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Haunted by a demon’s prophecy…
Gretchen grows up dreading the destiny she cannot escape—not
even within the walls of a convent—the lustful longings of the otherworldly
creature she knows only as The Nameless One.
Uncanny things have always had a way of happening ever since
her older sister read aloud from a book of black magic, unwittingly awakening
the demon. But now, after having become Sister Mary Chastity, Gretchen must
struggle with the stirrings of her own long-buried desires, the undeniable
yearnings that overpower her flesh, and the guilt that inevitably follows when
memory intrudes upon the present and dark secrets come back to confound her.
On “holy retreat” in a vacation house by the shores of a lake
in the Great North Woods, Mary Chastity meets Magic, a handsome, carefree young
artist who tests her vows even as he speaks to something deep within her heart.
Can this beautiful boy help her to face her fears—or is he part of the future
The Nameless One has foreseen for her all along? Is Magic the key to Mary
Chastity’s salvation—or nothing less than the incubus itself in human guise?
All is ultimately revealed when past and present converge,
and Mary Chastity is forced to confront her demons in a blazing finale that
takes her to the very depths of Hell and back! Literary paranormal erotic
romance (HFN) from Terrance Aldon Shaw.
EXCERPT FROM
THE SEVEN SEDUCTIONS
(Chapter 33)
It was easy enough to find the spot where the birthday
party had been. Dozens of footprints remained, undisturbed in the soft sand,
tracks of myriad comings and goings crossed and recrossed, a thousand shallow indentations
disrupting the gentle roll of the terrain. The beach seemed all the more deserted
now, strewn with the evidence of people so recently having had their fun. The
driftwood logs the boys had dragged up from the shore were still arranged, a
semicircle of rough-hewn pews around the fire pit, the sticks they had
improvised for hotdog skewers poking out from the middle, half-burned, a wheel
of broken spokes. The necks of empty beer bottles stuck out above the sand,
planted there like so many seedlings, while, half-collapsed, the crepe paper
banner lay forlorn, a listless, dying thing, shivering with the slightest motion
of the breeze.
She built a fire around a sheaf of tinder, the hotdog
sticks halved and re-halved along with the wadded remnants of the birthday
banner. Once it was all well ablaze, she set to work, laying driftwood over the
top, one log at a time, careful not to smother the kindling.
Doesn’t have
to be a neat pile. Not for this. Just make sure you don’t leave anything off…
The damp wood belched a sour white smoke as it whined
and hissed. From time to time a spark would explode with a startling crack, spit
out like an angry four-letter word. Mary Chastity used a stick to draw a broad
circle in the sand, moving right-to-left as she recited:
“Now to thee, goddess, mother, maid, and
crone,
Protection grant for me and all mine own.
Abide with me on this propitious night
And round me draw a ring of power and light
To guard me from the evil demons do
That this, my making, may be pure and true.”
Not that she believed in them, but the words had been her mother’s
once, and what harm could they do?
Protection invoked, however skeptically, she sat
cross-legged a little ways to one side of the fire as she dug in the sand, scooping
up loose fistfuls to form a pair of shallow trenches. Mary Chastity took the
silver crucifix from around her neck, kissed the corpus in a gesture long-born
of habit, and dropped it into the hole on the left. She buried the switchblade
like a suicide, without ceremony, on the right. The Schwarzbuch lay open before her on the ground, still stubbornly
keeping its secrets as she read:
Come, Nameless One, in this enchanted hour
And fill me with thy flame of darkest power…
The words tumbled through her mind, though she was
careful not to form them on her lips. It was enough merely to imagine. Her intent,
unspoken, would suffice.
From forth the brooding air and troubled dust
I conjure thee with all thy fearsome lust.
The smoke from the fire had grown thick, still more
harsh and pungent as it spread out to merge with the mist forming above the
surface of the water. Soon, the horizons disappeared, enshrouded in all
directions as beneath a white funeral pall. And still she read:
I call thee forth from shadow and from mist
At this the hour of our appointed tryst.
Come now from lightning and from lowering cloud
To lift the bridal veil and rend the shroud…
She paused to listen. Nothing yet. Only the dull
complaint of the burning logs, the low whistle of the wood, breathing its last
against the onslaught of the flames.
Come unto me with all thy dark desire
And gather me to thyself ere need require.
She hesitated over the next couplet. That the creature
was already close she had no doubt, nor that it would soon be with her. Yet to
complete the spell would be to unlock a door, which, once open, could never be
closed again. Mary Chastity drew a deep breath and read aloud:
“With groans of ruttish lust and seething
sighs
In words Infernal thus I bid thee rise…”
She heard it then, a soft moaning somewhere off in the
woods, the baleful howling of a wolf. No,
a dog. Several dogs. More; a whole pack of bloodhounds on the scent, coming
on through the fog with the voices of their masters rising hoarse and high
above the din, shouting for someone lost or escaped. Calling out a name.
Her name.
“Gretchen! Gretchen!” The voices were all around her
in the mist. “Gretchuuunnnn!” the
syllables torturously prolonged as desperation grew. “GREEETCHEN! GRETCHUUUN!” The seekers drew close—so unnervingly near
that Mary Chastity imagined them reaching out to grab her. Then, just as swiftly,
they seemed to move off again, voices receding into the inscrutable distance. In
the deafening seconds of stillness that followed, Mary Chastity felt her own
heart’s frantic hammering against the inner wall of her chest, a booming dirge pounded
out on a deep bass drum, sending tremors through the earth in broad rippling circles
as if to wake the dead.
Something was stirring in the water out towards the
middle of the lake. She sensed it, somewhere off to her right, even before the
sound had reached her; a frenzied thrashing on the surface, the water suddenly
broken, boiling, churning, alive. Ominous whitecaps rolled into shore, and with
them the commotion of a teeming exodus, things emerging en masse like a billion
lost souls from the sea. They came wading in, moaning and lamenting, voices
tortured, inarticulate, an infernal chorus, unmistakably male.
Mary Chastity stood as they approached, a shambling
phalanx of naked men emerging from the mist. Their faceless forms were
half-rotted, twisted, grotesque, hair and flesh sodden like seaweed with the fetid
slime of watery entombment. Still, here and there, a glimpse of something horrifically
familiar; a ring-pierced nipple, a scar, a blenched tattoo, riddles written on flesh
like ghostly runic script on faded vellum. The revenants came, lurching and
shuffling, gathering around her less in menace than in brutal supplication.
“Uhhgghh…” She closed her eyes, choking back her disgust
as they touched her, a single hand at first, cold and frail against her
overheated skin, then another, and another, curious, almost methodical in their
explorations. The gauzy wrap was whisked away as fingers traced the sensitive
column of her neck, the charmed space between jaw and collarbone, her upper
arms, the back of her shoulders. And lower still, descending with growing
eagerness till, all inhibition cast aside, they claimed her with clammy open
palms, brazen, ravenous, famished for life too-long denied.
They spun her around roughly, her body buffeted like
flotsam on a dithering tide, shoved from hand to hand as each took their turn
to grope and squeeze and paw. By now she was naked above the waist, worked out
of her dress with a thousand random tugs and pulls. They manhandled her in slow
motion, her bottom, her breasts, the sanctum of her inner thighs, all smeared
with an oily putrescent glop as they crowded in, fumbling and fondling, a
writhing communion of the damned absorbing her into itself.
“Help!” she cried out though she knew no help would
come. “Help!” the words barked out in sharp staccato sobs. “Help!” And again, a
strangled husking “Help!” as they pushed her to her knees, down into a vortex
of seething flesh. Through hooded eyes she saw them all around her, a waving
wheat field of half-inflated cocks, quivering like heavy seed pods about to
burst, blushing, erubescent, glinting with the dubious moisture of quickening arousal.
A few made fleeting contact as the circle tightened, brushing randomly across her
shoulders and through her hair. She felt them then, organs of all shapes and
sizes, stiffening as they pressed at the sides of her face, her ears, her cheeks,
her chin, her lips, blindly probing and thrusting, seeking out her weakness.
And more, closing in wherever she tried to turn, merciless,
hungry things all driven by the same brainless need. Unbending now like low-hanging
branches, countless cocks battering her upper body; some brushing and slapping
her across the face, others wriggling and squirming wormlike through her
cleavage and over the swell of her breasts. She slumped to hands and knees, weak
with the struggle to hold her loathing in check, to keep her mind above the
maddening fray even as her head sank beneath its surface.
Terror breeding indecision,
Mary Chastity tried to crawl away, first on all fours, then on her belly, dragging
herself through the sand like some hunted forest creature scuttling far beneath
the swaying canopy of cocks. To the shoreline—No! Towards the fire! Must stay close to the fire!—she made her way
through a jungle of foul-smelling flesh, hanging half-decomposed, withered
foliage from the trunks of rotting trees. Past shrunken hips and emaciated
thighs, knees unnaturally protruding, withered calves and ankles, bones jutting
out at gruesome angles from yawning unhealed wounds.
Have to make it! Have to… But stay inside the circle no
matter what. Musn’t get turned around. Mustn’t forget where I left—Yes! There was a visible parting
in the forest, a tenuous pathway opened up ahead of her, and the fire a short
way beyond. If I can just get to it,
everything will be—
“No!” Someone had seized her
by the hair, and she was being dragged back into the thick of the crowd. “God,
no!” They held her by her wrists and ankles as they lifted her, waist-high
above the ground, limbs splayed out like a cross in the form of an X. No! the cry echoed within as they tore
her skirt away. God, please! Her head
lolled back, unsupported, so that she was unable to see, only feel, and guess,
and picture as uncertainty fed her fear. As something insinuated itself between
her legs—something abominable, repulsive, yet far-too familiar, like the
tenuous memory of a nightmare—the head of a long slender cock slip-sliding with
greasy ease against the soft line of her labia, nudging her wet walls aside as
it found its way forward, filling her like white-hot steel.
Three fleshly
suitors do I see…
She knew this cock, if not the face of its owner,
remembered unmistakably the smooth metal ring behind the ridge of the glans,
the way it scraped at her soft inner places with every unexpected surge—every
slow excruciating withdrawal—when her virginity had been taken that night as
she slept, though afterwards she had dismissed it as a dream.
Three
loathsome lovers will there be…
“Oh!” She
yelped as a second cock was crammed in alongside the first. This one was
unmistakable; more substantial in weight and girth though less in length, like a
massive tree root burrowing through wet soil. The two members moved in awkward
concert, thrusting and reciprocating as if vying for dominance, pushing her to
the brink of endurance where yet another cock was shoved into her mouth, open
wide in wonderment and horror.
She knew this one best of all. A balky iron club
wrapped in velvet, it strained the hinges of her jaw, filling her till she
could scarcely breathe. Just as it had been that distant morning when she knelt
before it, awestruck, like some pagan postulant before a great stone idol,
worshipping with her lips until the god had anointed her with his unruly gift, initiating
her into his cult of mysteries with a burst of sacred jism.
Thus, ravished
by all, you shall flee…
Something cool and smooth like sculpted glass sought
entry from below. But that was a dream…
Real enough, the fourth member circled the bashful rim of her nether opening
before impaling her there, filling her last hung’ring hole. Holy God! It chafed against the others,
creating an eerie friction through the thin walls of her core, and she imagined
them together, fused by some fearsome intelligence, slowly merging into one
impossibly potent mass.
…and find your
way at last to me… Mary Chastity heard the demon’s thought in her head. The revenants had
heard it, too, for they halted in mid-stroke, suddenly uncertain. But only for
a moment. The pace resumed, more deliberately as, one by one, they pulled back
inside her, waiting, waiting, waiting as if for permission before pushing
forward together as one. A single earth-shattering thrust. And again. And
again. Once, twice, three times, groaning soldiers throwing the last of their
strength against an unbreachable wall. They came like the confluence of roaring
rivers, flowing into the hollow interstices of her being, boiling away her
will. What cursed mongrel might be born of such unholy fusion? Uncaring now,
she screamed with all her failing strength, screamed and screamed again, a
single word of farewell and of welcome, all she had been at last abandoned to
the void.
The sky itself seemed to answer. A growl of thunder
heralded a shift in the atmosphere, a change in the air, as if she and
everything around her had suddenly found themselves transported into the
cloistered eye of a storm. A gray ceiling of cloud hung stiflingly low overhead,
spread out in all directions to where a ruddy incandescence defined the meager encircling
horizon like the steady glow of a furnace. She could hear the low lament of
distant wind, its lonesome drone accompanied from time to time by brooding
peels of thunder, far, far off, resounding dully across that blasted hellscape.
“…my slave for all eternity!” The voice came, no
longer as a thought; not a whisper or a hiss, but something out of the thunder
itself, full-throated, deep, clear, and commanding. “Enough! This one is mine!”
The revenants disengaged clumsily, whimpering in mournful terror as they fled
to the edge of the circle, randomly fading and phasing in and out of certainty beyond
its limits, at last disintegrating altogether into flaccid swarms of dust.
Panting, naked, exhausted from her ordeal, Mary
Chastity crouched at the demon’s feet. Her body glistened with the vile residue
of the revenants’ embrace, their own unholy chrism, a hundred soiled handprints
adorning her from shoulder to calf like a hideous birthmark. She shivered,
acutely mindful of her isolation, her vulnerability; the uncanny sense,
simultaneously thrilling and repulsive, of the creature’s searing gaze upon her
skin, his hungry appraisal of her like a spider savoring the terror of its
meal.
A hulking form loomed up before her in the sickly
twilight. Close, so very close that she need only have opened her mouth to gauge
its substance, a fearsome phallic monolith. The thing appeared to mutate as she
watched, indistinct like a subliminal illusion, never altogether there at once,
suggestions of shape revealed in blinks and flashes at the shifting margins of
shadows in the firelight. Mary Chastity thrilled at the thought of the whole,
for if those transient, fragmentary hints were suddenly to be assembled like so
many pieces of a puzzle in her mind… Her eyes flitted upward, following the
blurry outline of the shaft to its root, the place where it protruded from
beneath the sheer cleft of a tautly sculpted stomach. How? How could this be? Up and up, she took it in by increments,
the muscled body of a perfect human male, limbs beautifully formed, chest and
shoulders broad and strong. Up and up with growing excitement, yet still she
could not see his face—could not as yet perceive the whole of him for all her
torrid curiosity.
“Show yourself,” she cried. “I want to see you!”
“Slave!” A hand, beautiful and swift, swept down to capture
the sides of her face in its pitiless grip. “Even now, you have yet to learn
your place!”
“Uhhhh…” She blurted out the compressed semblance of a
protest, unable to breathe or break free. “Uhh… uhh…”
“Who are you?” The demon pushed her away abruptly.
“Speak!” He held her by the shoulders, tight, at arm’s length as she fought for
breath again.
“I… I’m Gretchen—Mary Chastity I mean. Or Chaz… some
of the time I’m Chaz. I’m not sure anymore.”
“Who are you?”
“Does it matter now?”
“Who are you?”
“Who do you want me to be?”
“Hmm.” The monster considered for a moment. “And who
am I?”
“You are… The Nameless One.”
“Who am I?”
“You are Lust.” She spoke meekly as if reciting from
the catechism. “You are Urge. Desire Unrequited. Need Never Fulfilled. You are
the Fear that comes like a shadow attending them all. You are the Longing that
haunts the darkest corner of a maiden’s heart. The Beast that fills the night
with weeping and with screams.”
“Who am I?”
“You…” Mary Chastity leaned forward with a sultry sigh
as she touched her lips to the head of his cock. “You are my Master.”
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