Sex and religion

Sex And Religion

Sex And Religion

By Word of Blake

Disclaimer:

This story contains several graphic scenes of sex and violence, if you are under 18, please stop reading.

Also, it contains several themes

about the relationship between sex and religion.

It is deeply philosophical,if you are just here for a good time, then don’t read this.

If you want a deeper spiritual experience that explores the more sublime aspects of sex, then this story is for you.

The story uses several English terms that are not very common;I apologize if my vocabulary was too verbose. this story was written over a period of several
months.

I wrote this story in order to recover from a severe emotional trauma that I endured,writing this story is part of my healing.

You can say that the story is my baby,my pet project.

Look,I’m not posting this to get reviews, if you don’t like it,don’t bother to comment.

Oh, if you are a lazy person and hate long posts, then don’t read.

The characters are all fictional but are based on real people who I know.

I’d like to dedicate this story to Raginghormones,coffeeBBW, banibabe2009 , Sizzling_momma,and darkie,plus others like fireonfinger and hunnybun,

 and all those other people who inspired me to write. I hope you all like it.

Man,I hope I didn’t forget anyone!

Thanks again to coffeeBBW/Raginghormones, for lending me some of her characters.

Chapter One

“My name is Legion, for we are many.”

~ Mark 5:9

 The Bible

“And I will prepare destroyers against thee, Every one with his weapons: and they shall cut down thy choice cedars, And cast them into the fire.”

Jeremiah 22:7 (599 B.C.E.)

Once… Once upon a time, not long ago,in a place far away from the islands of the Philippines where I live today,my story began…

Do you want to know how I rose to power?

Do you want to know how, I achieved greatness?

Then listen dear child, for I shall tell you.

Thus you may know,that an alternative path  to salvation lays beyond God’s grasp.

Using a woman’s vagina as an altar,her orgasm as my ritual of sacrifice,

I give praise to my true lord…

And it is through the act of sex,whereby my Lord has granted me power over you…

It all began one cold,damp, and lonely evening a few years back. A young Filipino-American boy of 18 lays

peacefully sleeping,and he shall be the vessel of my power!

It all started…

When…

___________________________________________________________________

Bien Wilder stared at the phone clock and sighed softly. It read 6:08, the numbers stubbornly unchanging. Three minutes had passed since he had last

checked it. Every minute seemed to take a separate eternity to pass.

Bien’s job at the Corner Shop, a general store in New Arville, New Hampshire, tended to be incredibly boring, especially on Tuesday nights, the slowest

of the week. Bien would have brought a book to read, but then Dimple would have yelled at him even more than usual, and Bien liked avoiding unpleasantness

whenever possible. It made him nervous and depressed.

Dimple detested Bien because Mr. Jansten, the store owner, always put Bien on register, which was her preferred task. Dimple liked to do nothing but stand

around and fiddle with her phone, text messaging her innumerable friends. On other days, she would just spend hours playing “Farm” on facebook, using the
store’s computer.  She also liked to flirt with the male customers, young and old; bending down

and flashing a hint of cleavage, wearing tops that cupped and confined her full breasts so that her nipples could be seen poking through the material;

turning and rummaging under the counter, causing her tight jeans or skirt to strain over her firm, rounded ass; laughing and tossing her red curls in a

way that she knew drove men crazy. In short, Dimple was a unrepentant tease.

The only person she never flirted with was Bien. This hardly seemed fair to him. After all, he wasn’t bad-looking. Indeed, at six-foot-three, with dark,

wavy hair, intense dark eyes, and a lean, wiry frame, he was fairly handsome. Not only that, he had always been polite to Dimple; observing all the niceties,

holding the door for her, listening when she wanted to talk, no matter how boring the topic, and never responding to any of her verbal jabs.

Dimple, however, made no bones about how much she despised him. She sent nothing but insults and abuse his way, every day. Dimple made Bien feel slow, stupid,

and confused. She made disparaging remarks about his strength, his intellect, and his personal hygiene. He would have told her that Mr. Jansten only put

him on register because he knew how much Bien disliked it, and wanted to make Bien’s life miserable, but Dimple never listened to anything he said.

The work might have been more tolerable if Bien had some other pleasant thing in his life to think about, but his life seemed to be one long, endless

march of nagging torment and people who hated him no matter what he did. Bien was an orphan, his parents having died when he was fifteen in a armed

robbery gone sour. He was taken in three years ago by the Mannels, a wealthy family who were distant relations of his in some way he had never quite understood.

Mr. Lauren Mannel had been a high-profile businessman, selling, buying, merging, and running companies for twenty years before retiring with a moderate

fortune to the colonial mansion he had caused to be rehabilitated in New Arville. He was still in high demand around the world for his business and financial

advice, and was forever flying off to exotic and important locations, or going to parties thrown by other important people.

Mrs. Blanche Mannel was a former model, and still retained in her later years all of the appeal and glamour of her glory days. In Bien’s opinion, she

was really rather unpalatable, but that was not the widely accepted view. Blanche was incredibly selfish and self-absorbed, caring about no-one except

for the immediate members of her family (Bien not included). The wonder was that her marriage with Lauren had held together for as long as it had, since

both of them sere constantly cheating of each other. But for some reason, though, there seemed to be a genuine bond of affection between the two. Birds

of a feather, Bien supposed.

The Mannels had three children, two girls and a boy. Elisha, seventeen, and Jessica, eighteen, were both still going through high school; Daniel, at twenty-one,

was a junior at UNH, majoring in Business. Daniel lived on campus, but still came home for weekends.

Daniel was a chip off the old block, very much a younger version of his father. Fair-haired, blue eyed, and handsome, Daniel was a viper; totally selfish,

completely untrustworthy, and possessed of an uncanny charm that had got him out of more than one tight spot. He changed girlfriends with the same casual

ease that other men changed clothes; leaving a trail of broken hearts and shattered women behind him.

Jessica was cast from much the same mould. She, however, had a steady boyfriend; Josh, the Captain of the basketball team, who was totally under her control

and administered to her every need and whim. Jessica was the most popular girl at her school, head of a clique which ruled the social scene. Though not

as smart as her older brother, Jessica was adept at destroying anyone who threatened her position of power. With lustrous brown hair, deep green eyes,

full, pouting lips, and a slender figure off-set by her huge, firm breasts (surgically enhanced, Bien was sure), Jessica was considered the beauty of

the family.

Elisha was golden-haired and blue eyed like her brother, but with a much more mellow personality than her older siblings. She obviously disliked Bien

just as much as the rest of the family, but unlike the others, who expressed their loathing through insults, slights, and put-down, Elisha was more graceful,

simply avoiding him whenever possible and speaking to him as little as she could. Full-figured, with a clear, open face, Bien considered her much the

prettier of the two sisters, not that his opinion held any stock.

Elisha hung out with her own group of friends, and spent most of the time she was home shut up in her room, probably reading. She was a trifle far-sighted,

and wore a pair of reading glasses that, in Bien’s opinion, made her look perfectly adorable.

Bien had finished high school not too long ago, graduating at the head of his class with honors. Mr. Mannel had refused to help send him to college,

not even to the point of co-signing a loan, and the scholarship Bien had been pursuing was taken by someone else. So he was taking the year off from

school, working off the several thousand dollar loan on his battered Ford Ranger pick-up to improve his credit rating.

The bell over the front door jangled sharply, announcing the arrival of a customer, and Bien looked up, a friendly smile on his face. Unlike the other

employees, he never had to fake smiles or politeness. Bien genuinely liked people, despite the prevailing tendency most of them had to treat him like

garbage. An ancient man was entering the store. His face was sunken with age and lined with worry, his skin was leathery and tanned, and his shoulder-length

hair was pure white. He was dressed in ratty jeans and a mangy black shirt, overlaid by a leather duster so worn it looked ready to fall apart at any moment.

“Good evening Sir,” Bien greeted him cheerfully.

The old man looked at him slowly, then grunted. “Might be, might be…” he murmured in a voice as worn as his coat.

Bien waited patiently as the old man shuffled slowly around the store, selecting his purchases with careful deliberation. He watched the customer out

of the corner of his eye, careful not to stare.

The man was obviously

Poor;that was simple logic. Bien had never seen him before, unusual in a town the size of New Arville, and was intrigued.

Who was this stranger?

At last the old man brought his items to the counter, and Bien rang them up quickly and efficiently. He was thinking of asking the man where he was from,

and where he was going, but was worried the question might be impertinent. “Comes to eleven forty-seven, sir,” he told the old man.

The old man put his hand shakily into the pocket of his coat, but drew it out empty a moment later. He frowned heavily. “Now where did I put that?” he grumbled

to himself in his gravelly voice. Slowly, the old man searching all his pockets while Bien looked on. Finally the old man looked up. “Young man, I apologize,”

he said stiffly. “I seem to have forgotten my wallet at home. I’ll just… put these back.” He sighed, and reached for his items.

Bien hesitated for a moment, reaching a decision that would change the course of his life. All the energy had seemed to drain from the old man in those

few sentences; as if it had taken an immense effort to come, and he might not be able to muster the strength to return.

“No problem,” Bien said at last, and reached into his pocket for his battered leather wallet. “I’ll cover it for you.” Taking out twelve dollars, he

closed out the sale, and in a mood of recklessness, threw the change in the charity jar on the counter.

The old man stared intently at him for a moment. “Uncommon decent of you, young man,” he said at last. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

“just by looking at you, you are obviously a very smart person;what are you doing in a place like this?”

Bien smiled, feeling pleased. “It’s nothing, sir. Perhaps you can repay me the next time you come.” He did not actually think the old man would come

again, but it gave the fellow a graceful out.

But the old man shook his head. “No, I won’t be back. But I have something with me, of no value to many, perhaps, but invaluable to a man such as yourself.”

Bien watched, intrigued, as the old man un-tied a cord around his waist. It had been holding a leather satchel hidden at the small of his back. The old

man held it out to Bien, who reached out and took it. The old man did not immediately release his grip, however.

“This is yours, and yours alone.” The old man’s voice was suddenly deep and fraught with latent power. He almost seemed to grow taller as the light in the

room dimmed, and his face was half-hidden in shadow.

For a moment, the old man in front of Bien seemed like a prince from legend… “Let none other take it. What was once mine is now yours.”

Bien nodded in return, too overwhelmed to speak, the words settling with an almost tangible weight upon his shoulders.

Then the old man looked away, and the strange intensity was gone. “You take care, son,” he said quietly, and turned to go.

“Have a good night,” Bien called tentatively after him.

Outside, the old man paused and looked back at the shop, a grim expression on his weather-beaten face. “Man’s going to be in for Hell… but I’ll do what

I can,” he muttered to himself.

Stretching out his left hand palm up, he flexed it, a glimmer of ruby light dancing across his fingertips. “Ba’al, Antiquus Unus,” he chanted steadily,

“Ego dico vobis, umquam vestri fidelis vernula. Pupillus pupilla is unus iam ex os nostri hostilis. Is per meus vox, is per meus mos. Sic est, quod umquam

ero.”

The light from his hand peaked in intensity for a moment before fading out altogether. The old man staggered and nearly fell. “All I have left,” he sighed,

gathering himself again. “Hope it’s enough. Luck to you, young one. May you fare better than I.”

A few minutes later, Dimple came out of the back of the shop with a tray of cans in her arms. Bien discreetly admired the view of her supple ass as she

bent over to place them on the floor. Dimple sighed as she stood back up.

“This place is fucking dead tonight,” she grumbled, beginning to place the cans on the shelf.

“There was a customer in a couple minutes ago,” Bien offered.

Dimple shot him a scornful glance. “If you’re going to lie, moron, here’s a quick tip; try not to make them so obvious! I can hear the bell from the back;

it never rang.”

Bien blinked rapidly. “You… didn’t hear the bell?” he asked in confusion.

Dimple huffed in exasperation. “No, I fucking didn’t! Now shut the fuck up and let me do my work, OK?”

Bien bit his lip. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and checked inside. The twelve dollars he had put in the register just minutes ago

were there as if they had never moved. And yet… the satchel the old man had given him was still there, resting under the counter.

“What the hell?” Bien muttered to himself.

“Quit mumbling!” Dimple snapped. “It seriously fucking annoys me!”

Bien sighed, putting the strange occurrence out of his mind for a moment as he slipped his wallet back and concentrated on placating his co-worker. “Do

you need any help stocking?”

Dimple whirled around, eyes blazing and hands on her hips. “Oh, yeah,” she snarled sarcastically. “I really want you to come over here, put two cans away,

and get me fired for doing my job. Fuck, nothing’s ever enough for you, is it? You not only want the best job in the place, you want everyone else’s too!

For your information, fuckhead, some of us don’t live in the lap of luxury and eat with silver fucking spoons every day. Some of us, and I’m sure this

comes as a great shock to you, need to work for a living. So keep your fucking ‘help’ to yourself.”

Bien held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t mean-”

Dimple cut him off. “Just shut the fuck up.” She turned back to her work.

Bien sighed. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Several hours later, Bien began closing up, being careful to stick to his own tasks and avoid Dimple’s. He was in the middle of printing the proceeds of

the day when Dimple came behind the counter and spotted the satchel. “Somebody forget their purse?” the redhead asked as she reached for it.

“Don’t touch that, it’s mine!” Bien said forcefully, a fear gripping him he could not explain.

Dimple snorted as she picked it up. “Fuck you. It’s not fucking yours, you fag. You’re a fucking neat freak, and this thing’s grimy. What, are you stealing

purses from little old women now? I think that might be a new low!”

Bien ground his teeth in frustration as Dimple opened the satchel and reached inside. After a moment, the flirt drew out a book, and let the empty satchel

fall to the ground. It was obviously heavy, from the way Dimple held it, and smelled old. The tome was bound with glossy black leather, and the pages were

rimmed in gold.

“Holy shit,” Dimple breathed, running her hand over the cover. “How much do you think this is worth?”

Furrowing her brow in concentration, the tease read the title, engraved in letters of gold. “Principatus Antiquus Diabolus. What the fuck does that mean?”

“The Dominion of the Old Devil,” Bien said softly. “Or… of the Ancient Spirit, depending…” Back when his parents were alive, they had gone to a great

deal of effort to teach him Latin and Greek. They had been great believers in the classical education.

“Sounds cheerful,” Dimple observed sarcastically, but a hint of uncertainty lurked in the back of her voice. “Let’s see what’s inside… that’s strange…”
the

redhead was tugging at the cover, but the book refused to open. “It’s like it’s fucking… glued shut or something!”

Bien frowned. “Here, let me try.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re Mr. Muscles?” Dimple scoffed. Nevertheless, she passed it over.

It felt light as a feather in Bien’s hands, and he wondered why Dimple had been handling it with such difficulty. The flirt was far from weak. Long days

of unloading and bringing stock to the front had toned her muscles over time, giving her lithe frame a surprising strength. Laying his hand on the cover,

Bien slowly opened the book.

The tome was obviously hand-written with a firm, flowing hand, the words inscribed in red ink. Bien felt a strange feeling come over him as he looked

at the parchment; a sort of awe and reverence combined with dread and excitement. The young man paused, savoring the moment, then began to read, muttering

the words aloud to himself as he did.

“Amplitudo deceptio Scelestus Unus, quod principatus vir, ratio per Ego Gregory Anshelm, accersitus haereticum per meus socius…”

Dimple swatted him on the shoulder, jerking Bien out of the half-trance he’d been in. “In English, you jerk! I wanna know what it means too!”

“Sure,” Bien returned a little hoarsely, never taking his eyes off the page. “I can do that…” he paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, then began

to read again.

“Of the Deception of the Accursed One, and the Dominion of Man, an account by I, Gregory Anshelm, called heretic by my brethren.”

In the beginning there were Many, and They reigned over All. They looked over the beasts of the earth and the birds of the air and the fishes of the deeps.

Most of all, they looked over mankind, the greatest of all their creations, granted free will and dominion over the earth.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dimple whispered breathlessly. The redhead felt a strange warmth grow in her stomach, pulsing gently. The store suddenly seemed too hot, her
clothing

too confining. Dimple bit her lower lip gently, shivering slightly at the strange new sensations.

“They were benevolent, and looked over their children lovingly, bearing each other good will and working in harmony towards the grand design. But there

was one among them who was different. His name, forever accursed, was Yahweh. Yahweh grew to despise men. They lived and died in the blink of his eye,

and were as insects to him; crawling, scuttling vermin that looked to him for advice and protection.”

“Oh, fuuckk. Fuck me.” There was a hint of strained desperation in Dimple’s voice now. Sweat shone on her forehead and trickled down her chest into her
cleavage.

The redhead shifted restlessly from foot to foot, the warmth in her belly spreading to her breasts and pussy, causing her nipples to harden almost painfully,

making her cunt dampen with desire.

“Yahweh also despised his fellows, jealous of their power and majesty, because it was not his own; and contemptuous of their love for mankind. He wanted

more of man, more of their love, more of their energy, more of their life. After all, he had created them, guided them. They owed their existence to his

mercy. It was time they understood this, and paid him his due.”

Yahweh knew the others, even his wife, would seek to oppose his plan, and destroy him in an instant if they knew his mind. So he did the unthinkable. Yahweh

murdered his wife, and stole her power for himself. In his newfound strength, Yahweh attacked the others one by one, swaying the weak-minded to his side

with threats and intimidation, corrupting what once was pure, and destroying all who opposed him.”

“Don’t fucking stop, Bien,” Dimple moaned in his ear, his breath hot on his skin. “It feels too fucking good. Don’t you dare fucking stop!” With one hand,

Dimple clung to Bien’s shoulder, while rubbing herself between the legs with the other. The young woman’s Shaved pussy felt on fire, and her fingers were
wet

from the growing damp spot on the crotch of her jeans.

Bien couldn’t have stopped if he wished. He was oblivious to his surroundings, to the young woman entering full rut beside him, to everything but the

words on the page before him, rising up from within and spilling out from his mouth to resound like thunder in the darkened room.

“They finally realized the threat the Accursed One posed, and marshaled their forces against him. Not all of them chose to fight the Accursed One, however.

Some used the majority of their power to cocoon themselves away from the fight; feeling that, in time, Yahweh would bring about his own demise with none

of their intervention, and that fighting him would only grant him strength. Many chose to stand and fight, however, and there was a great war in Their

Realm. Ba’al and Michael, great Lords of War, led the host. None could stand against them. Minion after minion of Yahweh fell to their blades. The forces

of virtue seemed poised to win the day.”

So was this the War of Heaven,The War of Wrath!

But they had been deceived. Yahweh had never intended to win the field of battle. Every one of those who went with him into the fray was a willing sacrifice,

and as they died, all their power, and the power of those they slew, was taken in by Yahweh; until the Accursed One, contained inconceivable power within

himself.”

“Ooohhhh, ffuuuucccckkkk!!!” Dimple moaned, grinding her dripping smooth and shaved  pussy onto her fingers with sharp, erratic movements of her hips. “Yes…
yes… oh FUCK YES!!!”

the redhead screamed as she came, convulsing, barely staying upright under the flashflood of ecstasy.

“Yahweh used his stolen power to overwhelm all those who stood against him. He could not destroy them, even with all his newfound strength; so he bound

as many of them as he could into his service, and threw the rest into a place of imprisonment he created for them. Yahweh called it the Abyss, and sealed

it forever to prevent them from escaping.”

Those bound suffer an eternity of torment, forced to obey Yahweh’s every whim. Many brave soldiers were bound thus, able to observe the world and their

actions, but not able to break their bonds and defy Yahweh; the greatest among them Michael, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. Think of them with respect, for

their struggle, and their pain, is unending.”

Dimple had lost all shreds of decency now. Unzipping and pushing down her jeans and panties, she plunged her fingers deep within herself while she rubbed

her clit viciously. “Ooohhhhh, oooohhhh, oohhhhh… oooohhh fffuuuucccckkkk, fffuuuccckkkiinngg ffuuuuccckkk!!!” Dimple gasped and screamed, her eyes rolling

back in her head, as she shuddered in unimaginable pleasure.

“Thus it is now,” Bien continued, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. “That the Great Ones of old cannot touch this world; and the Accursed

One, damned Yahweh, reigns supreme. But there is one flaw in the Accursed One’s plan, his grand scheme. Man still has ultimate dominion over the earth;

he cannot take that away without destroying the very basis of his power. Always, always, he must trick and cajole mankind into granting him the power to

reign. If ever denied his source of power, the blind devotion of untold numbers of worshipers, Yahweh would wither and die.”

Dimple ground her fingers into her cunt, groaning loudly and uncontrollably as she came again, her hips bucking wildly. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

She needed more, needed to be filled up, taken hard and fast. Dimple panted heavily, eyes fastened on Bien’s crotch, cheeks flushing and hands trembling

in lust.

“The flaw goes deeper yet,” Bien intoned, not registering as Dimple’s little hands touched his jeans as she knelt before him. “Mankind is the only creature

in the universe that can breach the walls of the Abyss to bring the Great Ones and Their followers back into the world.” Dimple unsnapped and unzipped his

pants, and pushed down his boxers, her small tongue darting out to wet her pink lips as she sighted her goal, Bien’s cock, already hardening for her.

“So now, my reader, it is time to swear the oath, and take the first step down the path of the magus, the man who is master of his own destiny. If your

mind be keen, your heart true, and your soul strong, speak these words.”

Bien groaned as Dimple’s soft lips closed about him. The wet heat of her mouth surrounded him, seduced him, and his eyes rolled back in bliss as the redhead’s

tongue danced on the head of his cock while her hand squeezed him just right, and her fiery curls caressed his thighs. It was only through a concentrated

effort of will that Bien forced his eyes and his mind back to the book in his hands; his face flushed and heart pounding as Dimple sucked and caressed

his steel-hard member.

“Ego, Bien Wilder, operor sudo in meus animus quod meus clementia, insquequo meus permaneo spiritus quod ultra, Ego mos obviam ire Yahweh quod suus secuutus

totus suum res, valde quod vegrandis. Ego sinus genu quod tribuo famulatus ad Antiquus Unus, diligo quod veneratio. Ego usus vox quod palma; ut mihi eram

tribuo principatus! Sic est eram, sic est, quod sic umquam vadum exsisto.”

(I, Bien Wilder, do swear on my soul and my humanity, until my last breath and beyond, I will oppose Yahweh and his minions in all their workings, great

and small. I bend knee and give allegiance to the Old Ones, in love and respect. I possess the power and the glory; to me was granted dominion! Thus it

was, thus it is, and thus it ever shall be.)

Bien groaned as waves of warmth and pleasure shot through him. Letting the book fall to the counter, he seized Dimple’s head in his hands, pounding into

her mouth twice before the shuddering rigidity of release came upon him, and he emptied himself in the redhead’s mouth. Grunting, Bien held Dimple powerfully

as his cock twitched and spurted, sending his seed down her throat. The redhead received his come eagerly, whimpering in ecstasy as she swallowed frantically,

reveling in his taste.

Un-noticed on the counter, the abandoned book glowed slightly with a deep, red light… or was it only the rear lights of some passing vehicle, reflected

strangely through the shop windows?

Bien fell back a step, his cock leaving Dimple’s mouth with a soft ‘pop’, gasping as he felt power surge furiously through him. Strength rippled in his

muscles, his vision cleared and sharpened, and weariness fell from him like melting snow from a rooftop.

“So good,” Dimple said huskily, licking her lips as she gazed hotly at him.

A wash of desire flooded through Bien at the wanton sight. Baring his teeth in a silent snarl, the young man seized Dimple under her armpits and yanked

the redhead to her feet. Throwing her back against the counter, Bien grabbed the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her soft red hair, and brought

his lips down on hers with almost bruising force, pressing his body insistently against her. Dimple met the kiss passionately, her tongue slipping out to

caress his.

Pulling back, Bien pushed Dimple’s top up and tore it off over her head, then ripped free her black bra, freeing her heavy breasts and exposing them to

his hungry gaze. Leaning down, Bien took one into his mouth, sucking hard, then gently biting the nipple. Dimple shuddered and groaned, the pleasure causing

her pussy to contract suddenly. “Please…” she gasped. “Please, Bien…”

Entranced by the smooth whiteness of Dimple’s flesh, Bien sank his teeth into the subtle curve of her neck, then laved the area over with long, rough strokes

of his tongue. Dimple threw her head back, wrapping her arms and legs around him; pushing her hips forward and rubbing her wet, slick heat against Bien

still-hard cock. “Fuck me, God, please fuck me, Bien,” she whimpered.

Reaching down, Bien positioned himself at her entrance, then plunged into the redhead with one swift push, gritting his teeth at the exquisite sensation

as a strangled cry of pleasure was jolted from Dimple’s lips. Slowly at first, he began to move inside her, making long, deep strokes; burying himself inside

her before slowly withdrawing.

Dimple was going insane with the pleasure, raining kisses over Bien’s face and chest as her nails dug into his back, urging him on. Her breath came in

quick gasps as the redhead whined and moaned deep in her throat at the sensations overwhelming her. The young man groaned as her inner muscles contracted

around him, and her hips began to rise to meet his thrusts, learning his rhythm and returning it with equal force.

“Fuck, yes, Bien,” Dimple groaned. “Just like that baby… just like that… oh, soooo goood, sooo fuckkking gooodd! Oohhh, ffuucckkk me, baby! Hard…
ohhh,

yessss… harder, baby, harder… right there… oh God I’m so wet… for you, baby, all for you, all yours… fuuckk me, oooohhh FUCK!!!”

Bien moved faster now, thrusting into her hard and deep, slamming into her with wet slapping sounds; holding Dimple to him with one hand while the other

fondled her heavy, luscious breasts, feeling the round fullness of them in his palm and teasing her stiff, hard nipples. The exquisite grip of her cunt

on his cock, his own harsh, rasping breaths, the silky brush and cling of her sweaty skin against his; all of it was melding, blurring, gathering together

into one grand, beautiful, reckless carnal exaltation.

“God, yes!” Dimple yelped as he slammed viciously into her. “Fuuuckkk, yes, baby, fuck me like that…” whining and arching her back to give him better
access,

“just like that… ooohhh, so hard, so gooooddd, God, fuuuuuuccckkkk! All yours, only yours, baby… fuuuuccckkk… your fuuuckkking whore, your fucking
little

whore, Bien, all yours, oooohhhhh shhiittt, oohh, ohhh, ooohh God, Bien, FUCK BIEN I’M COOMMMMIINNNG… I’M FUCKING COMING ON YOUR COCK!!! DON’T

STOP FUCKING ME!!! OH, FUUUCCKKK!!!”

Bien groaned as Dimple wailed and convulsed, her inner muscles milking his cock. Feeling his climax coming fast, he gripped the beautiful redhead’s hips

with bruising force as he thrust hard into her shuddering pussy once, twice, and again… before roaring out his pleasure as he came, burying his cock inside

her wetness and rocking his hips as his seed spurted inside her womb. Leaning down, he bit down on Dimple’s shoulder as he shot the last of his come deep

inside the redhead.

Bien and Dimple both stayed still for a minute afterwards, the only motion the heaving of their chests as they caught their breath, and the occasional

shuddering running through their bodies as their came down from the most incredible high of their lives. Eventually, though, Bien pulled back and out

of the redhead, staggering back and staring at her with confusion on his face.

“What just happened?” he whispered.

Dimple shook her head slightly as she came to her senses, and looked about her. All of a sudden, she became aware of her state of undress, and yelped, her

cheeks flushed bright red.

“Don’t look!” she yelled, trying to cover herself as she scrambled for her clothes, trying to cover herself at the same time.

Bien looked away and spied his own clothing, which he wasted no time in getting into; though he could not stop himself from glancing over at Dimple, partially

out of worry, but more out of a simple appreciation of her beauty.

When Dimple was fully dressed, Bien turned to her. “What happened?” he repeated himself. “Why did we just-”

“Shut up!” Dimple yelled at him, holding up a hand as she grabbed her purse. “Just shut up! I have no fucking idea what happened, and I don’t wanna think

about it, OK? I’m going now.” The flustered redhead ran to the door, looking close to tears.

“But-” Bien began, but stopped as the door slammed behind his co-worker. He frowned for a moment, then slowly turned and looked at the large book lying

innocently on the counter.

“What is going on?” Bien wondered, the confusion leaving his voice to be replaced with awe and fascination.

Chapter Two

Bien locked the shop’s door carefully, directing one last searching glance inside to make sure he’d turned off all the lights. In truth, though, the

young man was operating on little more than autopilot, his mind occupied in an intense review of the events of the past hour, trying to make some sense

of them.

Bien shook his head as he turned and began to walk home. One minute, he’d just been reading to Dimple from the book, and the next, his bitchy co-worker

had been all over him. And he had just… gone along with it as if it had been the most natural thing in the world, rather than a freak aberration of normality.

Bien had been sure, until tonight, that Dimple despised and loathed him, and would rather eat spiders (which she was deathly afraid of) than touch hi in

a sexual way. Now he wasn’t sure of anything. Had Dimple really been attracted to him all this time, and had suddenly just crumbled? That didn’t make any

sense.

‘My voice,’ Bien thought wryly, ‘must be so unbearably sexy she just had no choice but to jump me.’ He felt laughter well up inside himself at the thought,

but restrained it with an effort. If he started, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

That left Bien wondering if it had been the book that had done something to Dimple. But the young man dismissed that theory from his mind almost as soon

as he considered it. Books didn’t force people to do things, that was just plain ridiculous. He decided to chalk the encounter up to temporary insanity

on both his and Dimple’s part. Still, Bien resolved to examine the book closely when he got home. It was interesting enough from a theological viewpoint,

anyway, and he wanted to determine whether or not it was the real deal, or merely a clever fake. He was betting on the latter.

But the young man could not stop his mind from straying back to Dimple in all her unclothed glory… her full breasts, shaking with the force of his thrusts;

the soft, smooth skin of her ass under his hands. Bien had been a virgin before the event, and had always thought his first time would be slower, more

unsure… nothing like what had actually occurred.

Bien was so absorbed in his thoughts that he paid no attention to his surroundings, and thus started in shock when a heavy male voice called out, “Hey,

loser! Where ya going!” from directly ahead of him.

Bien stopped and looked up, cursing internally. He was, unfortunately, very familiar with the owner of that voice. Josh Harvey and his younger brother,

Tom, stood in front of him, blocking his path, their girlfriends a little ways behind them. Both youths had powerful, athletic frames, denoting their physical

prowess; smarts were not their forte. Both boys loved to torment Bien, who was not only a social outsider, but had always far outshone them in the academic

realm.

Melinda, Josh’s short, fair-haired girlfriend, looked at Bien just as contemptuously as the boys; but Akemi, a black-haired girl of Asian descent, looked

worried. “C’mon, Tom, just leave him, alright?”

“In a minute,” Tom replied easily.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Josh asked mockingly, stepping forward and snatching the satchel from Bien’s hands before he could react.

“That’s mine,” Bien gritted through clenched teeth. “Give it back.” Somehow, this felt infinitely worse than when Dimple had picked the book up; the young

man felt a gnawing pain flare and spike deep within him.

“Oooh… scary!” Tom jeered.

“Watcha gonna do about it, buddy?” Josh inquired dangerously.

Bien stepped forward and swung at him. Even as he did so, he knew it was a mistake. He couldn’t have taken either one of them even alone; both were fast,

strong, and trained in martial arts. But the reckless strength still coursing through him after his encounter with Dimple, combined with the visceral pain

of his property residing in his tormenter’s hands, conspired together to take the decision out of his control.

Sure enough, Josh blocked the blow effortlessly, then jabbed his other fist into Bien’s stomach, causing the young man to double over in pain. As he

bent over, Josh punched him in the face, sending him reeling back. Tom advanced rapidly, and the last thing Bien saw was a foot streaking towards his

head.

* * *

Bien woke sometime later to a pounding headache, sticky, semi-dried blood on his upper lip, and soft hands on his face. He gritted his teeth against

the pain and opened his eyes.

A blurry face swam into view above him, and slowly came into focus. A young woman was looking down at him, a concerned expression on her face. Bien recognized

her after a moment. Samantha, that was her name, daughter of the Reverend Flynn. He’d spoken with her a few times at Church functions.

Sam had always been friendly enough, if a little stiff, but was very reserved. She had a gorgeous face, with deep dark eyes and wavy masses of dark brown

hair, but was always clothed in shapeless dark dresses that obscured whatever figure lay beneath.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked worriedly.

Bien coughed, and struggled to his feet. If there was one thing he was deathly afraid of, it was pity. If people pitied you, you were weak, and weakness

attracted predators. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“I… slipped,” Bien lied unconvincingly. Oh shit. Where is the book? The idea of losing the book filled him with total panic, and the young man started

to shake before he realized Sam was holding the book in one hand.

Seeing him look at the book, Sam held it out to him. “Is this yours? I found it over-”

Bien snatched it out of her hands, feeling a wave of relief spread through him. “Sorry,” he apologized to Sam, seeing a hurt look on her face. “Yes,

it’s mine… I thought I’d lost it. Thank you.”

Sam nodded. “Your welcome. That’s a really… odd title. What’s the book about?”

Bien raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You know Latin?”

Sam shrugged, looking embarrassed. “A little. My father thinks it’s important.”

“Ah. I’m… not sure about the book yet. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Sam regarded him askance. “You’re not a… Satan worshiper or anything, right?”

Bien felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and nearly laughed; but he could see the girl was really concerned, so he answered seriously. “No, I’m not.”

Sam sighed, looking relieved. “Ok, good. So, will we see you in Church this Sunday?”

Bien grinned. “Who is this ‘we’ you speak of? Are you using the royal we? You’re certainly pretty enough to be a princess.”

Sam blushed and looked down. “No, silly. I mean my father and I.”

Bien nodded. The truth of the matter was, he dreaded going to Church. He disliked the Reverend Flynn, a dark-bearded, intense man prone to very long

and complicated prayers, and Sunday services bored him to tears. Still… “Anything for a pretty girl,” he told Sam, making a little bow. “Count on me being

there.”

The Reverend’s daughter blushed again. “O-ok. Have a good night, Bien.”

Bien smiled. “You too.” He waved to her, and started home once again.

Checking his watch as he entered the house, the young man shook his head. It was nearly midnight. I’ll just scrounge something to eat, and then to bed.

Walking towards the large kitchen, Bien noticed the light was already on. He entered cautiously, ready to leave if Mr. or Mrs. Mannel was there, but

the room seemed deserted. It was only when he was fully inside that a slight scraping noise drew his eyes downwards to the room’s occupant.

A young woman was trying to get something out of the back of one of the large cupboards in the corner, and had gone to far as to get down on her hands and

knees and partially crawl inside. This provided Bien with a mouth-watering view of her tight, rounded ass, covered only by delicate white panties, as

it wiggled temptingly in time to her efforts.

There is a God, and he does love me, thought Bien as he stared down, his mouth open in shock.

After a minute, the young woman withdrew herself from the cupboard empty-handed, muttering imprecations; Bien realized it was Elisha. Reaching up to

grasp the counter, Elisha pulled herself to her feet and turned around… and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Bien standing there.

“Good God!” she gasped, sagging back against the counter. “You scared me half to death, Bien!”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.” Actually, Bien was fairly certain that would’ve simply scared while she was inside the cupboard, causing her

to jump and bang her head, but that didn’t seem the politic thing to say. “Do you need some help?”

Bien let his gaze wander down over Elisha as he spoke, and felt a steady warmth rising within himself as he viewed her state of undress. Elisha was clothed

only in a small tank top and panties, both of white silk, and both exceedingly tight. The fine material molded itself perfectly over her small, firm breasts,

and her nipples were clearly visible. Bien had to force himself not to lick his lips.

“Sure, that’d be great…” Elisha let the sentence trail off as she got a closer look at him, his clothes all rumpled and dirty with blood on his face.
“What

happened to you?”

Bien shrugged. “I had a minor disagreement with several budding moral philosophers. They maintained that possession was nine-tenths of the law, but I

doubted the validity of their conclusion.” He scratched a bit of blood off his lip reflectively. “I think they won that debate. Anyway, what were you looking

for?”

“I know my last box of chocolate covered cherries are in there somewhere, but I can’t find them.” Elisha wrinkled her nose and pouted at the cupboard.

“No problem.” Bien kneeled down and surveyed the interior of the cupboard critically. For some reason, even with the bulk of his body blocking the kitchen

lights from illuminating the cupboard, the young man was able to see the inside easily. He soon located the package, and brought it out. “Here you go.”

“Thanks!” Elisha rewarded him with a brilliant smile, then stepped forward and hugged him impulsively. Bien nearly choked, but even as his body began

to react to the slender feminine form pressed up against him, Elisha pulled away, dropping a light kiss on his cheek. “See ya!”

Elisha had a mischievous smile on her face as she slipped out of the room. Bien stared after her in shock, then finally shook his head. Today has been

really weird. I just need to sleep. Tomorrow, everything will be normal, and everyone will hate or ignore me again.

* * *

Elisha went quickly upstairs to her room, and managed to get in and close the door behind her before squealing in excitement. Charsi, her best friend, looked

up from the book she had been reading. “What?”

Elisha grinned. “Guess who I just ran into?”

Charsi smirked. There was only one person who’d have such an effect on her normally calm friend. “Bien?”

Elisha nodded, and flung herself down on the bed. “And he was totally checking me out.”

“Well, he’d have to be dead not to, considering what you’re wearing,” her dark-haired friend commented.

Elisha bounced upright, smiling infectiously. “Then I guess I just established he’s not dead.”

Charsi chuckled. “So what’d you do?”

“Oh, he helped me with something, so I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.”

Charsi blinked disbelievingly. “That’s it? No accidentally revealing poses? No flirtatious comments? No sly innuendo? C’mon, Elisha! You’ve got to better

if you want to get his attention!”

Elisha frowned, suddenly dejected again. “Yeah, ok, I hear you. But, Char, I get so nervous! I get all… tingly, and don’t know what to say. Besides, I
know

how he hates the rest of the family. He probably feels the same way about me.”

Charsi sighed. “Then show him that you aren’t like them! To do that, you need to talk to him, ok? Just say anything to get things started, and then it won’t

be so hard. And when you do get around to propositioning him… please be direct. Guys can be incredibly dense about this sort of thing, and need to be
hit

upside the head with a metaphorical two-by-four before they realize what they want.”

Elisha blushed crimson. “Yeah…” she mumbled. “But… I’m a virgin, and he probably has loads of way more experienced girls going after him. How can I
compete?”

“If he’s really as decent as you say, he’ll want a nice girl like you, and not some slut. Besides, being a girl’s first can be really attractive for a guy.”

Elisha threw her friend a grateful look. “Thanks, Char. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Charsi grinned. “Frankly, neither do I. But hey, what are friends for? But really, you’ve got to introduce me to Bien sometime. You’re talking about

him all the time, and I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I’ll try. He doesn’t hang around the house much, though, for obvious reasons. But next time there an opportunity, at a decent hour-” here Elisha shot a

quelling look at her friend, who was getting to her feet and heading towards the door, “I’ll make sure you meet him. For now, let’s finish the movie, ok?”

Charsi sighed and sank back into her cushioned chair. “Oh, all right. Spoilsport.”

* * *

Kathy felt peace wash through her as she knelt. Looking on her Savior, gazing down on her with caring eyes even through the agony of his crucifixion,

granted her solace and reaffirmed her faith. She was so weak, so uncertain much of time… so unworthy of the blessings given her. The young woman closed

her red eyes and bent her head in prayer, her snow-white hair falling before her eyes.

Block quote start

Ex profundus Ego vox vobis, Senior

Senior, audite meus vox vocis

Permissum vestri ears exsisto officiosus

Ut meus clamor pro misericordia

Si vos, Senior, no libri offensus

Senior, quisnam mos sto?

Tamen vobis illic est venia

Proinde vos es vereor

Ego exspecto Senior, meus animus exspecto

Quod suus vox Ego loco meus spes

Meus animus exspecto pro Senior

Praeter custodis exspecto oriens

Praeter custodis exspecto oriens

Israel, loco vestri spes Senior

Pro per Senior est eternus diligo

Quod per Senior est plenus redemptio

Is sui mos redemptor Israel

Ex totus suum offensus

(Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord

O Lord, hear my voice

Let your ears be attentive

To my cry for mercy

If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins

O Lord, who could stand?

But with you there is forgiveness

Therefore you are feared

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits

And in his word I put my hope

My soul waits for the Lord

More than the watchmen wait for the morning

More than the watchmen wait for the morning

O Israel, put your hope in the Lord

For with the Lord is unfailing love

And with him is full redemption

He himself will redeem Israel

From all their sins)

Block quote end

“Kathy.”

Kathy sighed and opened her eyes, not looking towards the speaker. She knew her comrade was standing in the aisle behind her, his tall, spare frame

ram-rod straight. She could see his close-cropped, fair hair; feel the weight of his grey eyes on her back; smell the perspiration he always worked up

after a bout of spell crafting. Just another blessing bestowed upon her for being the Vessel of Amariel… or curse, depending on your point of view. Kathy

never could decide.

Durrant was a rarity; a magician in service to God, wielding white magic in service to the Most High. He had been put in a Seminary by his family, though

that had never been his wish. There, he had fallen in with a bad lot, and began to dabble in magic. Durrant and his friends were discovered before they

did any real harm, and severely chastised for their sins. The priests realized that Durrant would never be able to stop using magic, though, so after much

soul-searching, they eventually sent him away to learn magic from an experienced white magician. Durrant had excelled in his lessons, and on his graduation,

was given the honor of being assigned to a Hand of God to aid in the grand design.

“Is it time?” the young albino asked quietly.

“It is time,” Durrant confirmed.

Kathy rose smoothly, her leather creaking just slightly at the motion. The young was dressed in all in black; her duster, pants, and thigh-high boots

all of leather, and a simple, tight cotton tee-shirt covering her chest. Kathy liked how the darkness contrasted with the snow-white of her skin. It

made her stand out; marked her as different, exotic. And she was different; Kathy was a Hand of God.

“You know where he is?” Kathy asked, pivoting smoothly on her heel and stalking towards Durrant, one hand idly caressing the silver hilt of the sword

that hung at her side. She was referring to Martel, a dark sorcerer they had been pursuing for some time. They did not know much about him, but the young

woman burned to bring him to justice. Martel had murdered the first Hand of God who came against him, a man who was the Vessel to Tarumael.

Durrant nodded, and fell in beside his comrade as she left the small chapel. “I found him at last. A motel on the other side of town. I’ll drive.”

Kathy nodded. It was critical to maintain her shallow trance state, meaning she could not afford to split her attention. She had heard of Vessels who

Embraced their Lords without the proper frame of mind out of desperate necessity; and while it was not usually fatal to the Vessel, Kathy had no desire

to live out the rest of her life as a vegetable.

They made the drive in silence. Durrant only broke it to announce their arrival as he turned into the seedy motel’s parking lot. The place looked like it

was slowly falling down, and the lot was a mess of ruptured pavement and wind-blown trash. Kathy exited the car swiftly with Durrant following. This

close, she did not need to ask Durrant the sorcerer’s location; she could feel his corruption with her mind, like a black stain in the fabric of the world.

Kathy paused at the door to draw her to draw her blade; then shuddered ecstasy, biting her lip until the blood flowed as the Embrace took her. Amariel

flooded into her mind and soul like a flashflood, washing all that she was into the back of her mind as He possessed her. The young woman knew that her

eyes were now golden, her lip had healed over, and her skin shed light as if it could barely contain the glorious being now confined in her body. Kathy’s

awareness rose to a fever pitch, every sensation magnified ten-fold. But He sorted through the clamor effortlessly, homing in on the one sound that mattered;

the slow, drumming heartbeat of their quarry in the room beyond.

Amariel smiled ferally in anticipation. Touching the door lightly, He infused it with a small part of His celestial power, and watched in satisfaction as

the door groaned loudly before bursting open with a sharp crack.

Amariel entered the darkened room boldly, casting about with his luminous eyes for his prey. To His surprise, Martel, a very old man in a battered leather

jacket, was seated simply in a chair by the bed, gazing back at Him calmly. The sorcerer made no move to rise or defend himself.

Kathy instinctively tightened her muscles, aware of the extreme deadliness of the man seated before her, but then Amariel reasserted his control, and

gently relaxed her, sending a reassuring pulse of love deep in to the heart of her being. The young woman lost herself in the haze of pleasure, and almost

missed Martel’s opening words.

“You’re late,” the old man said evenly. “I lost the strength to properly mask myself hours ago. That’s a backwards dog you have clinging to your heels.”

Martel nodded to Durrant, who was now standing in the doorway.

Anger flashed in Durrant’s eyes, and he opened his mouth; to cast a spell, no doubt; but Amariel quelled him with a single glance. Turning back to the old

sorcerer, He smiled. “We’ve run you to the ground at last, Old One. Try what you like, but your dark powers will not avail you. I am an instrument of the

Lord God, and in His name, I will triumph. In the end, I will sending you screaming to Gehenna, where you will be burned like the trash you are. Do your

worst.”

To their astonishment, Martel let out a wheezing chuckle. “My powers?” the old man managed at last. “You pompous fool! My powers are gone. You see my face,

my skin? I was a young man, not so long ago. But defeating Tarumael broke me. I have naught left. But at least that butcher will harm no more innocents.”

Amariel nodded slowly. “Turn over the Tome, then, and prepare yourself for Oblivion.” He hefted his sword eagerly.

But Martel laughed again. “Oh, no. Where did you ever get the idea it would be that easy? The Tome is gone, I have passed it on.”

Amariel bared his teeth in anger. “To who!”

Martel smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know. All you need to know is this; he will be greater than I. He will rise where I have fallen, and he will be your

doom.”

Amariel snarled and stepped forward, sword upraised. The old man held up a hand. “Wait. I wish to know who is killing me. What is your name?”

“Amariel, the Morning Flower, a seraph in service to the Lord God,” He replied proudly, and drew His sword back for the death-stroke.

“No,” Martel said quietly, looking into His eyes with a strange intensity. “I mean you, girl. What is your name?”

A silent war raged within Him for a moment. Kathy wished to reply, prompted by a strange feeling of respect for the old man’s last wish, and Amariel

struggled to keep control of her vocal chords. For an instant, Kathy managed to prevail, and whisper, “Kathy,” before falling once again into the

back of her mind, cringing as Amariel punished her for her transgression.

“Ah,” Martel said in a sad voice, as the sword swept down on him. “May you fly free one day, Kathy-” The blade bit into his throat then, blood splashed
forth

in a crimson shower, and the old man was silent forever.

Amariel licked the blood off his lips, feeling the excitement of the kill thrum through him, causing the blood to sing in his veins. “Old bastard talked

too much,” He muttered to himself.

“Come,” He said to Durrant, who was staring at the corpse with satisfaction in his eyes. “We have much to do. We must find whoever received the Tome from

Martel, and end them before they can grow strong.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Durrant replied hoarsely, tearing his eyes away from the body to look at Him. Amariel had to hold back laughter; the lust in the magician’s

eyes was plain to see, as was his manhood straining against the fabric confining it. The kill always excited him.

Amariel brushed by Durrant on the way out, reaching down and briefly squeezing his erect cock as He passed, causing the magician to groan. “Find this new

one quickly enough, mortal, and I’ll give you a taste of this.” He ran his hands down over the girl’s firm breasts and down between her legs. “I’ll show

you pleasures you can’t even imagine.”

Amariel did laugh then, amused by the magician’s slack-jawed, glassy-eyed expression. Within, Kathy tried to retreat further back, shutting the world

off completely. She hated not being in control of her body, hated what He was doing to her, offering her to Durrant like a piece of meat. But the young

woman also knew that Amariel did the will of God, and His actions were above question. It was all a necessary evil, a test of faith, Kathy assured

herself… and wondered why that seemed such cold comfort.

Chapter Three

On a typical night, Bien dreamed of many things; fights (in which he lost as often as won, a depressing nod to reality which Bien really felt he could’ve

done without), escapes, flying, and women possessed of great beauty, few articles of clothing, and fewer inhibitions. But tonight, he dreamed of something

else. Bien dreamed of the Hall.

The Hall was long, and illuminated with flickering light from torches set in brackets at regular intervals along the walls. The beams and the arched ceiling

were fashioned of some dark wood that seemed almost to drink in the light, and paneling of the same substance covered the walls. Occasionally, dark archways

loomed to either side of him, gaping open like hungry mouths, but the young man felt no desire to venture into them.

Bien knew he was looking for something, but he could not remember what. He had an inner certainty that he would know it when he saw it though, and gazed

ahead, straining his eyes through the gloom to see what lay before him. It was because of this intense focus that Bien did not immediately notice the

monk walking alongside of him.

When the young man did finally notice his silent walking partner, he was not startled. In the dream, it seemed perfectly normal for the tall holy man to

be beside him, the torchlight glinting off his shaven scalp. The monk’s long brown robe whispered softly as it accommodated its owners long strides.

“It is good to see you at last,” the monk said finally, his voice echoing strangely in the hall. “Your coming was promised me, yet it had been long and

long.”

“I was delayed on the road, Gregory,” Bien responded. “The darkness comes early, fraught with malice and hunger. Many of the Faithful have been lost

to its grasp.”

Gregory nodded. “Events move apace. Have you found what you seek?”

“It yet eludes me,” Bien admitted, a mixture of shame, fear, and frustration in his voice.

“You will in time,” Gregory said calmly. “But beware the darkness. It comes even now.”

Bien glanced back over his shoulder, and felt a shock of fear course through his veins. The Hall was falling away behind him, swallowed by an encroaching

nothingness. The young man’s vision blurred and wavered as he looked upon it, as if the void were attempting to follow the invisible line of his gaze and

devour the spark that animated his sight.

Bien looked forward again and increased his pace, fighting off panic with iron control, smoothly setting one foot in front of the other in a steady cadence.

This was an old fight, he knew, an old race; though the danger was no less real, he was at least familiar with his own capabilities. He’d faced the dark

before, and survived.

Without looking behind, he knew the void was gaining, as it must, triumphing over merely mortal stamina. Gregory glided alongside him, silent support, as

Bien fought to keep going, forcing his leaden limbs into an even greater burst of speed. But even as he began to gasp for breath, and his pace began

to slow despite his best efforts, the young man saw his goal come into sight.

The Hall ended in the Great Door, heavy and ornate, every inch of the wood intricately carved with loving detail. A multitude of half-glimpsed forms and

countenances cavorted and peered from the woodwork. Half-human, half-beast, the faces ran the gamut of expression. Fanged mouths snarled, sneered, smiled,

smirked, and screamed at him, whilst others gibbered, howled, or moaned. Slanted eyes glared with fury, blinked in confusion, shone with love, glinted

with suspicion, burned with madness. Pointed ears, hooked noses, curved horns, and barbed tails intermingled throughout; the whole seething with barely

seen movement, apparent only out of the corner of the eye.

Bien skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. The door handle beckoned, called to him, the black iron clearly visible against the wood; two scaled… or perhaps

furred? Hands reaching from the surface of the door to clasp together, forming and arch. Power waited beyond the doorway, pulsing eagerly, waiting for

him. Bien hesitated, then reached out…

…And staggered, gasping, as the darkness seized him from behind and strove to draw him back. Intense cold bit and tore at his flesh, and unseen talons
tightened

their cruel hold on his flesh as they began an inexorable pull backwards. The young man tightened his grip on the handle, fighting with all his strength.

A siren call was sounding, just beyond the edge of hearing, calling him onward. The shifting movements of the bodies in the door intensified, and small

hands reached out to him in aid, catching hold and trying to save him from the void, their indistinct faces whispering silent encouragements.

It was not enough. Bien felt his grip slipping, the strength leaving his body. A steady numbness was spreading through him from his back, seeking his

heart. A tears gathered in his eyes and froze before they could run down his cheeks, coating his eyes in a frosty rime.

“Bien,” Gregory thundered, his eyes blazing. “Blood of my blood! Fight! You must open the door!”

With a snarl of supreme effort, Bien dug his heels in, braced himself with one hand, and pulled with everything he had, pulled until every muscle in

his body cracked with the strain and veins on his forehead stood out, pulled until his ears rang and blood trickled from his nose.

And the Door opened.

Bien woke with a convulsive start, gasping for breath. His sheets were soaked with sweat. The glowing blue numbers on his alarm clock showed 7:01. The

young man let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh.

The vivid dream lingered in his mind, refusing to fade. Gregory Bien mused. The one who wrote the book… why would I dream of him? And why did he call

me ‘blood of my blood’?

After a few more minutes Bien sat up and switched on the lights, sighing. Sleep eluded him, the powerful images of his vision haunting the space behind

his eyelids. Turning on his radio, the young man slipped a CD in and started it playing softly. Bien closed his eyes for a moment in silent pleasure

as the quiet music washed over him soothingly.

Today was not a work day, so Bien was unhurried as he went about his morning routine, dressing and fixing himself breakfast; most importantly, a large

cup of coffee. Unlike many, Bien never drank coffee to jump-start himself or keep awake. He only had one cup a day, always in the morning, and only

if he had enough time to properly enjoy it. Even when he had been too young to drink it, Bien had loved the smell. Now it was one of the few undiluted

pleasures in his life.

As Bien brewed the coffee, he heard footsteps descending the staircase, and a minute later Elisha entered the kitchen, closely followed by an attractive,

slightly shorter dark-haired girl. Both wore silk dressing gowns; white and black, respectively. They were cloudy-eyed and flushed with sleep, lending

them an adorable, unguarded air of vulnerability. The young man felt his skin tingle with their proximity as they seated themselves on stools at the kitchen

island.

“Good morning,” Bien greeted them cordially.

“Mornin’,” Elisha mumbled. “This is Charsi. Charsi, Bien.”

“Pleased t’meetcha,” Charsi slurred.

“Likewise,” Bien returned gravely. “Coffee?”

Receiving two nods, he busied himself with making the aromatic drinks. Placing a steaming mug in front of each girl, he took his own and prepared to leave.

“Hey!” Charsi objected, glaring at him. “Where ya going! Sit down!” She waved her mug at a seat on the other side of the island.

Bien hesitated a moment, surprised, then sank down onto the stool. He took a bracing sip from his mug, arching an eyebrow at Elisha over the rim.

The teenager blushed. “Charsi wakes up a little testy,” she excused her friend.

“Blunt, perhaps,” Charsi corrected, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with a graceful, absent-minded toss of her head. “But I’m always like that.

It’s one of my many endearing qualities,” she explained to Bien.

“Really,” Bien replied amusedly.

“Oh yes,” Charsi assured him confidently. “You’ll see.”

“So,” Elisha put in brightly. “How did you sleep?”

Bien winced involuntarily as he remember the Hall, the Door, and the Darkness. “Not too well,” he answered honestly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charsi said smoothly when Elisha seemed at a loss as to how to respond. “Bad dreams?”

Bien nodded warily, hoping the dark-haired girl would not pry further. He did not wish to talk about his vision.

Charsi smiled sympathetically at him. “Too bad. Better luck next night, hmm? I had a good dream last night.”

“Oh really? What was it?” Bien inquired.

“Well, I can control what I dream about, if I want to. I dreamed I was in Bora Bora, lying on the beach sunbathing, totally naked with the sun beating down

on me, and the only sound the waves lapping against the beach. It was nice.”

Bien swallowed, trying to dispel the image of a disclothed Charsi from his mind. “Sounds… pleasant. What did you dream about, Elisha?”

Elisha turned a little pink. “Don’t remember,” she muttered.

Bien chatted with them a few more minutes, though mostly with Charsi. Elisha, while much more open than any other time she’d been around him, was still

much the quieter of the two, and prone to giving evasive answers that would have ended the conversation if her friend had not covered for her.

Bien learned that Charsi was staying at the Mannel’s while her father was away on a business trip. “So you’ll be seeing a lot of me for the next week,”

Charsi said to him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Thus, it would behoove you to stay in my good graces.” The young man would have thought Charsi was flirting

with him, but that made no sense. He decided she was just very friendly.

Eventually, Bien made his excuses and left. He walked into town slowly, enjoying the journey. It was one of those perfect mornings; blue sky, singing

birds, and a shy little breeze that kept the air moving pleasantly. The young man’s gaze lingered the most on the lush, verdant green on the trees and

grass. He had once read that seeing the color green as it occurred naturally in plants had a calming a restorative effect on the eyes and mind; and had

taken the idea to heart.

In due time, Bien arrived at the Lord’s Rest, quite the best restaurant New Arville boasted. Bien’s best friend, Robert, was the son of the owner.

The business had been in the family for generations, all the way back to Lord Remington, an English noble who had come to America to fight in the Revolutionary

War.

Rob was leaning up against the wall of the restaurant, absently chewing gum and frowning. He was of average height, with dark hair and alert green eyes.

Only a year younger than Bien, Rob was thin and very pale. He’d been in and out of hospitals all his life, a victim of a weak immune system and a poor

constitution; a sharp contrast to Bien, who had set foot in a hospital perhaps twice in his life – and that only to visit others – and had never been

sick with anything more than a mild cold his entire life.

They exchanged greetings, and Bien studied his friend critically. Rob seemed troubled and distracted. “So what’s going on?” Bien asked quietly.

Rob exhaled noisily. “Ahh… same old, same old, man. Elizabeth was in last night with Andrew. I was waiting their table.” He looked down and sighed. “It’s

tough, you know?”

Bien nodded sympathetically. Elizabeth was Rob’s longtime crush, a beautiful brunette with a smile that could put the sun to shame. Rob had never confessed

his feelings to her, afraid that his looks and position at the bottom of the school hierarchy would result in rejection. Several months ago, Elizabeth

had begun going out with Andrew, a self-proclaimed genius who had already been accepted into Harvard. Combined with an uncanny resemblance to Tom Cruise,

Rob despaired of ever attracting Elizabeth’s attention. To make matters worse, Andrew lived on Rob’s street, and had always bullied and harassed Rob.

Bien had advised his friend before that coming clean with Elizabeth would be the wisest course of action. He had often observed the two together (Elizabeth

loved the Lord’s Rest and was a regular there), and thought that the girl had displayed definite signs of interest. But Rob had never summoned up the courage

to follow his friend’s advise.

Rob sighed. “Hey, want to see something?”

“Sure.”

Rob picked up the leather art case that was never far from his side and unzipped it, removing a sheet of paper and handing it to Bien. The young artist

smiled in pride as his friend’s eyes widened in shock. “This is incredible, Rob,” Bien breather reverently.

He was holding a portrait of Elizabeth in his hands, every line in her face drawn with loving detail. She was smiling, and Rob had captured the warmth of

the expression so well that the drawing seemed almost alive. Bien passed the portrait back, shaking his head. “You’ve got a great gift there. I wish

I could create something that beautiful.”

Rob shrugged. “It’s the subject material that’s great, not the skill.”

Bien frowned. “Don’t put yourself down.”

Rob grunted noncommittally. “So, what’s up with you?”

Bien considered telling his friend about what had happened with Dimple, but quickly decided against it. At this point, even he was not entirely sure that

he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. But he knew the book was real, so he told Rob about that.

Rob stared at him with raised eyebrows. “Some crazy old guy left you a book written by a nutty German monk?” The young man shook his head. “And I thought

we got some weird customers here… sheesh.”

“It’s pretty interesting stuff,” Bien told him. “I’ll show you Saturday.”

“Cool,” Rob replied, pushing off the wall. “See you tomorrow, then. My break’s over, and my Dad’s gonna want to do business things with me tonight.”

Bien nodded, grinned, and tossed Rob a casual two-fingered salute. “See you then.”

Leaving the Lord’s Rest, Bien walked down towards Leonard’s, the music store. He played the guitar, a talent he had inherited from his father, and had

grown up reading the stories about John the Balladeer that Manly Wade Wellman had written. Thus, Bien had been trying to track down silver strings for

his instrument for years.

He had struck up a friendship with Mr. Leonard soon after he arrived, and just yesterday the store owner had called to tell him that not only had he tracked

down a set of genuine silver strings, but he had ordered them for Bien as a gift. They were supposed to arrive today, and the young man was deeply excited

at the prospect of having a long-time dream fulfilled.

“Hey, wait up man!”

Bien sped up. He knew who was calling. Tony Sanchez was the leader of a wannabe biker gang, all bedecked with leather and piercings. They were a bad

lot, who preyed on anyone they outweighed or outnumbered.

Bien came to a sudden halt as one of Tony’s men stepped out of a side alley to block his way threateningly. The young man glanced around and groaned

inwardly. He was boxed in.

“Now, now…” Tony drawled as he strolled up. “That wasn’t very polite, now, was it? A fellow might think you was trying to avoid us. What d’you think,
John?”

John rumbled slightly, a noise that Tony seemed to take as agreement. A black, preternaturally strong youth measuring just over six-and-a-half feet, John

was Tony’s main enforcer and ace-in-the-hole.

“You know, this can be a rough town,” Tony remarked in what he fondly imagined to be a friendly tone. “Just an observation. You could do a lot worse than

to have us as friends, you know. Without our protection, though… well, something bad might happen. I’m sure nobody wants that. For a small, reasonable

fee, me n’ the boys’ll watch out for you, yes?”

“I’ll take my chances,” Bien said warily.

Tony’s smile shrank, and took on a decidedly vicious edge as his cronies closed in menacingly. “That, mi amigo, is an attitude that is going to land you

in a world of trouble. You have one more chance, and then I’ll have John here teach you a lesson in respect.”

Bien tensed, his heart pounding. Things were about to get very ugly. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he was trapped. Anger sparked and sizzled

in his mind like summer lightning. The young man clenched his fists, vowing that the first person to make a move on him would regret it.

“Hey, back off!”

Bien turned, surprised, as two of Tony’s gang were pushed roughly aside. An angry youth with dark hair came through the gap to stand at Bien’s side.

Bien recognized him as Aidon, a social outcast who was generally considered to psychotic. His father had been in the Marines, and Aidon loved all things

military.

“This is a private conversation, asshole,” Tony sneered. “Freaks very much not included. Comprende?”

Aidon locked eyes with the gang leader. “Any one of your men lays a hand on either of us, Tony, and I’ll make sure you’ll be eating soup for the rest of

your natural life.” His voice was calm and eerily certain.

Tony took a step back, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Aidon simply continued staring. After a minute, Tony looked away. “This isn’t over,” he snarled.

Rounding up his minions with a glare, he turned and left.

Bien let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Thanks, Aidon. I… don’t know what to say.”

Aidon shrugged dismissively. “You were outnumbered. It wasn’t a fair fight. Think nothing of it.”

Bien smiled. “I can’t promise that. Walk with me?”

Aidon looked at him suspiciously, almost as if he expected Bien’s offer to be some sort of trick. “Sure,” he said at last.

“It was impressive the way you stared Tony down,” Bien commented admiringly. “How did you do it?”

“Battlefield psychology,” Aidon explained. “When outnumbered, threaten the leader, make it personal.”

Bien nodded. “Clever. So, what are you doing today?”

“It’s my day off,” Aidon replied. He worked as an assistant trainer in the local gym. “I was in the middle of my ten-mile run when I saw you.”

“It’s your day off, and you’re doing a ten-mile run?” Bien blinked in disbelief. “What about later?”

“Need to go home, check on my Dad. Then I’ll probably finish re-working the storm drain.”

Bien frowned. Aidon’s father was very sick, and was looked after by his son. Even accounting for that, Aidon’s day seemed very dry.

“Look,” the young man ventured. “Why don’t you swing by the Mannel’s later? We could go catch a movie or something.”

Aidon hesitated. “Come on,” Bien pressed. “Relaxing for one evening isn’t going to kill you, you know.”

Aidon half-smiled hesitantly. “O-ok.”

They had arrived at Leonard’s. Bien clapped Aidon on the shoulder. “Good. See you later, then.” As he entered the store, he saw Aidon move off quickly,

no doubt finishing his run.

Shaking his head, Bien let the door swing closed behind him. Looking ahead again, the young man sighed. Sonia was watching the store. The beautiful,

blue-eyed brunette was one of Jessica’s pack, and was the walking personification of the words arrogance and conceit. Mr. Leonard, however, doted upon

her; something Bien had completely failed to understand until the day the store owner had let slip that the young woman looked eerily like his daughter,

who he had lost to cancer three years ago.

Sonia, realizing a good thing when she saw one, treated Mr. Leonard with the greatest of respect, at least to his face. She was always trashing him to her

friends behind his back, and was perfectly spiteful to those customers she disliked, a category Bien featured prominently in.

“Bien! How good of you to drop by!” Sonia exclaimed in a sugar-sweet voice. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, ‘k?”

“Good morning,” Bien returned evenly. “I heard there was a package here for me?”

“Why, is the one you’ve got not working?” Sonia inquired, glancing at his crotch. “I’ve suspected as much. But no, I don’t think we have a package for you

here.”

Bien placed his hands on the counter and took a deep breath. “Could you please look? Mr. Leonard told me he had something for me.”

“Well then,” Sonia said sarcastically. “It must be true!” She began to rummage behind the counter with ill grace. Bien waited patiently, listening to

the sounds of a garbage truck pulling up behind the store, and the men shouting to each other as they loaded the trash.

“Well,” Sonia announced, standing up. “It isn’t here, that’s for sure.” She mock-frowned. “Oh my. I hope I haven’t thrown it out by mistake.”

Bien froze for a moment, horrified, staring at Sonia’s smirking face. She wouldn’t ran swiftly through his mind, followed quickly by oh, shit.

Bien took off at a dead run for the back of the store, Sonia’s laughter trailing mockingly after. Shoving open the back door, he burst out into the alley.

The garbage men had already emptied the trash barrels into the back of the truck, and one was reaching for the compacting lever. They stared at him in

amazement.

“Stop!” Bien shouted.

“What the fuck?” the man about to pull the lever muttered. Mercifully, he hesitated.

Dashing to the back of the truck, Bien began ripping bags open, ignoring the yells of the outraged public servants; nearly gagging at the stench wafting

around him as he frantically sifted through the contents.

As two of the garbage men seized him on either side and muscled him back from the truck, he noticed a rapid clicking sound and multiple flashes coming from

off to the side. A quick glance revealed two young people standing there; Ed, the photographer for the high school’s paper, snapping pictures as fast as

he could depress the button, and Dacia, the paper’s editor, a budding journalist famed for the scathing malignance of her editorials, writing furiously

on her notepad.

“Mr. Wilder,” Dacia asked professionally, tucking a lock of her golden hair behind one ear as Ed snickered nastily in the sidelines, “when did you first

realize you had a garbage fetish? What steps have you taken to fight this addiction?”

Bien shook his head. “What?”

“Was you father a garbage man? Are you seeing a psychologist, and if so, which one?”

Bien heard laughter from behind him, and turned to see Sonia watching the scene of his humiliation with great delight. The brunette was holding a small,

brown package in her hands. She shrugged when she saw him looking.

“Guess I forget to throw it out. But now I’ve remembered…” Sonia tossed the package in the nearest trash can. “There. Oh, did you want that?”

The garbage truck drove off as Bien brushed at his clothing. He soon gave up, the outfit was ruined. Ignoring the others, the young man retrieved his

package from the can and left quickly.

As Bien rounded the corner of the building and passed out of sight of his tormentors, he struck at the brick wall in passing, the burning anger in him

seeking some outlet. Had he looked at the wall he’d struck, he would’ve seen that his fist had left a visible imprint in the brick.

* * *

Bien showered as soon as he got home. He was thoroughly depressed. Why can’t they just leave me alone? That’s all I want.

Ok, maybe it wasn’t really all he wanted, Bien reflected. But what he really wanted, respect, friendship, and maybe even love and admiration, were so

far beyond reality that there was no point in dwelling on them.

Clean again, and feeling a little better, Bien redressed, then made himself lunch. He ate leisurely, then returned to his room. As he sat down on his

bed, his foot nudged the satchel lying by his bedside table. On impulse, Bien got out the book again, setting it on his lap and riffling through it.

“You probably thought you had all the answers, Gregory,” Bien mused aloud. “Mutter a little Latin and make everyone love you. Well, things are a little

more complicated than that.”

He paused as he looked at the heading of a certain page. “For the Summoning of a Familiar Spirit,” Bien read. “Hmm… why not?”

Reading the instructions carefully, he soon assembled all that was needed. First, the young man drew the curtains, shrouding his room in semi-darkness.

On a clear part of his floor, he carefully drew a pentagram with cedar shavings from a few sachets in his dresser, then placed a tall black taper on each

point of the star.

Rummaging in one of his drawers, Bien took out some incense and lit it. He’d got it a while ago at a New Age shop because it was supposed to be perfectly

suited to his birth sign, Libra. Bien wasn’t sure what individual components went into the scent, but he did indeed like the airy, elegant scent very

much.

The young man hesitated for a moment, then seated himself at the center of the pentagram. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply of the smoky air, then opened

them again and gazed at the book. Quieting his mind and focusing intently on the words, Bien began to chant.

Valde Unus, vos vox, propinquus quod recedentia, audio ut meus dico

(Great Ones, ye of power, near and far, hearken to my call)

Vetus Unus, vos sapientia, per quod vacuus, commodo auris ut meus prex

(Old Ones, ye of wisdom, with and without, lend ear to my request)

Bonus Phasmatis, vos rectum, supremus quod subter supter, audite meus clamor

(Goodly Spirits, ye of virtue, above and below, hear my cry)

Ut Ego sum prognatus, Ego sum Vir, quod ut Vir, umquam vestri filius, quod ut vestri filius, umquam unus

(As I am born, I am a Man, and as a Man, ever your son, and as your son, ever alone)

Rector Ego prex, famulus, ut tribuo mihi suffragium quod suffragium, ut porro meus officina

(A guide I request, a servant, to give me aid and succor, to further my endeavors)

Voluntarius phasmatis, arcesso, reus ut mihi ut Ego sum ut vos

(A willing spirit, a fetch, bound to me as I am to you)

Una ut unus, nunquam secui insquequo vita obduco est per

(Together as one, never parting until life’s passage is flown)

Ego dico iam, ut unus talis

(I call now, to one such)

Adveho! Adveho! Adveho!

(Come! Come! Come!)

Ego voco vos, Ego addo vos continuo!

(I summon you, I bring you forth!)

Adveho!

(Come!)

With a rush and a roar, the cedar shaving ignited in a sudden burst of flame. The tapers flared up bright and tall as the room fell into a deeper darkness,

and a sharp, clear tone sounded through the room, carrying on for a long moment before beginning to fade. As the sound left, so too did the fire, until

at last Bien sat in silence and shadow once again, as stray wisps of smoke curled up into the air from five candle wicks.

But he was not alone…

Chapter Four

The creature facing Bien was humanoid, but clearly not human. It was about the size of a five-year-old child, though its severe expression and ready

stance belied its small stature. It was male, as the rather prominent member hanging between his legs proclaimed; and the organ seemed quite pronounced,

slightly larger in proportion to the rest of his body. The creature had leathery, bumpy skin the color of forest mushrooms, and his face seemed almost

drawn in caricature; with a broad, flat nose, slanted, gleaming eyes, and a bald pate.

“I am Andrew the Mighty! Who dares disturb my peace!” the creature intoned in a deep, sepulchral voice, glaring frightfully at Bien from beneath his

brows. It would have been truly frightening – from someone four feet taller. As it was, the young man had to hold back a smile.

“You mock me, puerile mortal? Torments I shall visit on your foolish head! You will know the power of Andrew, and despair!”

Bien coughed to hold in his somewhat hysterical laughter. That’s… quite enough of that. So you’re a… familiar spirit?” The young man was feeling distinctly

light-headed. Five minutes ago he had been convinced the book was pure hokum, and now he was actually conversing with a demon!

The creature looked at first taken aback, and then furious. “A fetch!” he spat incredulously. “You would so insult me? Did you not hear me? I am Andrew!

I am no simple wight! Mock me at your peril!”

Bien frowned. “Ok, ok. Don’t get upset. I’m not trying to insult you. I just… the spell was for a familiar spirit, so I assumed…” the young man’s voice

trailed off under the demon’s searching gaze.

“You summoned me under a familiar casting?” Andrew said evenly. “Goddamn. You must be some kind of magus, boy. I’m sorry.”

Bien swallowed nervously. “Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

Andrew regarded him gravely. “You really don’t know what you’ve done, do you? My Lord, Beleth, will know that you have called me, and to what purpose. By

summoning me so, you have… hmmm… proclaimed your power for all to hear. Beleth will not let the boast go unchallenged. He will come to you soon, perhaps

tonight, and test you to determine your worthiness.”

“Test? What kind of test?”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t know. But not many survive it. The only ones I’ve heard of who have survived; Laroux, Jezebel, Gregory… all were experienced
Magi

who knew exactly what they were doing.”

Bien felt a sinking sensation begin in the pit of his stomach. “Great. Ok, can I just send you back? Apologize?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Andrew muttered, looking about the room. “You’re tied to me now, and I to you. I you tried to send me back, we’d both go to the

Abyss… and believe me, you don’t want to go there.”

“So I’m stuck with you?”

“For as long as you have left to live, that’s about the size of it,” Andrew said cheerfully. “So, considering this is probably your last day on earth, what

do you want to do?”

Bien stood up, wincing at the soreness in his legs. “I don’t know. This is a little much to process all at once. Uh… what can you do?”

Andrew turned from his appraisal of the room to regard his summoner quizzically. “What d’you mean?”

Bien shrugged. “Well, do you have any… I don’t know, demonic powers or anything?”

Andrew sniffed fastidiously. “Technically, that’d be ‘daemonic powers’. The whole ‘demon’ thing is very annoying. I prefer the term ‘wight’ personally.

Less of a loaded word, if you know what I mean.”

Bien raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for the crash course in terminology, but you didn’t answer the question.”

Andrew huffed irritably. “Powers? Er… lessee… well… I can… uh… start fires?”

“Start fires?” Bien deadpanned.

“Yes, absolutely,” Andrew assured him, warming to the topic. “If- if there’s adequate tinder, that is. You’ve you got tinder, I’m your wight.”

“Right. So you’re telling me that I am probably going to be killed for summoning a tiny daemon who can barely start fires!” Bien’s voice increased in

volume throughout the sentence, until he was shouting. “Oh, my day is going so well.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “You’re a neophyte, so I’ll forgive you the ‘tiny’ crack. Look, junior, you don’t get something for nothing. You want to see some

hell raising? Get me some juice.”

Bien furrowed his brow in confusion. “Ok… what kind do you like? We have orange juice downstairs…”

Andrew groaned and smacked his forehead with one tiny palm. “No, you ingrate! My hold on this world is very tenuous right now, and I’m expending all the

ambient energy I’m gathering in just to stay here. You’ll need to get me more power before I can do anything else.”

Bien nodded slowly. “Alright. So how do you power up? Does electricity work?”

Andrew grunted. “Oh yeah, it works. Electricity, fires, running water… all those give me energy. But don’t get any bright ideas about plugging me into
a

light socket. I’d drain the power grid dry before I got enough power to singe a cat. No, the best source of energy is the traditional one.”

“And what’s that?”

“Intimate relations. Carnal congress. Fornication. The horizontal tango. Making love. Sex. Copulation. Boffing. Bonking. Getting it on. Getting laid. Screwing.

Shagging. Fucking. Doing the nasty. Bumping ugl-”

Bien held up his hands desperately to stop the flow of words. “Ok, ok! I get the picture!”

“If you like,” the small wight said helpfully, “I could draw you a diagram.”

Bien scowled at him. “Pipe down. So, uh, any kind of sex?”

“For the most part. Both participants need to enjoy it, for starters. Masturbation doesn’t do much, so you can forget that. Also, same-sex relations don’t

do a thing for me. The energy interplay is so hopelessly screwed up you couldn’t light a light bulb off what they do.”

“So just for clarification, I don’t have to be involved in the… er… relations going on for you to benefit?”

“Nope. You can keep your hands lily-white, if you so choose. If I had a little more power, I could go so far as to put people in the mood, make ‘em horny

and suchlike.”

“How close do you have to be?”

Andrew shrugged. “Three to five yards. The closer I am, the more emanations I pick up, and the stronger the jolt is.”

“So you said you can cause feelings of passion,” Bien mused. “That would explain last night…”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Last night when you…?”

Bien flushed heavily. “I… well, I, uh, slept with one of my co-workers after reading from the Book. Normally she hates me, so I was pretty confused.”

Andrew nodded. “That’d be the Book. That was part of your dedication ceremony; the power from that night is stored in you now. It will also have taken just

a bit to protect itself.”

“What would the Book need to protect itself from?”

Andrew sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ba’al’s blazing balls! You ask more questions than a Chinese philosopher! Who do you think? The followers of the Accursed

One or the minions of the Void would face certain annihilation if it meant the destruction of the Book. It has been a potent weapon for our side ever since

Gregory penned it all those years ago.”

“So you’re saying all these people are after me?”

“You’d better believe it,” Andrew told him seriously. “You need to be very watchful. Beware of strangers, and pay attention to those you know. If they start

acting differently… they might have been subsumed. The slaves of the Void like to attack sideways, catch you off your guard.”

Bien shook his head and sat down on the bed. “This is insane. You’re probably a figment of my imagination, you know, and I’m just sitting here talking

to myself.”

Andrew snorted. “As if you could imagine anything as great as me.”

“I don’t know,” Bien replied. “I have a really twisted mind, on occasion.”

“I resent that,” Andrew growled.

“Well, I do resent myself at times, so I suppose that makes sense,” Bien said thoughtfully.

The small daemon threw up his hands. “Ach! This is pointless. If you’re insane, you might as well embrace it. But take it from me, boy. This is reality,

as cold and hard as anything else. Accept it or not, this is how it is.”

Bien sighed. “I believe you. I don’t know why, but I do. Mmm… let me think.” The young man was silent for a moment. “Ok, if you need power, the best

way to get it would be to head down to the Old Ford Road once darkness falls. That’s the spot around her for making out and all that… or so I’m told.
That’s

the best I can do on short notice. If I don’t make it through the night…”

Andrew regarded him with a something that was perhaps a hint of pity glimmering in his strange yellow eyes. “Maybe you’ll make it, kid,” he said, almost

gently. “All needling aside, you seem strong. You might pass.”

Bien grunted. “But you can’t count on that. I’m right in thinking you’ll go back to the Abyss if you die, unless you have enough power to anchor yourself

properly?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Then you can’t take any chances. You’ve got to try.”

Andrew nodded slowly. “Very well.” The wight seemed about to say something else, but stopped. “It’s still a while until nightfall,” he said at length. “What

do you want to do until then?”

Bien waved him into a seat. “I’ve got a friend coming by later, but until then, let’s talk. I want to know more. Tell me about the Abyss, the beings

who dwell in it, and the way this world really works…”

* * *

The light was beginning to fade from the sky when there was a shout from downstairs.

“Hey BIEN!”

Bien went out onto the balcony outside of his room, and looked down into the foyer, where Jessica was standing. “Yes?”

“There’s some loser at the door looking for you,” the young woman said dismissively. “You really associate with the bottom feeders, don’t you?”

“Why, thank you, Jessica,” Bien returned pleasantly. “I’ll be right down.”

“Whatever.” Jessica walked off, her ass swaying gently. Bien noticed from his angle that he had a great view down her blouse. He didn’t bother looking.

Bien went back to his room and nodded at Andrew as he retrieved his shoes and put them on. “It’s time. Thanks for the talk.”

The daemon stretched and hopped to his feet. “Don’t mention it.” Moving to the window, he opened it just enough, and pulled himself up to the sill. Before

he went over the edge, Andrew paused and looked back. “Kid? Good luck.” Then he was gone.

Bien threw on his old leather jacket against the slight evening chill and hurried downstairs. Opening the door, he smiled reassuringly at Aidon, who

was perched nervously on the doorstep.

“Sorry if Jessica was rude to you,” he apologized. “She’s socially challenged.”

Aidon grinned, more at ease. “How… politically correct of you,” he observed. “I’d have just said she’s a bitch.”

Bien shrugged. “To each his own. So, what do you feel like seeing tonight?”

To his surprise (he was expecting Aidon to suggest an action flick), the other youth hesitantly asked if he would mind seeing the new romantic comedy. Bien

agreed cordially, and the two walked shoulder to shoulder, chatting easily as they headed for the theater.

* * *

Andrew cursed wearily as he stubbed his toe on another pebble, nearly pitching face-forward into the dirt. It was growing quite dark now, and the small

wight had no night-vision to speak of. He hoped he was nearing his destination. If he had just a little more power, Andrew would’ve masked himself from

human sight and just walked on the edge of the road; but as it was he was stuck scrambling through the undergrowth on the side of the road. The small wight

bitterly missed the old days, when the magicians had eager virgins ready to go as soon as a daemon was fully corporealized.

Andrew found Old Ford Road by the simple expedient of tripping over a rut and falling into it. Gritting his teeth, the small wight laboriously climbed to

his feet. Peering down the overgrown path, he thought he could just make out a dim glow somewhere in the dark.

A few minutes later, Andrew pushed his way through a last clutching fern and arrived at his destination. The path widened as it came to the river, feeding

into a wide open space one the banks of the waterway. Bounded by thick, wild-growing birch, ash, and oak trees, and with the rippling, slow-flowing river

reflecting the light of the silver moon, the spot possessed a quiet beauty that would’ve entranced a less focused individual.

Three cars were parked there; one still running quietly, it’s headlights producing the glow Andrew had seen earlier. The daemon raised his head, sniffing

like a dog after an elusive scent. After a moment, he stiffened is concentration, staring at the leftmost vehicle. There…

Creeping closer, Andrew half-closed his eyes in pleasure as the emanations issuing from the dark car caressed his form and were greedily absorbed. Gripping

the back bumper, Andrew clambered quietly up onto the back of the vehicle, and peered inside.

The interior of the car was dark, and the small wight could barely see two forms, pressed together and writhing against each other. Deciding that using

his night vision would not be too risky a gamble, now he was so close to a serious influx of power, Andrew closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he

opened them again, the pupils glowed an eerie red, and he could see everything going on inside the car.

A young man and woman were making out in the front seat, faces flushed and breathing heavy. Andrew noted with a flash of disappointment that no clothes

had been removed, and the boy, while insistent in his touches, stayed carefully on the outside of the girl’s clothing.

Andrew bit his lip as the two broke apart for a minute, breathing erratically. “Sorry,” the girl said softly. “I just don’t want to go too fast, you know?”

The boy stroked her face. “Whatever you want, Lyn. Just go with what you’re comfortable with. I’m ok.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. This was totally pathetic. The girl clearly wanted him – anyone with a working sense of smell could tell as much – but this dickless

wonder was just going to sit around with his thumb up his ass. Something had to be done, or the daemon’s last chance of staying free of the Abyss would

be gone.

Andrew closed his eyes and concentrated hard, gathering up every last drop of power he possessed. What he was about to try was very risky, but the wight

knew he had no choice. If this didn’t work, it would leave him so drained he would be unable to move… leading to discorporation shortly after.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Andrew took a deep breath. It would have to be the girl; she seemed in charge of the situation, and it would obviously

take the direct and furious intervention of a major deity to make this blockhead assert himself.

Amitto, Andrew whispered, his eyes boring into the girl. Puter ferrum in vestri volo. Audio vestri votum. Occupo is!

The girl seemed to quiver, and her breathing picked up again as her eyes darkened. She leaned forward, one hand stroking the boy’s inner thigh as her tongue

flicked out to moisten her lips.

“Do you know how hot you make me?” she breathed.

The boy gulped and froze, tensing as the girl’s hand crept closer and closer to his straining cock. “Uh… Lyn?”

The girl shuddered and bit her lip. “Oh, God! It makes me sooo wet when you say my name like that.”

Reaching her goal, her hand stroked his erection, and the boy bit back a moan. “Lyn!”

The girl captured his lips in a hungry kiss before breaking off and whispering in his ear as her hand busily unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock.

“That’s right, baby. You’re all mine. Come on… say it. Say it for me.”

The boy groaned. “All yours, Lyn… ah, fuck!” Panting, he ached into her touch, thrusting against her palm.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” the girl murmured. Swiftly, she divested herself of shirt and bra, before leaning down and engulfing his cock in her mouth. The

boy moaned out loud, his hands balling into fists as he date sucked avidly on his engorged member. The girl’s little pink tongue darted out of her mouth,

and she trailed it up the side of his erection as the boy whimpered.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” the girl whispered, her eyes burning. Her hand stroked up and down his length before gripping him more firmly and beginning

to pump. “You wanna come, don’t you. Come for me, baby. Fucking come all over me. I want to see it, want to feel it on me.” Her other hand was rubbing

between her legs, fingers damp with her excitement.

The boy groaned again, straining into her touch, sweat standing out on his forehead. “Fuck! Fuck, Lyn, so fucking good… so… fucking…” He convulsed
and came

on the girl, his seed pumping out in glistening arcs on her rounded breasts and her mouth and neck.

Andrew shuddered as well, raw power flooding his veins as the boy’s ecstasy hit him. His skin prickled and itched, his forehead throbbed painfully, and

somewhere nearby, he could hear singing…

Then as quickly as it had come, the tide passed, and Andrew collapsed limply, taking deep shallow breaths. An exultant smile was on the small daemon’s face

as he held back nearly hysterical laughter with an intense effort of will. He was safe, he was free! Whatever happened to the boy, the wight would not

be returning to the Abyss just yet.

Hard on the heels of his joy came worry. Bien seemed a good sort; even threatened with his own immanent demise, he had worried about Andrew’s wellbeing,

and had done what was in his power to ensure the daemon would not return to the Abyss.

Andrew owed the boy a debt. But how would he repay it if Bien died tonight?

* * *

Bien and Aidon were just entering the movie theater when Bien heard his name being called. Looking to the source, Bien broke into a welcoming smile.

“Celia, Amber! It’s good to see you!”

Two girls carrying large shopping bags dashed up and skidded to a halt in front of him, beaming excitedly. Both looked about fourteen years of age. Celia’s

dirty blond hair hung to her shoulders and her clever grey eyes sparkled with mischief. Amber was a little more reserved, with a shy face and wide green

eyes framed by long, wavy auburn hair.

“Hi Bien, great to see you!” Celia exclaimed. “How are you? Have they given you a promotion at work yet?”

Bien laughed a little as Bien looked on, bemused. “No, not yet. I’m sure it’s right around the corner, though. How are you?” He cut his eyes over

to Amber to include her in the inquiry, and she blushed and smiled.

“Oh, we’re good, we’re good,” Celia replied, obviously trying to appear mature and self-possessed. “Mom’s doing some big house-cleaning thing, so we’ve

been out doing this and that all day.” She paused, then continued, ultra-casually, “Sooo… what’re you up to?”

Aidon his laughter behind a sudden coughing fit.

“We were just going to catch a movie,” Bien replied. “Oh, which reminds me. Girls, this is my friend Aidon. Aidon, this is Celia, and Amber.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Aidon said neutrally. Celia flashed him a big smile, and Amber ducked her head shyly.

“Well, perhaps we could come with?” Celia offered, as if the answer were of no consequence to her, the effect being somewhat ruined by Amber’s vigorous

nodding. “Unless… it’s like, a horror movie of something. ‘Cause Amber doesn’t do horror.” Amber shook her head hard in agreement.

“Sure, we could go together,” Bien said, after looking at Aidon and getting his somewhat reluctant approving nod. “And there’s no horror billed for tonight.

Romance is the venue of the evening.”

“Cool!” Celia said rather squeakily, turning a little red.

Bien smiled and held open the door of the theater for them. Après vous , mesdemoiselles.

* * *

“That was good,” Amber sighed as they left the theater. Celia nodded, uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes were still damp; she had been strongly affected

by the emotional reunion at the end of the movie.

“It had some pretty funny parts,” Aidon assented gruffly.

Bien smiled. Aidon was putting on a tough show in front of the others, but he had seen his new friend surreptitiously wiping at his eyes during the show.

It amused him that Aidon was such a softie at heart, what with his fearsome reputation.

“So what were you shopping for?” Aidon asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh, just clothes and some school stuff,” Celia answered.

“So how does that tie into school stuff?” Bien inquired curiously, indicating a large mirror poking out of Amber’s bag.

Amber blushed. “The school counselor told her to get it,” Celia answered for her friend. “He thinks she has a poor self-image, so she supposed to spend

some time looking in it every day so she can see she’s not ugly.”

Bien frowned. “You’re very pretty, Amber. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Amber turned scarlet and looked at her shoes.

The girls left soon after, needing to get home. Bien hugged them both goodnight and waved goodbye. He saw Aidon regarding him with a strange expression.

Bien raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Aidon shook his head. “You’re an odd one, buddy. You don’t find those two at all… annoying?”

“No. They’re nice girls, very smart. I like talking to them.”

Aidon grunted. “You talk to them like… I don’t know… like they’re people, you know?”

Bien frowned in confusion. “Uh, they are people, Aidon.”

The other youth sighed in frustration. “Yeah, I know. What I mean is, you talk to them like they’re our age, ok?”

“Ah.” Bien nodded. “You mean I don’t talk down to them. Yes, well, that always used to drive me crazy when I was their age. I just give them respect.

They’re very bright. They deserve it.”

Aidon shook his head. “Like I said, very odd. But in a good way. This is my street.” He gestured with one hand. “Thanks for tonight, Bien. It was fun.”

Bien nodded. “No problem.” They shook hands, the semi-awkwardness of the moment all but dispelled by Bien’s ready smile, and they parted.

Bien looked around carefully when he got back to his room, but Andrew was no-where to be seen. The young man’s last thought before drifting off to sleep

was to wonder if the small wight had succeeded in his mission.

Chapter Five

Bien woke with a start. Right away, without ever opening his eyes, he knew he was not alone. A vast, indelible presence filled his room; and Bien

felt tears prickle behind his closed eyelids at the sheer intensity of the sensation.

Opening his eyes, Bien glanced at his alarm clock, acting on habit. 3:43. Then the numbers wavered, danced crazily, and died.

Great figures were closing in on him; and there was blood, and pain, and darkness. The vermin scuttling over his skin were burrowing into his flesh, laying

eggs, and dying; their young hatching to gorge themselves on him once again. The needle piecing his eye inch by inch was agony beyond all imagining, worse

even than that fire withering his skin with its hungry caress. Bien bit his tongue until it bled, transfixed on watching eyes.

And then, when the black talons sank into his shoulder and tore away what was left of his humanity, as the rumbling laughter touched every part of his soul,

as Dimple wept in heartbreak, all became nothingness.

* * *

Bien woke to the insistent beeping of his alarm clock, his pillow wet with tears. Every inch of his body ached terribly, his muscles clenched and spasmed,

and a throbbing headache pounded on the inside of his skull. Keenly aware of his roiling stomach, Bien struggled out of his bedclothes and fell to the

floor, striking his head against the nightstand.

The young man bit back a groan. Fighting the weakness permeating his body, he crawled to the door. Pulling himself painfully upright on the doorjamb, he

opened the door and stumbled out into the hall… right into Elisha.

The girl staggered backwards, and barely managed to grab Bien as she realized he was falling.

“G-Good God!” She stammered, bracing herself against the balcony railing. “Bien, what’s wrong? Are – are you sick?”

“Bathroom,” Bien whispered in a cracked voice.

Elisha helped him to the bathroom, and watched anxiously as he flung back the toilet seat and vomited into the clear water, convulsively gripping the edges

of the bowl with white-knuckled hands.

How long it took for his retching to subside, Bien did not know, but Elisha stayed with him throughout it all, a comforting, hovering presence. When

he had settled a bit, the young woman helped him to his feet and back to his room. Bien barely managed to murmur thanks before drifting into darkness.

* * *

When next he woke, Bien was in substantially less pain, but a terrible weakness gripped him. Golden light seeped into his room around the midnight blue

curtains, but failed to make substantial headway in the gloom.

Turning his head with considerable effort, Bien saw that Rob was seated by his bed, watching him worriedly. Bien smiled wanly. “’ello,” he rasped.

“Don’t try and speak too much,” Rob advised him, concern clear in his voice. “You’re very weak.”

Bien nodded feebly.

“If it were up to me, you’d be in the hospital right now,” his friend continued. “But your ‘dear family’ is insisting you’ve just got a bad case of the

flu, and all you need is rest.”

“Bullshit,” Andrew snapped, crawling out from under the bed. “Your aura is fucking hemorrhaging energy into the ether. In twenty-four hours, you’ll be dead.”

Rob yelped and leapt about a foot into the air. “What the fuck is that?!” he yelled.

“S’OK,” Bien whispered. “Andrew’s a friend.”

“And you’d better pipe down, small fry,” Andrew instructed belligerently. “The last thing we need is more attention.”

“I repeat,” Rob said again, reducing his volume but not his tone. “What the fuck is that?”

“I could ask you the same question, oh Insignificant One,” Andrew sniffed. “But seeing as my Master is currently indisposed, I will grant your simple, puerile

request.” The daemon drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. “I am Andrew the Mighty! Andrew the Magnificent! Doubt not my power or

my ingenuity, oh slavering slack-jawed savant of servile slavishness! I am the beginning and the end, the answer to the Eternal Question, the Gatekeeper

of the doors between life and death! Fear me!”

“Must be a very small question,” Rob observed dryly, having lost much of his fear during the wight’s monologue.

Andrew bristled like an irate porcupine, but subsided when Bien uttered a reproving murmur. “Explain to him what happened,” the young man whispered.

“Simply.”

Andrew nodded reluctantly and began the tale, speaking sharply, but clear and to the point. He started from when the old man entered the store, and ended

with Bien night of ordeal. “I don’t know what happened to him,” the daemon concluded. “No two tests are the same. But he survived. Not everyone can

say that. I remember this one time in Cebu Philippines…”

Rob laughed, cutting him off. “This is wild. Bien…” the slender youth let his voice trail off as he realized his friend has lapsed into unconsciousness

once again.

“Gods damn it,” the small wight ground out, and laid a surprisingly gentle hand on Bien’s arm. “He’s losing strength fast. We need to get him help.”

Rob got up quickly, his brow furrowed. “The hospital?”

“Would make him very comfortable and watch him die,” Andrew shot back. “There’s nothing they can do for him. He needs a serious influx of raw energy, fast,

or he’s done for.”

Rob blinked rapidly. “You mean…” he hesitated delicately.

“Down straight,” Andrew snapped. “Who’s available?”

Rob half-laughed, incredulously. “Look, demon dude, it’d be tough getting him laid on a good day. He really polite and overly moralistic, which doesn’t

really get the girls hot. And this is not a good day.”

“He’s dying,” Andrew said grimly.

“Oh, yet another attractive quality!” Rob shouted. “He’s unconscious, man! What the hell do you want from me!?”

“The name and location of some girl who care enough about him to do this.”

“That’s insane!” Rob scoffed. “The only person who cares that much about him is…” the young man stopped mid-sentence as a thought struck him. “Oh, wait.

That could work. She’s not actually his sister.”

“Enlighten me?” Andrew said tightly.

“Elisha,” Rob said slowly. She’s had a crush on him since day one. But we’d have to tell her. I don’t see this working any other way.”

“Then bring her in now, and let’s get this over with,” Andrew sighed.

* * *

Elisha sat quietly for a minute after Andrew finished, still looking somewhat afraid. She had panicked when she first saw the daemon, and it had taken all

of Rob’s power’s of persuasion to keep her from bolting.

“You want me to – to sleep with him?” Elisha said in a small voice.

“No,” Andrew rejoined flatly. “I want you to fuck him.”

Elisha paled, and Rob glared at the small wight. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.” Moderating his tone, he turned to the young woman.

“Look, Elisha, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if there were any other way. But look at him! He’s dying, and this looks like his only chance at making it

through this.”

Elisha bit her lip nervously. “Wh-When should I…”

“ASAP. Daylight’s awasting. Time is money on this job.” Andrew pointedly ignored Rob’s glare.

“I’ve never done this before,” the golden-haired girl continued.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Andrew said relentlessly. “It’s simple. Insert tab A into slot B. Repeat as necessary until desired result occurs.”

“Ok,” Rob snapped. “That’s quite enough.” He seized Andrew by the shoulder and propelled him forcefully from the room.

Left alone with Bien’s still form, Elisha clasped her hands together firmly, hoping to stop the shaking. Crossing to the side of the bed, she gazed down

at Bien’s face.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered to him, absently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear before reaching out to touch his face. “I’m scared.”

Her eyes ran over Bien’s closed lids, his sharply defined nose, and down to his soft, inviting lips. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Elisha

felt a familiar tightening in her stomach, and a slow tingle between her legs. Leaning down, she buried her face in the warm space between Bien’s neck

and shoulder. For a minute she just lay there, breathing in his scent and reveling in the softness of his skin.

Turning her face, Elisha began placing feather-soft kisses along Bien’s neck, slowly working her way up to his chin, across his cheek, and finally to

his lips. There she lingered for some time, delighting in the firmness of his mouth, the way his stubble scraped against her skin.

Her hands wandered, grasping as his shoulders and feeling the muscle beneath his skin; before shifting to run across his broad chest. Elisha leaned back

a moment and bit her lip nervously. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the bottom of her shirt with both hands, and quickly slipped out of it. Reaching

behind her back, the young woman fumbled a moment with the clasp of her bra, fingers suddenly clumsy, before she got it free.

Slowly, hesitantly, Elisha let the confining bit of red cloth slide free, baring her pleasantly rounded breasts to the air. Elisha stifled a gasp as the

silky material brushed over her nipples, which were almost painfully hard and very sensitive. She pinched them lightly, then a bit harder, sighing softly

with pleasure. Emboldened by the sensations running through her young body, Elisha pulled down Bien’s sweats and underwear, and swallowed hard at the

sight of what awaited her there.

She touched his slack member lightly at first, half-frightened, and was entranced by the warmth and softness of his skin. Curling her fingers around the

shaft, Elisha stroked him up and down, and was delighted to feel a responsive stirring under her touch.

Varying her caresses from firm to gentle, Elisha was soon gazing avidly at Bien’s erection, pulsing rhythmically against his stomach. She felt another

hot spike of arousal course through her at the sight. Biting her lip, the young woman wriggled out of her jeans and dampened panties and tossed them aside.

Slipping her fingers through her slick, wet heat, Elisha straddled Bien. As she leaned down to kiss him again, her fingers guided him into her as she

slowly lowered herself onto her unconscious crush.

Elisha threw her head back and let out a strangled gasp as Bien’s cock sank into her hot, clenching depths. He felt so *big*! The young woman felt stretched,

filled completely… and he was less than half-way in!

Gritting her teeth against the new, strange sensation, Elisha sank lower, stopping short as his member reached the barrier deep within her. The young woman

took a deep breath, her heart racing. *I hope this doesn’t hurt too much* Her resolve firm, Elisha pushed her hips down with a short, sharp movement, bracing

herself against the pain.

But there was no pain, only pleasure. She opened her mouth to scream out her ecstasy, but all that emerged was a strangled, breathless gasp. Staying there,

almost motionless, Elisha swallowed convulsively, his inner muscles fluttering around the obdurate invader transfixing her.

Slowly at first, the young woman began moving up and down, raising and lowering on Bien’s glistening shaft. Every nerve her body felt strained to overloading.

Her lithe body tightened and quivered. Then, all at once, as he position shifted just slightly and Bien’s cock penetrated her just a shade deeper, it

nudged against a hidden place within her, and Elisha lost it.

Everything seemed to tear apart, to fly free, and it felt so good. The young woman’s eyes rolled back in her head as her hips moved spastically, chasing

the hot rush of ecstasy. Elisha whimpered as her smoothly shaven pussy contracted violently on Bien’s cock, squeezing and milking it, every ridge sharply
defined against

her inner walls.

Consumed in the moment, Elisha barely noticed when Bien’s hands gripped her hips. She did not see a strange mark, four roughly parallel grooves engraved

in the skin of his left shoulder, begin to pulse a deep crimson. What she did respond to, with a groan that seemed wrenched from the depths of her being,

was the sharp, almost painful pleasure that struck her as Bien drew back his hips a fraction, before slamming back into her steaming depths.

Elisha fell forward onto her lover, all the strength gone from her, as Bien came to life and took her. The young woman gasped as a hand skimmed up her

side, trailing fire, to caress the smooth, rounded curve of her breast. His hips moved in a forceful, insistent rhythm that drove all thought from her

mind but the pursuit of greater pleasure.

All of a moment, everything shifted and turned, and Elisha opened her eyes to find herself lying on her back, her head against the pillows as Bien loomed

over her. She was cold, without his touch, and she reached out to him. When he came to her, it was as a wave crashing upon the shore. Elisha let everything

go, and was washed away in bliss.

* * *

“I know, I know,” Dimple said reluctantly into her cell. “It’s just… Adrianne called and she needs me tonight.”

The redhead paused and listened to the angry response on the other side of the phone, absent-mindedly scratching at the faint outlines of a bite-mark on

her neck.

“Yeah, I know, but what can I do? She is my best friend.” Another pause. “Ok, Craig. I’ll make it up to you, baby. Ok… bye.”

Dimple sighed as she hung up. It was lucky that Adrianne was a good enough friend that she’d provide an alibi with no questions asked. The truth was, Dimple

just didn’t feel at all like seeing her boyfriend right now. Just the thought of him filled her with nausea, which made no sense. One of the strong and

enduring factors of their relationship has always been their almost animal attraction to one another. But after that night at the store…

Dimple shook her head angrily. She didn’t want to think about it, but her thoughts seemed to go nowhere else now. She didn’t understand it at all. With
*Bien*

of all people! A slimy suck-up to his superiors, and insultingly condescending to anyone else, the redhead could think of few people she despised more.

Dimple realized she was rubbing the mark on her neck again, and snatched her hand way instantly. Disgust filled her. Not only had he taken advantage of
her

fit of insanity, Bien had marked her, like some sort of beast. She tried to feel outrage, but for some reason, that kept falling to a simple sense of

wonder.

Her hand went back to the impressions in her flesh. Bien had marked her. He had taken her. Dimple shivered, and not in revulsion. She remembered her arms

around her, his touch, the look in his eyes when he possessed her.

Dimple hung her head in misery and confusion, hot tears coming to her eyes. She hated Bien! She despised him!

Didn’t she?

No…

Bien would forever leave his mark upon her…

To be continued…

If you liked it,then let me know.