The Acolyte
Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
Chapter 19
Henry felt unclean. Polluted. It was still sinking in, what the woman had told him; he had eaten human flesh. Eaten it and liked it.
He wanted to throw up. With his entire soul he wanted to, but it was too late.
Anger welled up in him, sweeping the nausea away for a moment. He was surrounded by an evil he'd never thought to face - not the everyday evil of venial sins and backsliding - but something hideous and ancient, a living abomination that would require new weapons to fight it. It certainly would require more than the cowardice he'd shown so far.
It wasn't enough that the woman and the Shadow Man had enticed him into abusing himself shamefully in front of them last night. They flaunted their depravity and seemed amused by his weakness. All the inner strength he thought kept temptation away, the oaths he'd sworn in secret, they all crumbled to dust. The evil that had forced him into this wandering penance was revived to torment him again.
Henry was dead to his family and everyone he'd grown up with. He could never return home, never ask forgiveness. All he could do was roam the part of the world he was familiar with, struggling to redeem himself. He even stopped calling himself Henry, asking people to call him by his nickname, Jake. Reverend Jake, after he became a real minister.
And at the sight of Helen luxuriating in the violations of the Devil himself...he had broken his promises.
But even remembering the Beast brought a fresh terror flooding through his heart. Men weren't equipped to fight against monsters from the depths of Hell; what resouces could he possibly draw on now, here, chained in a dungeon? And what if he weren't chained...?
He looked around him, carefully glancing at the woman to make sure she didn't notice his search. The room was littered with ancient camping gear, abandoned clothing torn from victims' bodies, chunks of half-burned firewood, the bucket they'd given him to relieve himself in, and discarded tools. There. His heart pounded when the flat shape of a leaf spring caught his attention.
It was protruding halfway from under a sleeping bag, maybe fifteen feet away from him. Close enough to be possible, but still far enough to be just out of reach. Henry tore his eyes from it, superstitious dread that it might disappear drawing his gaze inexorably back. A long piece of metal, his one hope to escape and somehow end this evil. He just had to be patient and wait for the right moment. Sooner or later they would leave him alone again, and he could make his bid for freedom.
* * * * *
Helen angrily stabbed at her pant's leg with a thick needle. As she sewed straps onto another pair of filleted jeans, she couldn't help hearing the preacher's accusations over and over again in her mind.
Murderer.
Serial killer.
Pervert.
And the unspoken, but implied - Witch. She chuckled, shook her head; that last one merely by its idiocy made the others dim in significance.
The monster was a killer, that was its nature. It killed, it ate, it slept. And she? Helen had no illusions about what she was doing - it was a dreadful thing according to the rest of the world. But she didn't feel evil.
Who was to say that this was an unnatural way to live? Who could say that to kill and eat was so immoral? People killed and ate animals daily, save for a few who considered even that to be wrong. Humans were nothing but animals, however they deluded themselves that they were so much more. The worst she had done was move herself to the top of the food chain... or almost the top.
She had some measure of pity for the people she slew, because she did care for them - like embarrassing family - regardless of their shortcomings, but it was a pity tempered by merciless efficiency. There were too many people for the world, people trained for generations to be helpless and blind, and she was the result. Someone who could cull the herd, make some use out of the excess.
As for the perversions... She smiled. An ideal match was what they had both found, if only for a brief time.
Helen looked over at the preacher, hugging his knees again, dropping off by the look of it. She decided something would have to be done. An enemy in their midst was amusing for a while, but it was a risk, too. Though he wouldn't be able to slay his 'devil', he might be capable of causing more trouble than she wanted. Her time with the monster was so short, she was jealous of any threat.
They would have to break Henry - that was the best way to deal with him.
* * * * *
It was night. Everything was dark, but he could see quite well. He floated high up in the air over a patchwork landscape; something that felt like another pair of muscular arms stretched from his shoulders, held him blissfully aloft on warm updrafts. Something bright glimmered below; a human riding in an open convertible. He was attracted to the scintillation like a moth to a flame.
Diving, wings folded up against his body, he plummeted towards the source of flesh scent drifting up from the car. At the last moment he veered aside, swooped low across the pavement directly in front of the convertible. The car screeched to a swerving halt, and he circled, savoring the kaleidescope of fear rising up like incense. Ahhh, mmm...
Henry was at the woman's house, eating a delicious steak sandwich. It was so savory, so juicy. A two-handed sandwich. It began to squirm in his hands, forcing him to hold onto it tighter, then to dig his nails in. He really didn't want to drop it; it was too good to waste. He brought it back to his face and took a huge bite, sinking his teeth deeply into the sandwich. As he did so it began to utter blood-curdling screams, and squirmed with renewed vigor. The screams and movement provoked him, made him feel good. He tore a bite loose and lowered it from his face. As he did so, he saw that his sandwich was a small man.
He dropped the man with a cry, and staggered back.
The man was him.
* * *
Henry awoke with a jerk. His chain clanked dully.
All was silent and still; the control room was empty. There was no sign of either the woman Helen, nor the Shadow Man. Earlier, before he had fallen asleep, the girl had disappeared down a passageway on the back side of the control room. Henry didn't know where she'd gone, but all had been quiet for so long now that he figured she must've departed by another exit.
The leaf spring, he had to try for it now. Pulling himself to the furthest reach of the chain around his ankle, he lay stretched on his stomach, reaching out one arm towards the metal bar. He didn't even get close; it was a full three feet farther away than his outstretched fingers. He groaned in frustration, the shackle digging into the soft flesh of his ankle as he tried to extend himself a little more. The bar sat there taunting him, just out of reach.
Henry relaxed, rubbing the cramps out of his shoulder, and scratched his stubbly chin. He looked around for something to help him reach the bar, but his captors had carefully cleared the space of rubbish. All he had was the ratty, bloodstained blanket they had tossed him.
He tried to stay calm and think of what to do next. There was no telling how much time he had before one of them returned, and he didn't want to squander it. This might be his only chance to survive.
The blanket lay wadded up beside him; he hadn't wanted to touch it before, but now an idea was worming its way into his mind. He picked up the musty, torn thing, weighing its possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, it could work.
Henry twisted the blanket loosely, forming a fat rope. He tossed one end over the leaf spring, and began working his end back and forth, trying to wrap the blanket around the exposed metal. It wasn't easy; most of the bar was hidden underneath the sleeping bag, and the blanket kept sliding off. After five tries he managed to move the bar a few inches, and with excitement coursing through his blood he continued to toss the makeshift rope again and again.
After nineteen tries he had shifted the bar back and forth enough to expose most of it, but it was no closer to him. He slumped, nearly in tears. Anger and desperation drove him to keep trying, and he wiped his face with a grimy hand. Four tries later he had gotten the bar completely out from under the sleeping bag, and he cheered inwardly. Folding the twisted blanket in half, he threw the loop over the far end of the spring, then slowly dragged it towards him. The metal grated loudly on the concrete floor, but it was coming!
And then he had it in his hands, the grail, the possibility of escape from this chamber of horrors.
Henry wasted no more precious time, but set to work trying to free himself. He wrapped the chain once around his heavy bar, near to the pipe on the wall, and began twisting. After a couple of turns it stopped, and he braced his body against the bar to lean his weight onto it. The chain didn't even groan, or pop, or give any sign of weakening. He stood and put his foot on the bar, willing his body to be heavier just for a few minutes. Nothing.
He carefully brought his other foot up, stood fully on the leaf spring. It creaked ominously, but the chain didn't give. Just as he was about to start jumping on the spring, it broke with a loud twang, sending him sprawling painfully to the floor.
Tears of frustration and shame welled up, stinging his eyes. The spring must have been cracked, probably that was why it was discarded in the first place. He got to his knees, inspected what was left of his salvation; two pieces of metal, one a few inches long and still tangled in chain, and the other piece about two feet long.
Not much to work with, ...but as a last resort, he could still use it as a weapon.
As he was unwinding the chain from the short broken end, a scuffling sound echoed into the room. He froze, terrified of being caught, of losing his only advantage. The sound came again, closer, but there was no one visible. Finally it became clear as the girl - bent in half - appeared in the passageway, dragging a metal washtub sloshing with water.
She didn't spare him a glance as she dragged it over to the remains of the campfire. The girl came to a rest alarmingly near Henry, but never acknowledged him; in fact, she seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. It was dark enough in the control room that she could easily miss him. He watched from his shadowy corner as she gathered up scraps of wood and started a new fire. Henry wondered why; it wasn't cold in the room.
His question was answered as she pulled a stool over to the tub, and sitting unawares a few feet away from him, began to undress. With wide eyes he watched her unbuckle the straps of the odd leather shirt she wore and remove it, revealing a lacy white bra; he watched half gratefully and half with regret, because she sat with her back mostly to him. The girl, Mena he had heard her called, slowly wiped her arms with a wet rag, lingering as though daydreaming.
She was bathing. It was such a mundane and homely activity in this house of evil, he almost felt relieved.
He saw the girl in a new light as she washed herself by the fire. Young, with the innocence of her childhood still clinging to her like a sweet fragrance, and caught by fate between her murderous aunt and the horror of the Shadow Man. Her skin gleamed like a fresh daisy in the flickering light.
Henry kept still as a statue, not wanting to break the spell, not wanting her to turn and see him holding the broken bar, ...or see him watching her. He could feel heat rising in his face as he stared. Henry tried to stop; though just a few years younger than he, she was still a kid after all...but the girl was so pretty, so delicate, and so vulnerable.
She kneeled beside the tub and lowered her head into it, then began rubbing her dark hair into a lather. He had never watched a woman washing her hair, and it affected him more than he would have thought possible. Wet suds dribbled down her lovely neck as she ran fingers through the mass of soapy hair; he could imagine the suds flowing down between her round breasts, pooling on her belly. Henry swallowed hard, finding it hard to breathe suddenly.
She dunked her head into the tub again, rinsing off the thick lather. He watched, eyes wide and head tilted aside, as she squeezed the excess water from her hair and combed her fingers through it. Henry hoped and feared that she was finished with her bath, but then she unhooked her bra, began lowering the straps.
The pink tip of her nipple was just visible around the soft globe of her breast. His breath stilled in his chest as she raised an arm and began washing her torso. Wet skin gleamed at him in the firelight, beckoning. His mind reeled, yelling at him to look away; blood was rushing to inappropriate parts of his body. He was entranced; as long as she didn't see him, he could see nothing else but her.
The girl stood and began undoing the buttons of her pants. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband, slid them down over her hips. Henry's trousers were painfully tight; he wanted so badly to put his hands on those beautiful, curving hips, slide them down along with her hands. Her body was still spare with adolescence, and as perfect and unmarred as a marble statue.
She lowered her pants over her ass, revealing a bare and glorious view. He had to stifle a groan as she girl ran the washrag over one round cheek, dripping suds down the back of her thigh. She bent to pull the pants over her feet, stayed stooped over to unbuckle the thigh-high tops of her boots. His eyes jumped to her face, visible for a moment around her legs.
The girl was looking straight at him, a sly, knowing glint in her eye.
His blood ran cold. That one brief look had held the same predatory gleam as the wolf on her shoulder - it was a look full of cold, mischievous hunger. She was taunting him... had been all along.
All the fever he'd felt now curdled into rage. That sweet, fresh body, she was using it as a weapon against him. His own flesh betrayed him. Now the girl was flaunting her naked, dripping skin before him, torturing him with it. Delicate? Vulnerable? He had seen her help murder a man, skinning him slowly to death; how could he have forgotten?
He wanted to punch her. It occurred to him to throw the metal bar at her; a brief vision crossed his mind of it striking her face, wiping that teasing look off it, but he didn't want to throw away his only weapon.
Henry's heart leapt as he realized that his chain was at a maximum of slack right now. He could probably reach her. ...a hostage!... Without further thought, spurred on by panic, Henry darted forward. His shackled foot was snatched back, but he struck his target, easily pinned her up against his chest with the broken-off bar. The triumph of having captured her went straight to his loins, pulsing in time with his crazy heartbeat.
"Unlock me," he demanded. "Get me out of here." She shook her head vehemently.
Henry gasped, breathless, paralyzed. The clean, damp smell of her skin made him dizzy. He was furious at her, he hated her, but he was putty in her hands.
She was melting slowly against his growing heat. He wobbled on his one foot, trying to keep his balance.
Henry's free hand rose, fumbling for her soft skin. He ran a thumb over her firm nipple, caressed her round breast before moving his trembling hand down her belly. Henry had never touched a woman this way before; it made his head swim and his skin tingle. He pulled his hand away as though it had been burned.
"...you evil little bitch." he groaned.
Her laugh was like birdsong. To his horror, she brought both hands up, and tenderly stroked the arm holding the bar. She turned her head, smiled and whispered at him, "You're so cute."
He jumped back, suddenly afraid a trap had closed, but she twirled around and followed close to him. Henry stumbled backwards, tripping over his wadded up blanket. He managed to right himself, yelped and swung the bar up; it connected obliquely, striking the girl's head and shoulder enough to knock her off balance. She fell heavily to the floor, her mouth an 'o' of pain and surprise.
Henry staggered back hunched over, breathing hard. He was fighting back the violence he felt welling up inside, violence which he also felt toward himself, for responding to her seduction.
A piercing whistle startled him. It was the girl; she had brought fingers to her mouth and let loose a long trill. He was dumbfounded for a few seconds, then he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Dread quickly overpowered all rational thought.
Crawling out of the shadows high up on the wall, the devil, staring at him with cold neutrality. Its regard was intelligent, malevolent. The monster continued to hold his gaze, then it leapt down and strode to its workbench. Bending, it rifled quickly through a massive wooden box. With a chorus of clanks, the creature held up another set of shackles and chain.
Henry barely had time to register what was happening and stagger back a few steps, before the monster had pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor, pinning his arms together over his head. Its strength was adamant and frightening; in one robust fist it dragged him along the wall to the end of his ankle chain. The hideous creature paused, stooped to sniff him closely. A panicky moan wavered from Henry's open mouth; face to face with the leering horror, he was sure the devil had decided to eat him after all. But the creature only sneered and shackled his wrists, threading the chain through another pipe on the wall.
It wasn't until the devil stood back then, silently as a panther, that Henry - with a dreadful sinking feeling - realized he was being laid out for torture.
* * * * *
Mena knew the monster was offering her the man to play with, and didn't hesitate at the opportunity. The little preacher looked beautiful, splayed out in chains, glossed with sweat and terror. She felt the first pangs of love pierce her heart. The way he had been mooning, the way he had touched her...she knew for sure now that he wanted her, too. The prospect was piquantly delicious.
She straddled his thighs, hovering over him on her booted knees. His head was already halfway restrained between his outstretched arms, and she took advantage. Mena lunged forward, pressing her lips against his, sliding her tongue to touch his. He shuddered, but his lips parted a little. He was slowly succumbing to his needs like a man drowning in quicksand.
She smiled, nuzzled his fine second-day whiskers. Mena eased herself back, licking her lips. Henry was sweet as honeysuckle.
"You're wearing too many clothes, Henry," she said patiently, as though being naked as a jaybird was the norm. She reveled in the play of emotional struggles that ran across his features. Mena wasn't too surprised to see a surreptitious hope among them. They consolidated into naked fear, though, when she reached down between her legs and came up with a short knife.
Where did that come from?, was his visible thought; he glanced down to see the answer; she had a sheath just inside the high edge of her boot. The crescent-shaped knife loomed in his vision, and he shrank back, sure she was about to carve him up.
Mena laughed lightly, though still swinging the knife closer towards him. "Don't worry." she said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Much."
She began cutting at one of his cuffs, carefully pulling the razor-sharp knife down his arm, then inward to the center. The circuit from wrist to wrist completed, she put the blade away, and began unbuttoning the remains of his shirt. Mena patiently undid every last one, then with a light flick, disposed of the quartered clothing.
She stood back, admiring, running her hands down his wiry chest, his stomach, petting him slowly. After her fingers brushed around his navel, her hands came to a rest on his belt buckle. His panicky, too-wide stare caught her eye. "Please," he pleaded, sounding like a frightened boy. "...don't."
Mena stared him in the eye, her lips curving up. "But I've been waiting a long time for this," she said firmly. And with that, she yanked his belt open, unbuttoned his trousers, and hastily pulled the zipper down. Mena hooked her fingers carefully inside the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them, together with his pants, down to his thighs. Then she did a double take at what she saw. Mena whistled, and couldn't help smiling at the deep blush on his face. "Why, Rev. Henry, you've been hiding your light under a barrel!"
The organ she'd exposed was a thing of beauty and disturbing girth. The best thing about it was, it wasn't completely asleep. As she stared agog, it twitched against Henry's thigh, and flushed a deeper shade of rose.
Mena scooted back, lowered her face to lie next to the wonder in its nest of curly, dark hairs, breathing in the scent and exhaling warm air from her nose onto him. Henry gasped at the sensation.
"Oh Jesus...please...help me!" he moaned in a breathless voice.
Mena sat up. Expressionless, she reared back and slapped him hard across the mouth. "Don't make me gag you," she warned, watching fascinated as the handprint faded from white to crimson. She had no intention of carrying out her threat; his little dismayed sounds of arousal were music to her ears.
A shocked, angry tear rolled away from Henry's eye. Blood welled up where his lip had split open. His fists clenched above the crude manacles as she settled her damp head onto his hip again.
She began humming softly to herself, and touched him with gentle fingertips, caressing his stomach, his belly, his other hip and thigh, everything but the lovely thing in front of her face, which continued to pulse and rise. Henry sobbed once, just a hiccup, then mumbled, "nnn..."
Mena smoothed her hands over his skin. "Shhh," she whispered. She trailed her fingers along the hairy inside of his thigh, up the hollow where leg joins torso, savoring the way his body first tensed and shuddered, then melted like warm jelly under her touch.
Her nails scratched lightly through his pubic hair, and she lifted her head to hover over him, her eyes darkening with excitement. She might never get another chance. Even if he survived this time, there was a possibility he wouldn't be willing or able to get it up for her again. This could be...difficult...for the little preacher, and she was trying to soothe him as best she could, but with the monster around, things often got messy in a hurry.
She carefully wrapped one hand around the organ, mavelling that her fingers didn't even meet. Though no longer than any pecker she'd seen, Henry's was almost freakishly thick. The kind of pecker a woman looks at twice before deciding whether she really wants to take that on, Mena thought, but she didn't need the second glance. A little smile played at the corners of her mouth. She had a feeling that she and the preacher were made for each other.
Mena lowered her lips to the rosy head emerging from its tight foreskin. Henry's body thrashed violently under her at the first touch, but eventually went still when he was unable to dislodge her. She sucked gently on him, swirling her tongue around, and murmured gratefully when she felt him swell and harden in her hand.
"...ahh God yes." It was the barest whisper under his breath, but she caught it. Mena beamed. She was making excellent progress.
She lingered for a moment longer, then crawled further up over him so that one of her breasts dangled over his face. The preacher was breathing heavily and had a hard time focusing.
"Suck," she ordered.
She saw the look in his eye too late. He reached up and bit her breast hard. Mena yelled and tried to jump back, but he was latched on like a pitbull. Without even thinking, she reared back and punched him in the sternum. Henry's mouth flew open in an explosive wheeze, and Mena sat up straight to examine her wound.
A bleeding ring of toothmarks surrounded her entire aureole. It hurt like a motherfucker, but she had to laugh...it was sort of artistic. She looked back at Henry, who was still gasping and heaving, with a dark smile.
"Wanna play rough, huh?"
Mena watched the anger on his face fade to dismay, as the monster reappeared carrying something. It was obvious Henry thought it was another instrument of torture. Well, it is, she thought with a hint of malice.
The creature handed her a short wooden rod with crude leather thongs threaded through each end. The surface of the rod was dark and heavily chewed. Her smile broadened, and she lunged at Henry's head, cramming the gag in his jaws. He tried to thrash his head around to loosen her grip, but she quickly pulled the straps to the back, tied them in a snug knot.
She reached out and caressed his lips, now pulled back in a painful grimace, with her fingertips. "Too bad..." she murmured sadly, but the offhand regret on her features shifted into dangerous mirth. "Now, where were we?" Mena scooted back on her knees, lowering her hips so that she sat straddling his cock rather than impaled on it. Slowly, her hands braced on his stomach, she began to rock back and forth, her dark-flushed lips sliding easily across his stiffening organ, denying him the relief of being fully received.
Henry let out a breathy groan, muffled by the scarred gag, and his head arched far back. His whole body was taut and shaking like a racehorse. Mena rode him with her head back and eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the man under her and his increasingly desperate noises. Face glowing pink, her movements soon became more languorous, her breathing deeper. Below, Henry's hips began to strain upwards into the moist warmth.
He jerked alert suddenly, blue eyes flashing open like half-glimpsed sparks. At first his rolling eyes settled on her face with a sort of stunned, horrified longing, his mouth slack around the wooden gag. Then his wild-eyed stare roved haphazardly around, looking for the source of his distress. It was apparent that he was still worried about the monster, and with good reason.
The monster had approached and was standing over the girl, sniffing the air like an animal. Beneath drooping eyelids, its eyes had rolled back in its head. The creature's swollen erection jutted out like a horn, dripping thin strands of clear, slimy fluid. Mena, face flushed and loose from her exertions, didn't notice. The monster's eyes opened, focused first on her, then Henry, then the girl again.
It crashed to its knees behind her, grabbed her hips and yanked them up. The creature slid its stiff, grey organ against her glistening folds, stroking her as she had done to Henry. Its head rolled as it hissed and snarled, quickly losing patience. The dark beast wasted no more time, but buried itself deeply inside her with a grunt and the sound of a fist sinking into soft fruit.
Mena huffed out a startled, bestial cry. "hHanhhh!"
* * * * *
With mesmerized dread, Henry watched the act taking place over him; mortified and absolutely fascinated. Beneath Mena's wide-spead legs, almost touching the dark kewpie-doll curl of her bush, was his own sodden cock, straining and painfully hard. The sensation of damp heat radiating down was impossible to ignore, as were the sounds. The ends of his gag began to shine with saliva.
The monster raised one hand to her throat, guided her neck back to its face, where it inhaled as vigorously as it fucked her. While Henry watched, the creature tilted its head, stuck out its glistening tongue, and licked the back of Mena's neck, opening its eyes to stare straight at him. The look was greedy and chilling.
The creature's other hand roved up to grab a breast, rub it roughly, then drag sharp, ragged fingernails across it and down her stomach. Mena's back arched, her mouth wide open as she snarled. Tiny red beads formed in the parallel scratches. This stole the monster's attention for a moment; its pace faltered as it became engrossed in the perfume of fresh blood. The monster licked its lips, then blinked and frowned, pushed Mena hastily away from its face. It wobbled unsteadily, reached down between Henry's knees, yanked and ripped at the man's pants to get into a better position. The onslaught was hastily resumed as the beast clutched the girl by the hips.
She sank down to grasp Henry's wrists in her own outstretched hands, her face swaying directly over his. Mena's bloodstreaked nipple painted red hieroglyphs on his chest. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be mouthing a word very softly, every few breaths. Paralyzing shock hit him as it registered.
"...Henry...
...Henry..."
The pace of the dark creature's already hectic pounding picked up abruptly, became savage, as its sharp nails dug in. Its lips pulled back as it howled, baring its mouthful of long teeth. Bare seconds later, Mena's body went rigid and her mouth opened to croak an ecstatic wail. The young reverend, with envy and shocking delight, witnessed a wash of raw pleasure course through Mena's half-open eyes; they were locked onto his.
But not just pleasure.
* * * * *
Still breathing shakily, Mena's head swam, her heart slammed in its ribcage. She gazed at the man inches below, chained down and as aroused as you could ask for. His cheeks were red, his eyes dilated, his body straining and sweating under her. You can have your cake and eat it, too, she thought, sitting up.
The monster pulled out of her with a moist plop, pausing to stroke between her swollen labia again, and reached around to smear its hand through the scant blood drying on Mena's belly. It put the hand to its face, inhaling luxuriantly, then licked some of the blood away.
Mena twisted around, put a hand on the creature's chest, and pushed. "Ok, so scram now." The monster just looked at her, blinked. She scowled, dropped her voice to a faint whisper. "He'll never come with you around..."
The monster leered at her serious expression. It backed away from her, disappeared into the shadows nearby.
Just as she started to turn and face Henry again, his knee slammed into her armpit. Mena yelped and threw her arm around his thigh, trying to retrieve her balance, but he had momentum and toppled her.
* * * * *
The second she hit the floor, Henry rolled over her, twisting his tight-stretched chains, grinding skin off his knees and elbows in the struggle to weigh her down. Henry wasn't very big, but he was still bigger than her, and she was pinned.
He had only one thing on his mind: Hurt the girl.
The hellish sex acts performed on and over him had burned through the fraying strands of his probity. At first he had hoped for a miracle to save him, then he had hoped for strength. When that failed too, he hoped there would be justice, someday.
Now only abject hate and desire remained, eating like acid through his brain and down to his aching prick. If Henry had any sense left, he would have remembered that Mena had his death within easy reach, but his judgement had taken french leave.
* * * * *
Mena was surprised, but not greatly. Once the abashment at having been dumped over so easily wore off, it exposed her feverish delight. Smiling up at him from between his enclosing elbows, she kissed his stretched lips, infuriating him even more. But he could do nothing to stop it; he couldn't even bite her. In his witless rage he was doing the one thing, the only thing left to him; physical violence.
He had been prodding clumsily between her legs ever since he got her pinned down. Mena was just reaching to help him, when he fumbled into a slick, yielding place and shoved urgently. Henry leaned hard into her before her body finally adapted to his size.
Mena wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him like an octopus embracing its prey. Face contorted at the shock of his size, she grabbed his ass, relishing the tense muscles moving under his skin. Chained arms stretched to their tightest over his head, he dug his bloody knees into the concrete, scrabbling for better control.
Henry forced his way into her with crude, bruising thrusts, trying to beat her into submission from within. He was graceless and brutal, as though appeasing a purely carnal hunger, but Mena knew, could see it in his crazy-dark, blue eyes, that it was not just carnal. It was a limbic need to take some of his lost pride back from her.
Foam collected at the corners of Henry's mouth as he struggled to fill his lungs. Though he wouldn't look into her face, she saw his eyes grow liquid. Then he closed them tightly and two large, hot teardrops splashed onto Mena's neck. He thrashed against her like someone in the throes of a grand mal seizure. She was alarmed for a moment, wondering if he was having a seizure, then shrugged inwardly. At least he's already got a stick in his mouth.
The monster crept up over them like an oily grey fog. It hovered on its knees, legs spread wide over the bare ass plunging between Mena's thighs. By the time she saw the ravenous look in its eyes, it was too late to do anything.
It landed heavily against Henry and slid its lumpy cock, still slick from Mena and still hard, between the man's lean buttocks. Henry cried out wordlessly, tried to twist away; the monster held him down with one outstretched hand, knocking Mena's legs out of the way and crushing the man's belly against hers. The only direction Henry could move was deeper into her, but when he was sunk to the hilt the monster didn't stop, kept pushing relentlessly as it began invading him.
Henry shrieked and struggled as the creature opened him up one excruciating inch at a time.
The monster growled, grabbed Henry's waist with its free hand. It curled its fingers into the man's soft flesh, just digging in enough to make its threat clear; it wouldn't hesitate to inflict a slow, agonizing death, pulling his intestines out loop by pearly loop. Henry stopped flailing, his entire body rigid and quaking, his face paralyzed in outrage. The monster leaned heavily against him, sliding further in until it was fully sheathed. Three groins were smashed together in a sweaty cluster.
Mena wasn't entirely sure that Henry was still conscious. She couldn't see his face; he had slumped limp atop her, his tousled black hair tickling her neck. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Then the monster pulled back, dragging Henry's ass with it. Mena heard his gasp, felt his cock jump inside her, and she knew he was conscious and feeling every infuriated nerve.
The creature adjusted its kneeling stance closer and began to plunder Henry. Like the slow bellows of a furnace, with each thrust it pushed the man fully into Mena, and pulled him halfway out of her when it withdrew. She felt the movements from both their bodies straining within her, and felt both resentment and a wicked delight that the monster was using Henry as a sex toy, vicariously fucking her through the man. After a couple of strokes Henry groaned aloud, once more heaving frantically against her, into her, a funhouse mirror of the fucking he was getting from behind.
Crouching down over his sweat-sheened back, the monster stuck its nose into Henry's hair, inhaling eagerly. It seemed to like what it smelled, as its pace quickened. The creature grabbed a handful of the man's locks and pulled him closer, growling, nose still buried in his scalp, occasionally twisting to lick his neck. Henry's arms and shoulders were stretched to the limit from the chains, his hands clenching at air.
"Don'...don't eat him!" Mena yelled breathlessly.
It would have been merciful to see delirium in his eyes, but as she gazed up into Henry's agonized face, she saw in his expression the horror of full awareness. The monster was sawing in and out of his ass savagely, and the man breathed as though running for his life, chest filling and purging in harsh, creaky gasps. The exhales became mewling groans from around the gag as his balls tightened and started the cascade of pleasure.
Then Henry's deeply flushed face contorted in strangled screams. A bloody tear streamed down his face; the result of a burst capillary in his eye. Snot ran from his nostrils as he howled around the gag. Mena felt the cock inside her pulse spasmodically as the dam broke.
Suddenly she was very slick, and the sensation of the monster's erratic thrusts into Henry took her breath away, left her convulsing in a mute frenzy.
The monster crashed down on top of them, Henry's head grasped in its hands, sniffing luxuriantly, almost snorting. The reverend's screams had dwindled to choking creaks; he couldn't draw breath with the creature lying over him. Neither could Mena, who raised a leg and aimed a swift kick at the monster, just enough to knock it off balance.
The creature rolled to the side with the semi-conscious man still in his firm grip, above and below. It paid no heed as Mena crawled away and sprawled flat again, but took several long, studious sniffs, paused with its eyes narrowed introspectively, then tossed Henry aside with a disgruntled huff.
The three of them lay asunder on the cold floor.
Mena turned to make sure the chained man wasn't choking to death. He was stretched out on his stomach, taking deep, gulping breaths. She could see one of his eyes shimmering at her over his arm. The monster reached out, ran a fingertip down Henry's back; the man jumped as though he'd grabbed a hot wire. He jerked and wailed incoherently through the gag. Mena bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud; the monster just stuck the finger in its mouth and sucked it with suspicion.
She pulled herself up and limped over to the monster's workbench, retrieved the keys. The shackle on his ankle was first; it dawned on Henry that he was being released as she started unlocking his wrists. He drew his bloody knees up, huddling at her feet. Mena stroked his dark hair.
"Shhhh," she said. "It's over now. You made it."
He slowly raised his head to look at her; one eye bloodshot. It was a deer-in-the-headlights stare.
"I went off screaming once, too," she continued in a conspiratorial tone. "Did me no end of good."
End of Chapter 19
Music: 'The Beast In Me' - Nick Lowe
The Acolyte and illustrations Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
~plagarists will be flayed alive~
redplanet@trinidadusa.net
