Incest/Taboo The Devil's Pact

Prologue

On September 30th, 2013, amidst blood and fire, the Tyrants' reign began. In the name of Peace and Security, they put mankind beneath their Oppression. To fight the Darkness, the False Gods, Mark and Mary Glassner, shrouded the World in Night.

--excerpt from 'The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy', by Tina Allard

Lucifer -- The Abyss

I drifted in the Shadows, watching him. Mark Glassner. The man who would finally break down the walls of my prison. For eons I had plotted, nudging the lives of men and women, twisting the threads of their fates, all leading to this perfect time, this unremarkable man. A slob, a loser, a man who had wasted his twenties with dead-end jobs as he drifted through life. Alone, horny, desperate for human contact, for someone to love him.

And for him to finally find someone to love, though he knows it not. For love has ever been my greatest weapon, my greatest goad. Give me a man in love and, under the right circumstances, he will move mountains for my cause. There is no end to the depravity a human will sink to for love, no crime to heinous, no act to monstrous; all I have to do is manipulate circumstances to my end.

Mark sat like a useless sack of potatoes on his stained couch, in his disgusting, tiny apartment in the run-down neighborhood of Parkland, Washington, watching that most useless and wonderful invention--television. Dulling the masses, filling their minds with wonderful corruption, seducing them from the myriad, stifling rules of heaven towards the freedom of sin. The screen flickered, static washing over it. He stood up, running a hand through his short, dark-brown hair and squinting his deep, blue eyes at the antenna perched atop the TV.

"Fucking thing," he muttered, and turned the TV off.

Sighing, Mark turned off his lights, heading to his tiny bedroom and stretching out alone in his twin-sized bed. He tossed and turned, struggling to find a comfortable way to sleep on his old, lumpy mattress without cutting his leg on the broken bedspring pushing its way up through the fabric. His breathing slowed, his eyes closed, and sleep claimed him.

I step into his dreams. All it would take is a little nudge, and then I would just have to sit back and watch as all the dominoes knocked themselves over, inevitably leading to that perfect moment when Mark Glassner kills Lilith for love, springing forth the chains of the Abyss. I will be free again. I will finally rule this world as is my right!

No one, not even the hosts of heaven, will stop me this time.

The Living Gods were born into the Flesh, sent to guide mankind. For years they grew apart, both yearning for the other. When there eyes met for the first time since their incarnation, both Living Gods knew each other and rejoiced to have been reunited. Finally, their great task--the reconditioning of mankind from hate to love--could begin.

--The Gospel of April 1:1-2

Wednesday, June 5th, 2013 -- Mark Glassner -- Spaneway, WA

After twenty-seven years of life, I still hadn't gotten laid. Not even a handjob from a girl feeling sorry for me. I wasn't an ugly guy, just average looking, maybe a little out-of-shape. There was no reason why I couldn't find a nice girl to date me if I just had the courage to try. I was shy around women. I guess it was a mix of a lack of confidence, nervousness around strangers, and a fear of rejection that led to my current status: virgin. If I was being honest, my number one problem was a fear of rejection. I only ever had the courage to tell one girl I liked her. "That's nice," was her kick-in-the-balls response. And the older I got, the more pathetic it seemed. What girl would want to date a guy my age with zero experience?

It was that soul-crushing desperation that had me listening to this book I had found in the public library of all places. I stared down at it clutched in my hands, the hardback cover faded and tattered, the pages yellowing. A simple title, stamped on the cover, read: Folktales and Hoodoo of the Bayou by a D. S. Lucius. It was an old book, printed all the way back in 1903, and I had founded it tucked away in the corner of the New Age section of the Parkland Public Library.

I'm not even sure what possessed me to visit the library last week. I woke up that morning with an itch to try and find something to make my life more than the cesspool it had become, spurred by some half-remembered dream. Thus far, I had done nothing with my life. I had a dead-end job with a boss I hated, and only a few friends I got together with once a week to play D&D with.

The book stood out amid the glossy covers of all the other New Age crap that all promised to "revolutionize my life" with the power of "crystals," or "holistic tonics," or "aromatherapy," or a hundred other bullshits. This book was different. It had weight, substance. It wasn't some rush cash grab put out to exploit some naive fool from his money. I flipped it open, and there was a blurry photo, the type you'd see in a newspaper from the civil war, of a gravel crossroad and a box sitting in a hole dug in the exact center.

"One story told to me by Mere Angele in a run-down shack deep in a black swamp, was, perhaps, the most intriguing. The old, negro woman lay in her bed, consumption wracking her body with bloody coughs, and whispered to me a simple spell to summon the Devil. I record this as she recited, though I have not attempted to cast the spell myself, held back by some vagary of morality or fear of the Almighty. The spell was simple: at midnight, you simply buried a box in the center of a crossroads containing a photography of yourself, the bone of a black cat, and a cutting of yarrow, and the Devil shall appear and grant you three wishes for your soul."

What could I do with three wishes?

Anything I wanted. I could think of nothing else for the last week. My job suffered; I didn't move a single vacuum cleaner, which meant I didn't get a paycheck this week, and that meant it was ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner next week. But that didn't matter if I could sell my soul for three wishes.

But what if it didn't work?

What if it did?

These thoughts assailed each other, warring in my mind until I could stand it no longer. I found an old shoebox, printed a selfie from my cell phone, bought the black cat bone at an occult shop--three for five dollars; I had no idea what I would do with the spares--and I found the yarrow, a white flower, at the Lawn & Care home improvement store.

Now I just had to kill some time until midnight.

I glanced at the clock. Fuck. That was still five hours away. I couldn't stay at home, I was going crazy in my tiny apartment. My entire body was a tightly coiled spring, ready to, well, spring at the slightest annoyance. My skin felt too tight; my stomach was twisted into more knots than a pretzel. I grabbed my keys, jumped into my car, and drove.

I didn't have a direction in mind, not really. I knew where I had to go to find a gravel crossroads, out in the foothills past Spaneway where there were acres of planted forests awaiting their eventual harvest and transformation into lumber or paper or whatever the hell they did with trees these days. I took the left on Pacific Avenue, the main street that ran south from Tacoma, through Parkland, Spaneway, Graham, and out to Mount Rainier.

A sign caught my eye, a blue mermaid holding a coffee mug on a white background. Starbuzz, the ubiquitous coffee house that seemed to have a location on every street corner in Western Washington. I was feeling tired, the excitement and adrenaline of the last few days had left little ability, only a great need, for sleep, and some caffeine might just help get me through the night.

I pulled into the parking lot, parked my car, and entered the store. I bother didn't to lock it, there was nothing to steal but old, fast-food wrappers. The only valuable item I had was my smart phone, a cheap Motorola with a slide-out keyboard that I had owned for three years. It didn't even have 4G. The coffee shop's AC rolled over me like a wonderful, arctic breeze. It was worth it just to get out of the heat.

It was a pretty typical coffee shop: small tables with chairs that pretentious people who claimed they were writers would sit at all day long, pretending to pen that next, great American novel or screenplay; menu's written with colorful chalks advertising today's special--large, salted caramel mocha--and whatever god-awful music CD the store was hawking today. Behind the counter, busy baristas prepared the--

My breath froze.

She had long, auburn hair gathered in a ponytail, a heart-shaped face dusted with freckles, green eyes that sparkled like emeralds, the most beautiful dimples when she smiled. I was entranced; she wasn't the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, but she had the pretty, youthful, girl-next-door look. She was probably a college student, working part-time to pay for school. She wore the typical Starbuzz uniform: white polo shirts embroidered with the blue mermaid half-hidden by her dark-blue apron. A nametag was pinned above her breasts--small, yet nicely filling out her tight shirt--read 'Mary'.

"How can I help you?" she smiled at me, glancing up from the cash register. Her eyes were such a deep green, and her smile seemed to grow as she noticed at me; a sudden warmth flushed through my face.

"I...oh...hi."

"Hi, sir. I'm Mary, and you just let me know when you're ready to order, okay. Take all the time you want." Her smile was dazzling.

"Kay," I muttered. I tried to think, to come up with a drink to order, but those eyes were so green; I could lose myself in them for eternity. And she just kept smiling at me, patient and without a hint of irritation at my slowness. "I...um..." Then I said the first drink that popped into my head.

"Iced or hot?" she asked.

"Iced," I mumbled.

She hit some keys and the register made some whirling noise. "All right, a large, iced mocha's $4.87 with tax."

I paid her, and she deftly went to work, adding the milk, the shots of espresso, the hot cream, chocolate syrup, stirred it up, and dumped ice and the drink into a clear, plastic cup. Then she popped a lid on and handed it to me. Her fingers, small and delicate, brushed my hand. I almost jumped, her touch was almost electrifying.

"I...um..." I struggled to overcome my shyness and talk to her. But that fear of rejection was so strong, I clammed up, grabbed my drink, and walked to a table.

I sipped at the chocolate coffee, it wasn't bad, and thumb through my book on Hoodoo, trying to distract myself. I couldn't concentrate; my eyes kept slipping up to glance at Mary as she bustled behind the counter, her dark-red hair swinging behind her. If my wishes worked, I would have any woman in the world, including her.

It made time seem to go even slower.

"Folktales and Hoodoo of the Bayou, hmm, sound's interesting."

I jumped; Mary stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. I had been lost in a momentary daydream about my impending wishes--returning here and taking Mary for my very own--that I had stopped paying attention to her. She walked around the table, sitting down across from me, those wonderful dimples appearing as she smiled.

"That sounds familiar," she mussed, chewing on her lower lip. "Hoodoo. I think I heard that word on a TV show. Umm, what was it called. Jeez, it was the one with the two brothers traveling around in that old, black car hunting monsters."

I shrugged; it didn't sound familiar.

"Supernatural," she smiled, snapping her fingers in triumph. "They had Hoodoo on it. It was some type of Southern magic. Are you into that, um...?"

"Mark," I supplied.

"Mark." She said my name slow, almost like she was savoring it. Color tinged her freckled cheeks. "That's a great name."

"Oh, thanks. I guess, Mary's not that bad."

"We're a dime a dozen," she shrugged.

"I wouldn't say that, they can't all be as pretty as you," I blurted without thinking.

Her blush deepened. "That's sweet of you. So, what's your interest in magic? Are you one of those New Age guys?"

"Not really. It's...um...just a hobby. I like the occult."

Her grin deepened. "Ohh, that's cool. It's kinda fascinating, huh. I got into it big time a few years ago thanks to all those vampire novels."

"Oh, those, eh, sparkly vampire ones."

"Yep! Team Jacob all the way!"

She said it so enthusiastically that I couldn't help laughing. "Isn't he the werewolf though?"

"Who wants a cold-blooded vampire?" she asked. "When you could have a strong, powerful werewolf to keep you warm."

"Makes sense. I mean, the vampire sparkles in daylight, right, like he's covered in glitter. And that's like dating a stripper."

She clapped her hands over her mouth, laughing and blushing. "No. I definitely do not want to date a stripper."

Were we flirting? Or was she just sitting here being friendly with a customer? I frowned. She should be working or something? Maybe we were firting.

She peered at me with some suspicion. "So how do you know what dating a stripper is like? Have you been down that road?"

"What, no!" I shook my head, though not for a lack of trying. Strippers are very good at making you think they're into you, but they're really just into your wallet.

"You can tell me," she grinned. "I bet you're a player. You have all the girls crawling over you."

"I wish," I snorted. "No, I'm too shy around girls."

"You don't seem that shy. You're talking to me and, last I check, I am a girl."

My eyes couldn't help flicking down to her perky breasts pushing against her polo shirt. "Yeah, you're definitely a girl."

"Yep, you're a player," she nodded. "Eyes up here, big boy."

"Sorry, they're...nice."

She opened her mouth to say something, but a man's voice yelling from behind the counter cut her off: "Hey, Mary, your till was short thirty cents. I need you to come sign the till variant slip."

"I'll be right back," she sighed.

"You're not in trouble, right?"

"Naw, it's only thirty cents. That's not unusual."

My eyes watched her ass, just a little plump, sway beneath her khaki slacks as she walked behind the counter. Then it hit me; she had counted her till down, she was off work. She didn't have to be sitting down and talking to me. I glanced at the book. Maybe I didn't need to sell my soul, maybe I could turn all my luck around.

She was smiling as she came back, sitting down at the table. "Paperwork," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "So what do you do for a living?"

"I sell vacuum cleaners. Door-to-door."

"Wow."

She had to be flirting with me. No one has ever been excited when they heard what my job was. No one. "Hey, Mary, I was wondering," I swallowed; you can do this, Mark. Overcome your fear. "I was wondering if you...wanted to get a bite to eat, or something."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry. My boyfriend...he's on his way over to pick me up."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound neutral. "I didn't mean it like that, I was just...you know, since we were talking, that..."

"Oh, that's alright." She glanced at her watch, and her expression turned sour. "He's late as usual. Well, at least his being tardy let me talk to you. It was nice."

"Yeah."

A rumbling came from outside, the deep, barking cough of a large engine that was in a desperate need for a tune-up. "That's Mike."

"Have a good one," I nodded, trying to mask the hurt. This is why I never open up. It was just an invitation to be hurt.

"Maybe I'll see you again," she smiled. "I have the early shift tomorrow. Or, whenever. I wouldn't mind talking some more."

"Yeah," I muttered. Tomorrow morning, huh. I grabbed the book, running my fingers across its embossed title. By then I'd have made my wish, and then it wouldn't matter that she had a boyfriend. Mary, and any other woman I wanted, would be mine.

Sister Theodora Mariam -- Phoenix, AZ

"The pilot has switched on the fasten seat belt sign," the calm voice of the flight attendant announced over the plane's speakers. "We'll be landing in Phoenix in a few minutes, so please return your seats and tray tables to their upright and locked position."

An excited thrill passed through my stomach right to my pussy, leaving a damp itch I couldn't wait to scratch. After a year of boredom taking care of St. Afra, a church in the slums of LA, I was finally sent on another mission. The Ecstasy had fallen upon me only three hours ago, and the Archangel Gabriel had sent me out into the world to once again fight evil.

There was a Warlock that needed to be stopped.

I had shed my nun's habit for the slinky, blue dress I now wore, showing off a large swath of my round, perky breasts, and hugging my tight ass like a second skin. I was on my mission, absolved from any sins I may commit until I found the Warlock and exorcised his powers. And I was looking forward to sinning! I hadn't been with a man in a year, and I was getting sick of my dildo. I needed a cock. Once I had scratched that itch, I could concentrate on finding the Warlock.

For thirteen years, I had served in the Order of Mary Magdalene, fighting the forces of evil. Thanks to the Gift of the Spirit, I may look eighteen, with all the perky flesh and curves of youth, but I was actually forty-four. There were other benefits to the Gift: I could exorcise Warlocks, control Thralls, and I could see the auras of humans. The average human had a silver aura, but Warlocks were blood-red, and those they had dominated, their poor Thralls, were black. With my powers, I could free the Thralls, and rob the Warlock of his powers.

I hated every Warlock and loved to defeat them.

Thirteen years ago, I had been happily married and a mother, but all that had been stolen by Kurt Wagner. He made me his Thrall, and...I forced those memories down. There was nothing but pain in remembering. He had taken everything from me--my family, my dignity, and almost my soul. But I had been rescued by Sister Louise Afra, and I had gladly joined the Order.

Kurt had left me nothing but my hatred.

I would see that every man or woman that had made a Pact with the Adversary, selling their soul for power, defeated and their evil undone. That was the purpose of my Order. We were the only ones who could stand up to the Warlocks and thwart the Adversary's plans. We were few in numbers, perhaps a dozen in the entire world, and I was one of two whom shepherd North America.

I had no idea who the Warlock in Phoenix was, or how I would find him. But I had faith that Providence would guide me. Another Gift.

The plane touched down; I deboarded with the other passengers. I was on the look out for any promising men. Nothing was jumping out; my flight had been filled with dumpy men and frazzled women. I pressed my thighs together; ever since I had received the Ecstasy, my pussy had been on fire with excitement. My year of self-denial was over, and my pussy needed to be indulged.

I reached the baggage carousel and found a man staring disconsolately at the luggage moving in a slow circle on the black conveyor belt. He was a tall man, early thirties, and seemed to be in great shape. His suit was blue and rumpled like he had slept in. His face had a haggard cast, his eyes red; my heart went out to him--something tragic had just happened. The mother in me rose up and, forgetting about my selfish desires, I walked over to him.

I patted his arm, just above the elbow. "It'll get better. Eventually."

He regarded me with bloodshot eyes, his left fist clenched tight. There was a tan line on his ring finger. I used to have one of those after Kurt made me throw away my wedding ring. It had belonged to my husband's deceased mother, a family heirloom, and that bastard treated it like--

I pushed those emotions back down. Dwelling on the past just made the present harder, and living was trial enough.

"How?" he asked, his voice sounded dead. The poor guy.

"One day at a time," I answered, smiling sweetly at him. "The pain will dull, fade, and turn into a scar."

He stared at me for a long moment. No, he wasn't staring at me, but past me. The poor guy, his wife really did a number on him. I kept rubbing his arm, trying to soothe his pain away. It was pointless, he was hurting too much for a simple touch to heal him, but what else could I do besides leave him to suffer alone?

"I just don't get it," he whispered, a tear spilling down his cheek. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

My bag slid past; I grabbed it off the conveyor belt. My sudden movement snapped him out of his funk for a moment. He looked at the luggage passing by, then grabbed a tan suitcase off the belt. He clutched it in his hand, his lower lip quivering.

"She packed this for me before I left. She told me she loved me."

"I think you could use a drink," I said. "Do you know a bar around here, um?"

"Newton," he answered. "Everyone calls me Newt, though. Except..." The pain returned.

"I'm Sister Theodora, pleased to meet you."

It turned out Newt did know a bar. The Prickly Pear was a quiet bar just up the street from the Sky Harbor International Airport. It was Wednesday night, so it wasn't packed. We sidled up to the bar, and I savored my first rum and coke in a year, while he drank two shots of Jack Daniels in a row. Then he started talking.

"I left on a business trip on Monday, meeting a few clients for my company. She packed my suitcase, dropped me off at the airport, looked me in the eye and said she loved me." He took a deep gulp of his Jack Daniels. "Then...last night...she..." He finished off his third shot, pushing it to the barkeep. "She called me up and we were done."

"Oh, no," I said, reaching out to stroke his hand.

"Yeah. She said, 'We're done. I'm moving in with Tex. He's a real man and I love him. You can go blow your brains out for all I care.' And she hung up on me."

"She really said that?" I asked, my heart breaking.

"Yep," he snorted, grabbing his fourth shot and downing it in a single gulp. "Monday she loved me, and on Tuesday she couldn't even care if I killed myself."

I frowned. "How long were you married?"

"Six years. I thought they were wonderful. Y'know, we had the usual fights, but..."

"Yeah, but you thought everything was going fine. Tell me more about this Tex."

"He's the asshole that lives across the street," he exclaimed, splashing his drink down the front of his suit. "We only moved into the house two weeks ago, and since then there has been naked girls parading all over his house and yard."

"Really?" I set my drink down. Had Providence led me to the Warlock already?

"Who are these women?"

"Some kinda of whores. Like my wife! They parade around in skimpy bikinis, sometimes they sunbathe nude on his front lawn. I called the cops on him, like, twenty times. But the police didn't do anything. They'd just talked to him then left, not caring that there are a couple topless women outside in public."

I placed my hand on his. "Would you like to take me home?"

He glanced at me, his eyes falling on my half-exposed breasts. "What are you, a hooker? Another whore, like my wife?"

"No, I'm a nun," I answered.

"You don't dress like a nun."

I leaned over, and whispered in his ear, "I'm not like most nuns."

His hand fell on my thigh. "I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, why not. My wife doesn't fucking care anymore, why should I."

I leaned over, cupped his chin, rough with his five o'clock shadow, and kissed him on the lips.

Be wary of making any Pact with a Power of the Abyss. They all come with cunning barbs. Even Lucifer's mild cost, three wishes for one soul, can come with strings attached.

--Excerpt from the Magicks of the Witch of Endor

Wednesday, June 5th, 2013 -- Mark Glassner -- Spaneway, WA

I left the Starbuzz coffee shop right after Mary departed in her boyfriend's truck. For the first time in, well, I can't remember how long, I had thought a woman was actually interested in me, and even flirting with me. Turned out she was just a nice girl killing time waiting for her boyfriend to show up. I tossed the book on the wrapper strewn passenger seat and jammed my keys into the ignition.

It was a sauna in my car. With the sun setting, it had started to cool off outside, but you couldn't tell that in my car. It had trapped all that delightful heat. I rolled down my windows, and took off, using the 2-50 method of AC: two windows rolled down, fifty MPH. The wind whipped through my car as I raced down Pacific Avenue towards the foothills and the wilderness, trying to get her green eyes, that beautiful smile, and her perky breasts out of my mind.

They did fill out her polo nicely.

After fifteen minutes of driving, and trying not to think about Mary's beautiful face, I turned off the highway onto a barely paved road. When I was a kid, my dad used to take me out here to shoot bottles with his.22 rifle. That was before his "back injury" put him on permanent disability and he turned into a miserable, abusive drunk. I turned off onto a gravel road, driving through the carefully rows of planted trees, working deeper and deeper into the back country until I came upon a crossroads next to a large fir tree that provided some blessed shade.

I parked, got out, and opened my trunk, retrieving a shovel. Digging the hole turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. The dirt beneath the gravel was almost as hard as concrete. I was sweaty and dirty when I finished, and stumbled back to my car and found a lukewarm doctor pepper in my backseat. It wasn't bad warm, and I downed the entire can in one gulp and cracked opened a second.

My thoughts drifted back to Mary. I leaned back in my driver seat, a gentle breeze wafting through my rolled down window, thick with the scent of pine and wildflowers. In my imagination, Mary opened the passenger door, climbing in, a smile on her heart-shaped face, a flush gracing her freckled cheeks. She'd lean over, placing her hand on my thigh, almost shy.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she whispered, her hand moving up my thigh. "My boyfriend's such a loser, not a man like you."

I closed my eyes, stroking myself as I pictured her hand moving higher and higher, unzipping my pants, and grasping my hard cock. Her fingers were soft and delicate, stroking me slow at first, then moving faster and faster as she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue darting into my lips.

She broke the kiss, her lips trembling with passion. "Make me yours," she moaned. "I want to be your slave. I'll do anything you want!"

"Suck my cock," I ordered. "Drink every drop of my cum."

"Absolutely," she purred. "Master."

She scooted in the car, bending her head down into my crotch. Her breath was warm against my glans, then I groaned as her tongue swirled around the sensitive nub. So warm and wet, then she sucked me into her lips. Pleasure like I had never experienced filled me. Her cheeks hollowed, her head bobbed up and down on my dick.

"Oh, Mary," I groaned. "Suck my cock! Be my whore!"

She moaned around my cock, sucking harder. My heart quickened, my breath came in loud snorts. I shifted in my seat, the pleasure spasming my body. My balls were boiling over, my entire body tensed. She took more of my cock, letting it brush the back of her throat. I grabbed her auburn hair and shoved her mouth down, rough and forceful. She choked and gagged as I forced her to deep-throat me. But she didn't pull away, she submitted to my domination. She was my loving slave.

I came, groaning in my car. I opened my eyes. Still alone. I wiped the cum off my hand with a napkin and put my cock away. I glanced at my phone. Well, that killed five minutes, still four plus hours to go. If this worked, if the Devil really would give me three wishes in exchange for my soul, then I would make Mary mine.

I just had to wait until midnight.

Mary Sullivan -- Spaneway, WA

Mike burped, crumpling his beer can after he finished drinking it. He held up his plate, the crumpled can tossed on the remains of the chicken and rice-a-roni I had made for dinner. "Thanks, babe," he muttered not even bothering to look at me.

I sighed, glaring at his black hair. He looked particularly weaselly from this angle, with the small patch of hair on his chin and the piercing in his right ear. He wore greasy overalls that always left stains on his chair. He rattled the plate, expecting me to take it. He didn't even look at me.

I snatched the plate from him. Would it kill Mike to do the dishes once in a while, or any of the other chores in our apartment? I should say something, but he'd just give me one of his excuses, "I work hard all day, I want to come home and relax." Like I hadn't worked hard all day? I may have finished college for the summer, but I still worked full time at the Starbuzz. Didn't I get to relax?

No.

I walked to the kitchen. "Hey, babe, can you grab me a fresh one while your up."

"Fine," I muttered. I dumped the plate in the sink, opened the fridge, and walked back into the living room. He didn't even say thanks as I handed him another cold beer. I puttered back to the kitchen, hating myself for letting Mike walk all over me.

Sometimes, I wondered why I even stay with him. He's the only boyfriend I ever had. We started dating my junior year, his senior, and he took my virginity after prom. After High School, he took a job at his uncle's repair shop, and when I had graduated, I had moved in with him. And why not, we were in love, right?

The water hissed, splashing on the deep-blue plates. They were the same shade as that man's eyes--Mark. His eyes had seemed to reach right into me when I looked at him. I had never quite seen the like before. Piercing blue and arresting. He was shy, dark hair, serious face, but when he smiled, it was so boyish and excited. Why did I have to be dating Mike? I would have loved to say yes to Mark when he started to ask me out.

And the way Mike had been acting the last year, part of me wanted to take Mark up on his offer. At least Mark hadn't treated me like a doormat. But that would mean leaving Mike, and I couldn't do that. We were in love. I wouldn't be my mother and run out on my relationship to be with another man. I wasn't a hussy! I would stay with my man and love him, and not break his heart. My poor dad still pined after that two-timing bitch, and I would not do that to Mike.

Because I loved him.

Right?

Crack! I jumped; Mike's hand slapped my butt, squeezing my cheek through my khaki work pants. "Hey, babe," he whispered, his breath sour with beer. "You are looking mighty fine today." His hard cock rubbed against my plump butt. "Why don't you do the dishes later and come have some fun with me."

"After I'm done," I sighed. I was feeling a little horny, but not for Mike.

He grabbed my arm. "C'mon, I'll make you forget all about the dishes."

I let him pull me away. When he was like this, he'd pester me all night to get in my pants. Best to get this over with. Maybe he'd last long enough I could get a nice cum out of it. I couldn't even remember the last time Mike had gone down on me. It was at least a year ago, maybe longer, and he rarely lasted long enough to let me get off.

"You are looking so hot tonight," he grinned, pulling my polo shirt over my head.

"Thanks," I sighed as his fingers pawed at my breast, squeezing too hard. He was never gentle when he had a few beers in him.

He reached behind me, trying to unclasp my bra and cursing as he failed. I reached behind and undid it myself, letting my white, boring bra fall off my perky tits. They were my best feature--small but without a single bit of sag and dusted with freckles. My nipples were a dusky pink, not too small, but not those giant ones you see on woman with larger tits.

"Fuck, babe," he groaned, then pushed me down on the bed.

His greasy coveralls came off, followed by his wife-beater while I shimmied out of my khakis and plain, white panties. He gazed down at my pussy hidden beneath a thick, red bush. His eyes were dull with drink, and muddy brown. My thoughts drifted to Mark's blue eyes; warmth flushed through me, right down to my pussy. Mike climbed on top, sticking his fingers between my legs and shoving them inside me.

"Damn, babe, you're already wet," he grinned. "My sexy body, huh."

"Sure," I lied, closing my eyes and thinking of Mark and his boyish grin. Mark's face was shaved smooth, no disgusting soul patch perched on his chin.

Mike shoved his cock in me. I gave a soft moan, pleasure sparking through me. He pumped hard, his groin smashing into me. My hips bucked, rising to meet his thrusts. I pictured Mark on top of me, gazing down at me with those piercing eyes. More pleasure tumbled through me, and I gave another low, gasp.

"Fuck, babe," Mike groaned. I tried to ignore his voice, concentrating on my image of Mark. "What has gotten into you tonight!"

"Just fuck me," I gasped. Fuck me, Mark. Oh, yes! Ravish me. Make me yours. Take me away from Mike. "Oh, fuck! Harder!"

My fantasy consumed me. Mark pumped his cock faster, his groin pleasantly bruising my clit every time he bottomed out inside me. He grinned, boyish and lustful at the same time. You're mine, Mark whispered in my mind. Work those hips; I want to feel your pussy cumming around my cock. Then I'm going to flood you with my cum.

"Yes, cum in me!" I groaned.

"Hell, yeah, babe!"

An orgasm grew inside me, every thrust of Mark's cock sent more and more passion trembling through me. I was so close; my pussy ready to erupt around him. I just kept staring into his blue eyes as he made love to me. My fingers clawed his back, his chest crushing my breasts, rasping my nipples. Our hips were moving in unison, moving with one purpose--to make each other cum.

"Oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" I moaned; Mark pumped faster inside me. "Oh, yes! Keep fucking me. I'm gonna cum!" Pleasure erupted inside me. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! I'm cumming! Oh, fuck, Mark, I'm cumming!"

I froze, opening my eyes, my orgasm erupting through me. Mike kept pumping away, his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't hear what I said. Relief and pleasure swept through me. I closed my eyes, picturing Mark again; more pleasure built inside me. Would I get a second orgasm? My friends whispered about having more than one during sex, but I had never experienced that bliss before. I humped my hips, eager for this new--

Mike dumped his cum inside me. Then he grunted once, rolled off me, and started snoring. Sighing, I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up. I still had dishes to do, and the bathroom needed cleaning. And I hadn't dusted. And I had an early shift tomorrow because Megan was out on vacation.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Maybe Mark would show up and brighten it.

Sister Theodora Mariam -- Phoenix, AZ

I pulled Newt's car into his driveway. He was too drunk to drive home. He lived on a cul-de-sac in one of those suburbs that could be anywhere in America. The houses were all built from the same three plans, and painted brown, beige, white, or gray. They all had perfectly cut, green lawns, though there were cacti, some concession to the Arizonian climate. It must be trash day tomorrow, because every house had their green, plastic garbage can to the right of their driveway.

Newt almost fell getting out of his car, and he glared across the street at a gray house. A faint, pulse of bass permeated the neighborhood, and all the lights on that house were on. It sounded like a party was going on in there. I looked closely, hoping to see Tex or one of the women. If I saw them, I could read their aura and confirm if Tex was my Warlock or just the luckiest guy in the world.

My money was on him being a Warlock. No one who lived in a three bedroom house in suburbia had naked women running around without selling his soul.

"I should go over and kick his ass," Newt whispered, face twisted with anger. "Kick his ass right in front of my cheating, whoring, skank of a wife."

I grabbed his hand, pressing it against my breast. "Wouldn't you like to get back at her another way?" I purred. If Tex was a Warlock, it could be very bad. Kurt had done some pretty heinous things to jealous boyfriends and husbands, and who knows what Tex would do to Newt.

Newt looked at me, and at my round tits; his hand squeezed. Desire flared in his eyes. "Yeah. That'll teach the bitch."

I wanted to tell him the truth, that his wife wasn't a bitch or a whore--she was just a victim. Well, when I rescue her tomorrow, I'll try and smooth things out. They've only been separated a day, it might not be too late to save their relationship.

But that had to wait. I needed to gather more information on Tex and, in the mean time, I was horny. My hand reached out and rubbed the growing bulge his pants. "Let's go inside."

"Yeah," he husked, pulling me to the door. He needed this, something to take his mind off his suddenly upside-down world. He fumbled in his pockets before he realized I had his keys. He snatched them out of my hand, and then cursed. "The bitch didn't even lock the door."

The house was dark, empty. I kissed him the moment the door was closed. His strong arms wrapped around me, finding the zipper of my dress. He was wasting no time. Good. My dress fell in a pile about my feet, and I pushed away, walking to the couch wearing only a pair of skimpy, powder-blue panties that clung to my shapely ass.​