to him again.

This time, he rejected her outright, saying that his family was more important than any pleasure she could give him. She showed him her true nature and he lapsed into a coma that lasted until he died.

Mike looked up from the screen to see David Bronson leaning against the worktable. “David, I’m so sorry.”

“Mike, I appreciate that. I really do because I know you mean it. Unfortunately, there’s not much to be done about it.”

“What was she, David? Was she a ghost? A demon? A devil of some kind?”

Bronson chuckled. “You know I can’t tell you, Mike. What I can tell you is that you’re needed in the house.”

Mike stood. “Okay, let’s go.”

Bronson sighed unhappily. “No, not like this.”

Mike nodded. “Okay. Get it over with.” He stuck out his hand and the ghost took it, cold and weakness draining Mike again until he passed out.

—

Mike awoke in a similar state to the outbuilding, head foggy and stomach upset. He didn’t feel nauseous this time, maybe because he had had something to eat. He raised his head from his chest and went to move his arms to his head, but found he couldn’t move them.

He turned his head to the left and saw that he was manacled to the wall, probably of the basement. He looked to the right and saw the same thing. And he was naked, the cool air causing goose bumps. His arms were straight out to the sides, held in by his wrists.

“Oh, Mike. What are we going to do?”

Mike looked up and saw the naked back of Elizabeth Delaroca. He knew her back because he had seen it so many times. The were not lovers, per se, but even the Bureau had to admit when partners were so on edge all of the time, they sometimes took that energy and aggression out with each other. It was pretty much company policy now.

She was sitting on a small table, her long hair out of its ponytail and hanging down her back.

“Liz? Are you okay?” He slurred the words out, trying to wet his mouth.

“I’m okay, Mike. Are you?”

“Water. I need water.”

“I’m sure you do. Ghost touches are draining.” She stood up and grabbed a pitcher off of the table next to her and walked toward him, her jumpsuit bunched around her waist. She wore no shirt under it, the air making her brown nipples stand out from her smallish breasts. She held up the pitcher to his lips and he drank large gulps, stopping only to catch his breath.

“Roca, what’s going on here? Why am I chained up like this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Mike. The Queen wanted you this way, I guess.”

He rattled the manacles holding his wrists, trying to pull them from the wall, his muscles straining in his chest, shoulders and arms. After several seconds, he relented, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Mmmm,” Liz purred. “I do love those muscles. In fact, Mikey, I love all of you so much, I could just eat..you…up.”

Mike focused on Liz’s face, seeing a change with each word she said. Her eyes glowed red, her smile became full of pointed teeth and her ears started to point as well. She held up a hand to his broad chest and scraped it with almost razor sharp fingernails.

Mike hissed through clenched teeth and glared at her. “Succubus,” he said, finally figuring out the thread he had been missing. “Always taking the men and killing the women. The jealousy with the two sisters. Trying to sway married men away from their wives. The two college students.”

“Each of them,” she said, a smile on her face, “Gave themselves to me willingly.”

“Until David Bronson.”

“Yes. Until him. He decided that his family was more important, so I scared him. To death.”

“Tell me something, Ilianna. Why take Delaroca? Why not kill her and try to seduce me?”

She frowned slightly; her features part Delaroca’s and part devil. “That was more difficult, at least in your sense. You two aren’t married and have no emotional bond to each other, other than being partners. But she was a treat to find indeed. A sensitive? Here? Oh my, what a delectable find. She will surely be a pleasure to corrupt from the inside out.”

Mike gritted his teeth and pulled against the chains again, still to no avail.

“Oh, so maybe she does mean more to you than a partner. This will be even more fun than I thought.”

“Go to hell, bitch.”

“Been there, done that.”

Liz/Ilianna stepped back away from Mike and sat on the edge of the table facing him. She undid the rest of her jump suit, pushing it to the floor. She shook out her hair and moved her right hand slowly down the side of her face. Her eyes closed and she sighed, her own touch causing ecstasy.

Her hand moved down her next to her breasts, where she pinched her own nipple, causing it to harden even more, and then switching to the other. Her left hand soon joined her right, pinching and tugging on her nipples, making them hard as pencil erasers.

Soon her hands began moving again, down toward her belly. They sank over her hips and down between her legs and through her small patch of pubic hair. Her hands paused, parting her lips and letting Mike watch as she began slowly moving a single finger over her clit, pushing it around and around, rubbing it.

Try as he might, Mike couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He had been with Delaroca a dozen times, but somehow, this was more erotic than anything she had ever done with him. Involuntarily, his cock began to rise.

She opened her eyes and smiled as she watched him harden. She pushed two fingers into her folds and moaned, her head falling backwards. “You have no idea how good it is to have an actual body again, Mike. Over one hundred years without touching yourself? I thought I was going to go insane.” She laughed as he struggled again. “Don’t worry, Mikey. I won’t hurt your prescious Roca. Too much.”

She moved her fingers in and out of her wetness, driving them harder and harder, growling and groaning as her orgasm shook her entire body. She looked at Mike, her eyes still partially glazed over and smiled, licking her own juices from her fingers.

She pushed away from the table and walked toward him, her hand taking his shaft and moving up and down on it. Mike closed his eyes and began thinking about anything else. Football. Baseball. His grandmother naked. Nothing seemed to help. Her grip on him was too strong.

“That’s it, Mike, fight me. That makes it all the sweeter when you finally do give in.” She sank to her knees and looked up at him, fire dancing in her eyes. Mike couldn’t help but look down at her. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, the end of it forked and wrapping around his shaft as almost another hand. He recoiled and tried to pull away but had nowhere to go.

Liz/Ilianna laughed and used her tongue to pull him into her mouth, her lips closing over her teeth. She bobbed her head, sucking on the tip hard, causing him to groan, even though he didn’t want to. He tried to fight off the sensations, but she just laughed at him, sending wonderful vibrations through his cock.

Her head moved back and forth slowly, drawing out his pleasure. To his tortured mind, she did this for a week.

Without warning, she plunged down to the base of his penis, her fingers making an ‘ok’ sign around the base. She bobbed there slightly, her tongue sticking out to lick his testicles, moaning around his shaft. She moved only slightly now, knowing she was driving him crazy. She smiled up at him, his cock fully in her mouth and then she slowly pulled it out.

“You know, Mike, that since I am a succubus, it’s pretty stupid to try to fight this off. I mean, I am the best at what I do. Porn stars have nothing on me.”

“I don’t care, bitch. I’ll reject you just like David Bronson did.” His breath was coming in ragged gasps, trying to fight off his impended explosion.

She hissed at him and plunged again, this time letting her sharpened teeth drag along his sensitive skin. He cried out in pain and tried to pull away from her but he couldn’t, his bare ass pressed against the cold stone wall of the basement.

She moved back up, smiling again. Small furrows full of blood appeared on his shaft. She stuck out her tongue and licked them all clean, the forks of her tongue constantly brushing past the crown of his cock.

“Give me your seed, Mike. Give it to Delaroca.” She began bobbing furiously on the head of his penis, electricity flowing through his member. Her hand blurred up and down on his shaft. He held back as long as he possibly could but finally, when he could stand it no more, his gut exploded and his organ felt like that were pouring into his groin, he grunted and his entire body jerked, his legs coming up off the floor. His eyes clenched shut and he stopped breathing, pain tearing into his shoulders from supporting his weight. He ejaculated into her mouth, feeling like his entire being was flowing out with his semen.

Several large bursts flew into her mouth and she moaned around his head, taking in all of his warm cum. He slowed after the seventh or eighth burst and she let him loose from her mouth, swirling the jism around with her tongue. She swallowed it all in one big gulp and laughed as Mike began crying, his body still twitching from the strength of his orgasm.

Liz/Ilianna stood and lifted his chin with a finger. “What’s that, Mike? I can’t hear you over your moans of ecstasy.”

Mike took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m so sorry.”

She laughed again. “Don’t worry, Mikey. She enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Mike looked up, sweat dripping off his brow and tried to get to her, tears streaming down his face. Even after a momentous effort, he got nowhere and just sagged against the wall.

She walked back to the table, swinging her hips. “Don’t worry, Mike. I’ll give you time to recover before I take what I really want.”

“Screw you, bitch. I’m not giving you anything.”

She turned and looked at him, a wry smile on her face. “That’s what you said before, Mikey, and I still got what I wanted.” Her tongue snaked out of her mouth and licked the smallest drop of cum off of her lip. “Mmmm. You taste so good.”

Mike felt his rage growing again, but these chains held him fast. She looked at him and smiled. “All ready to go? No wonder she likes you, able to get it up that fast.”

Mike gritted his teeth, feeling his penis rising again against his will. Liz/Ilianna stepped up to him again and gave him another couple of strokes to get him fully hard. “Oh, do I have something special planned for you, Mikey. Something you’re going to love.”

“Doubtful. There’s nothing about you I could love. Give Liz back her body and we’ll leave.”

“Oh, no no no no, Mike. I’m enjoying this way too much.”

She stepped back and put her hands on the wall to his either side. She placed a foot on the wall and pushed herself up, climbing, her breasts swinging slightly in his face. She kept climbing until her groin was even with his stomach. She pushed her groin against him and slowly lowered herself onto his rod, sighing as she sank down.

Mike turned his head and saw in the back of the room the ghost of David Bronson. If anything, the spirit looked embarrassed to be there. Mike noticed that Bronson had brought Mike’s axe and was holding it, still ethereal. The other thing he noticed was that Ilianna didn’t seem to notice that Bronson was there. She was too busy riding him hard and fast.

In a flash, Mike understood the wink and the last comment Bronson made. Ilianna is powerful, but she’s not ALL-powerful. Mike just needed to keep her attention. He nodded slightly at Bronson and Bronson smiled back in return.

Mike began pumping his hips into her, his butt bouncing off of the hard stone wall. Liz/Ilianna opened her eyes and stared at him in surprise, but gasped when he tilted his pelvis and shoved the tip of his cock against her hot spot. “That’s it, Mikey. Give it to me,” she whispered in his ear. He silently prayed that this would work and tried to fuck her harder, trying to keep her from noticing Bronson.

Since he had been with Liz on several occasions, he knew her body and even though Ilianna had taken it over, it was still her body and he knew what she liked, so that’s what he did, trying to drive her over the edge.

She writhed against him, feeling the heat of his penis driving into her over and over, her body meeting his thrusts every time. She could feel her own fire growing, Liz inside her head screaming and trying to claw her way out, but at the same time giving into the feelings Mike was giving them both.

Mike shoved himself inside her to the hilt and held her there, flexing his muscles, rocking into her clit. She screamed and her orgasm hit and she clung to him, her body shaking. Mike saw Bronson fully materialize and start running forward with the axe. Before she could react, the axe arced down and shattered the chain holding Mike’s right hand.

Liz/Ilianna raised her head, her eyes glazed and looked to her left, but seeing nothing but Mike’s free hand. A similar cracking sound came from her right. She turned and saw Bronson smashing the chain there too. She started to scream at him, but Mike’s hand clamped over her throat.

She started to fight, but Mike had both hands on her at this point, both wrapped around her throat and squeezing. He looked her in the eyes; her face changed and quietly said, “Forgive me, Roca.” She looked at him, fangs reaching over her teeth, not knowing what he meant.

Mike stepped forward, the one hundred twenty five pound woman/demon in both hands and slammed her into and through the table in the room, wood flying everywhere. He only hoped she survived long enough to forgive him. Without waiting to see if she was okay, he ran for the stairs, Bronson right behind him.

Once he reached the kitchen, he opened the closet from earlier and laid the brooms and mops across the floor. He then raced to the living room and started preparing for the exorcism. He took about half a second to laugh, thinking that a very large naked man was going to perform and exorcism.

“Bronson, I need your help. Get everyone you can down her. I need help holding her off.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mike, but you better hurry. She’s coming.”

“I know. I can feel it too. Hurry!”

He heard a crash from the kitchen followed by an incoherent yell. His mop trick did the job. Liz/Ilianna stepped into the doorway of the living room, naked as they day she was born. Purple energy flowed around her, Ilianna calling upon her supernatural power.

Mike stood up, also naked, and began chanting the Vach-Viraj Incantation, the strongest spell he knew, splashing holy water around the room.

Ya na kadishtu nilgh’ri stell-bsna Nyogtha,

K’yarnak phlegethor l’ebumna syha’h n’ghft

Liz/Ilianna screamed at him, almost completely covering her words, a large gust of wind emanating from her mouth. Mike continued, even thought he temperature was rapidly decreasing. She took a step toward him, but was suddenly held back by a legion of specters, each projecting their force of will against her. She screamed again, louder this time.

Ya hai kadishtu ep r’luh-eeh nygotha eeh,

S’uhn-ngh athg li’hee orr’e syha’h

A sudden clap of thunder occurred and Liz, free of Ilianna collapsed to the floor. The spirits turned and looked at Mike, unsure of what to do.

“David! Is she gone?”

“From here, Mike, but you haven’t found the heart yet. You need to find it before you can destroy her.”

Mike sank to his knees and slammed his fist into the floor, completely forgetting the heart since he was worried about Liz. He looked up at Bronson. “Where is it?”

“It’s in the gardening outbuilding. It’s not really a heart, as you would call it, Mike.”

Mike set his jaw. “What would I call it, then?”

Bronson took a deep breath, one he didn’t need, and replied, “A planar canker. She’s from another dimension.”

Mike sat completely on the floor. “A canker. Jesus. First things first. I need to get Liz some help. Can I at least get outside?”

“I think so,” Bronson replied. “You just wouldn’t be able to leave the property.”

“Damn it. So going outside wouldn’t help. David, can you get Liz’s jumpsuit from the basement?”

Bronson didn’t even answer; he simply disappeared, reappearing in the same spot a few seconds later holding the jumpsuit.

Mike took it and got Liz dressed and then picked her up, starting to carry her outside.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Shouldn’t you…um…put something on too?”

Mike looked down and realized that he was naked too. He turned to Bronson for help, but the ghost had already gotten his clothes from the basement. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

“My pleasure, Mike, but you may want to hurry. I can feel her power growing again.”

Mike nodded and zipped up his jumpsuit and pulled on his boots without lacing them. He grabbed Delaroca and ran for the door, which opened for him. He got her out to the Jeep and laid her in the back seat. Once she was comfortable, he went to the back of the Jeep and opened the door, grabbing the last box out of the back. This one was marked ‘Good Stuff.’

He walked back inside and started throwing things together to take to the outbuilding. He grabbed timers and wire and a few other sundries. He looked for his shotgun, but realized it was gone, probably for good. He picked up his sledgehammer, the best backup he had left. Mike picked up the box and hefted the sledgehammer and looked around at the gathered mass of spirits.

“Hopefully, when this is done, you’ll all be able to go on to your final rest. Wish me luck.”

Sarah aka Runt stepped forward and threw her arms around Mike’s waist. “Good luck, Mikey,” she said, a tear in her immaterial eye.

“Thanks, Runt.”

With that, he headed for the back door, the closet exit to the outbuildings. He moved up to the door and pushed it open with the hammer. The smell of fertilizer and compost assaulted his nostrils. He stepped inside, realizing that it was bigger in there than it was outside. He staggered as the power of Ilianna assaulted him.

He began moving things around as his head cleared, looking for the canker. It had to be here. He threw bags of soil and fertilizer around, searching but not finding anything.

“Mike,” a weary voice said behind him. “It’s under the planter box.”

Mike spun. “Liz! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Jeep.”

She leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “I couldn’t let you do this alone, partner.”

Mike just shook his head and reached for the planter box. It was about four feet on a side, three feet high and full of dirt and plants, so this was going to be tough. He gripped both sides and heaved, barely getting the box off of the ground, but enough to see and feel the energy coming through the canker.

Mike knelt down and connected the wire and the remote receiver to the box marked ‘Good Stuff.’ He handed Liz the box and looked at her. “Liz, if I can lift the planter high enough, can you get this box under it?” She nodded and he went to work.

He dug his hands in under the side of the box and put everything into it he had. He got the box about a foot and a half off of the ground and held it there while Liz made her way over. That was when Ilianna manifested.

She was about six feet tall, beautiful, but with flaming red hair, bat wings, a tail and cloven feet. Typical succubus. She began screaming at them, her hair flying in an unnatural wind. Liz stumbled and fell, the box landing next to the planter. Mike reached a foot out and kicked the box underneath and dropped the planter on top.

He grabbed Liz and headed for the door, but Ilianna intercepted them.

Mike, without even missing a step, unleashed a hard right hand to the devil’s face, knocking her backwards. Before she could recover, he grabbed her by the hair and flung her across the outbuilding, a clump of her red mane ripping out and clinging to his fingers.

“A souvenir,” he said and slammed the door behind him as he ran for the Jeep. He put Liz on the ground and they ran hand in hand to the Jeep, where the timer was waiting. They ran around the Jeep to the far side and Mike grabbed the switch. Just before he threw it, he glanced at the house. There in the front window, made even more transparent from the coming dawn, were David Bronson and Sarah aka Runt. They waved at him and Bronson mouthed the words ‘Thank you.’

“You’re welcome, David. Thanks for all your help.”

Then he pushed the button.

—

Once bricks, plants and fertilizer stopped falling, they came out from behind the jeep to survey the damage. The outbuilding was completely gone, while the other stayed intact. Part of the house was damaged, mostly from flying bricks.

Mike stepped in through the front door and realized that their stuff was still in the living room, completely unharmed. He started picking up the gear, Liz standing in the doorway, trying to recompose herself after the ordeal.

He picked up his ectoscanner and set it for the widest possible beam and got absolutely nothing. All of the spirits from the house were released when the canker imploded and Ilianna couldn’t keep them here anymore. He looked around, saw nothing special and simply began packing up their gear.

He reclaimed most of their lost stuff and carried it all out to the Jeep, muttering that he was going to have to replace his shotgun. He helped Liz out to the Jeep and got her inside.

“Hey, Mike,” Liz said from her seat.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice showing how tired he was.

“Happy Halloween.”

Mike laughed as he drove away.