The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I had to leave. It has nearly broken my heart and torn my soul apart, but I had no choice. No choice at all. But I will be back. I promised Helena I would be back. I promised. And she will wait for me, for she loves me, as I love her.

I am feeling the madness fading in the background. It is still there, lingering, but this gives me hope, overwhelming hope, soul-stirring hope. I am more elated than I have any right to be: I am alone in the Syrian desert, on my way to Damascus, exhausted from the last four days’ ride, and yet part of me wants to laugh and sing and dance, for the madness is fading...

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, July 3, 1924

We arrived at the site of the archeological dig in the Syrian desert earlier this evening. The workmen I have hired through the offices of my friend Ibaq had already started digging through the desert sand, and much of the expedition’s camp had already been set up. I was pleased with the progress, and am very much looking forward to proceeding ahead.

I am excited. There is no other word for it. If this find goes the way I hope, we might reach, or even exceed, the notoriety that followed Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in Egypt two years ago. And I am absolutely certain that this is the location of the temple of Sik-Ladi, a fertility goddess generally thought to be Astarte or the Babylonian Ishtar, but which I believe and seek to prove is of even earlier origin. A passage in the Chronicles of the Sumptuous Sands and much subsequent research brought us to this region in the Western Syrian desert, the official British Sik-Ladi expedition, headed by myself, and Lord Pendleton. This should firmly establish our reputations.

Beside Lord Pendleton and myself, we have a crew of about thirty local workmen hired from Damascus, headed by Ibaq, which acts as our guide and liaison to the locals, since neither Lord Pendleton nor myself speak the language. Ibaq’s English is astonishly good, and we learned that he has been educated in England, through twists and turns of history that I shall perhaps recount later.

Probably more interesting is that I have the pleasure of being accompanied on this journey by my beloved, Lady Helena Barnaby, my wife of nearly a year now. She insisted on joining me on this travel, having no desire to remain by herself back in Devonshire. She took to the trip easily, and this is but one of the many reasons why I love her so dearly. She has been a pleasure to have around, and has marveled at everything on the way through the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. We are scheduling a stop in Italy on the return trip, for I so do wish her to see Florence, which I am certain she will fall in love with. She even took to riding a camel like a professional, laughing the whole way as she bounced up and down. I had a mind to warn her to restrain herself, but her amusement and sheer joy stayed my tongue and I let her be. I have a worry that she will find life in the camp rather boring after the initial novelty fades, as this dig is scheduled to last for several months, but she has assured me that she will find means to entertain herself. She will take is as an opportunity to further her painting skills, she told me, as well as sketching our finds. She is also taking an interest in archeology and is reading a tome on the history of the region. And if she truly experiences boredom, she said finally, she can always start to learn the local language. I am truly blessed to have found such a wonderful and intelligent wife. And I thank the heavens daily that unlike most ladies of my acquaintance, she mercifully decided not to travel with a whole retinue. Rather, she is accompanied by her servant, Janice. She is a black girl from Antigua, really lovely, dark where my beloved is fair, round where my beloved is thin, and she came into my wife’s family when she was but a kid, and grew up with Helena. Those two would be friends if their difference in station would permit such a relationship. But Janice dearly loves her mistress, and Helena could hardly do without her.

The one thing I may have to worry about is that Lord Pendleton seems to have taken quite a liking to Janice. It appears that the rumors I have heard back home in England were unfortunately accurate—he is an old lecher. I shall have to keep my eye on him. I do have to keep him in my good graces, seeing as he is financing the expedition. But that does not mean that I will allow him to indulge his twisted desires with impunity. Perhaps I should count myself lucky that Janice has attracted his attention and not Helena.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, July 14, 1924

After a week of steady work, the workmen have uncovered a layer of pebbles a few yards deep in one of the areas that has been flagged as consistent with the presence of a massive structure like that of a temple. This gives us hope, as the size and shape of the pebbles suggests that they are building stone fragments.

Helena is adapting beautifully to the life in the camp. She is out early, before the stifling heat of the day settles in, and paints or sketches for a few hours while the workmen work. She has turned from painting the desert to the painting the dig itself. The resulting pieces will serve as wonderful illustrations for the article we are hoping to write about the results of the expedition. During the day, she remains within her tent with Janice, reading and discussing and writing letters home—we have a courier that makes the camel trip to Damascus once every two weeks to deliver and pick up our mail as well as bring us news from the civilized world. In the evening, Helena often joins Lord Pendleton, Ibaq, and me for a meal and participate in our conversations. Everyone loves her, including the workmen, who I was surprised to see are almost protective of her. Ibaq, especially, seems very fond of Helena, and has taken to call her our good-luck charm.

As I feared, Lord Pendleton seems to have been trying to seduce Janice. The girl has made it clear that she will not indulge him, however. She came within two steps of slapping him in the face two nights ago, after Pendleton tried to put his hand underneath her dress. I had to intervene, making sure that a scene would not arise. I spent several minutes coddling to Lord Pendleton, reminding him that while Janice was but a servant girl, she was my wife’s favorite, and my wife would be severely upset were her servant manhandled or unhappy in any way—I tried to emphasize the irrationality of women, an argument that I felt would be particularly effective with Pendleton—and that an unhappy wife would undoubtedly have its effect on me, and Lord Pendelton could see the uncomfortable position that this would put me in. Pendleton nodded, and told me he would try to behave, although not before offering me a few choice words about what he would do to poor Janice were he given the chance. The old bugger. He is fortunate that he has money, since I could not imagine anyone tolerating being in his presence otherwise. At least, he has the good sense of not interfering with the dig itself. Although I suspect he will claim most of the credit for any find we make. Ah well. Science is its own reward, is it not?

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, July 20, 1924

This is an incredibly exciting time. We have exposed what looks like the tip of a stone structure, and the general shape and carvings are unlike any I have ever seen before but still consistent with what we know of the third millennium before Christ. The discovery is exhilarating, and I have to keep from pushing the workmen too hard lest they damage the structure.

The workmen. They have been restless in the past several days, and I cannot understand why. Granted, the heat is stifling, and it may well account for the short-temperedness that befalls camp in the middle of the day. Everyone feels it to some extent, except perhaps myself and the ladies. Helena cheerfully paints and converses with Janice while the rest of the workmen snap at each other like cocks in a henhouse. Tempers settle once the sun dips below the horizon. Ibaq does not like it, not one bit, he told me. He cannot put words to his feelings, and I catch him sometimes frowning while looking at the desert that surrounds us.

Even though they seem unaffected by the heat, the ladies are behaving somewhat oddly. Janice has taken to stand at the entrance of Helena’s tent and watch the workemen dig, in the slow rhythm that is theirs, and the look in her eyes is difficult to assess. She startles every time I come by to see her and ask her what the matter is, and I can almost swear she blushes when I do that. Lord Pendleton laughed that she must have her eyes on one of the little runts, and that soon she would spread her fine nigger legs for them because, he claimed, that’s just what those people did, they coupled like the animals they are. His disdain of the locals is rather extreme.

An odd thing happened in the middle of last night. I woke up as Helena, who was sleeping next to me, shifted around in bed. I was about to ask her if she was alright when I noticed that she was still sleeping and yet she was moving. And then I noticed that her hand had slipped underneath her nightgown, and the movement of her arm suggested quite clearly what she was doing. The expression of delight on her sleeping face confirmed. I am ashamed to admit that I silently watched her pleasuring herself in her sleep, noting with prurient interest the way her body moved, the way her hips lifted up to facilitate what I imagined was the penetration of her own fingers in her treasure box. And I am ashamed to admit that I found it arousing to watch my wife act so debauchedly, and I idly wondered what she was dreaming about to titillate her so. When she finally climaxed her whole body tensed and her mouth opened in a silent frozen scream, and without ever waking up she turned in bed and slept the sleep of the just once more. It took me noticeably longer to get back to sleep.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, July 27, 1924

The excavation continues, and we have dug out most of two large columns, where I expect we shall find an entrance to the inner chambers of the temple. The digging is going slower than I was hoping for, and the main culprit seems to be the occasional fight that arises, and always for a trivial reason such as two workmen reaching for the same tool at the same moment, getting in an argument, and finishing up wrestling on the ground, with the rest of the workmen gathering around to cheer. Ibaq is flummoxed as to what is happening. And it is not only the workmen. Lord Pendleton seems to suffer from a rather short temper as well, as he has taken to shout at me when a setback occurs in the schedule. Perhaps they are afflicted by some yet undiagnosed illness. I shall have to ask Ibaq about it tomorrow.

What astonishes me is that the ladies do not seem affected, or more accurately, do not seem affected in the same way. They are not aggressive, and in fact, dare I say, they seem downright coy. And I fear that the men will soon take advantage of Janice if she continues to be so reverential. Already I caught her kissing one of the workmen of a rather rough sort behind the small storage tent we have erected near the main dig. By the time I intervened, the man had already extirpated Janice’s breasts from her bodice, and was enthusiastically kneading them, while he and Janice exchanged a deep soul kiss. Janice certainly was not resisting, and if the movements of her hips was anything to judge by, she looked fairly worked up herself. She blushed fiercely when she heard me shout at the man, but did not pull away immediately, and the man just stared at me with a look I can only describe as antagonistic, all the while maintaining a firm grip on Janice’s breasts. I had to flash the knife on my belt and threaten him with immediate dismissal before he elected to leave, although not before snorting at me. Janice watched him go, her eyes looking glazed over, and I had to speak to her to snap her out of her trance, whereupon she refastened her dress and mumbled something that I took to be an apology before running away.

I debated but eventually told Helena the story after dinner. I was hoping that she might have a word with Janice, and also that she might take it as a warning that some of the workmen were somewhat crass. I felt a warning was needed because I had noticed how much time she was spending in the presence of those workmen, and they could not help but notice the beautiful blonde white woman that painted every morning. Sadly, I misjudged the effect of my story on Helena. She stood up and walked up to me and kissed me softly on the lips. Then she unfastened her dress and took my hand and pulled it inside, pressing it hard against her bosom.

“I think I know the man you are talking about,” she said, her voice low. “He was talking to Janice a few days ago, a very large very dark man?”

“Yes. Helena, love, what are you doing?”

“Show me,” she said, dropping her top. “Show me what he did to Janice.” She leaned over and kissed me, and squeezed my hand on her breast harder, and it felt so nice and soft and I was so surprised and aroused by her actions, in the middle of our dinner, that I did not move away, and simply fondled my wife shamelessly, while she kissed me like she was starving and I was a bountiful buffet.

I did protest when her hand left mine and made its way down my pants and pressed against my erection before sneaking down inside my pants and grasping my now hard shaft. She disregarded my admittedly weak protest. “What do you think they’d have done had you not interrupted them?” she asked, her voice still low, her hand working up and down. It felt amazing, and wrong, but I did not have the willpower to stop it. My heart was racing, my vision blurring.

“I think she would have sunk to her knees,” she continued, “and worshipped him with her mouth. With a body like his, I’m sure he must have been quite a mouthful.” Helena’s breath was warm against my ear. Her hand was rubbing me harder. Her breast felt fantastic in my palm, so young and full and firm. I wanted to lean over and take the hard nipple in my mouth and suck and bite and in a flash, in my mind’s eye, I saw myself throwing her to the ground and spreading her legs as wide apart as they would go and just take her, like that, like an animal. The intensity of those feelings scared me, and Helena took my shiver for one of bliss. She smiled.

“But she would not have let him spew in her mouth, I am sure. It would be such a waste. No, she would have flipped her dress over her arse and pleaded for him to take her like that, on all four, on the ground, from behind, like a trollop.” Her hand jerked faster and faster. Her voice was almost a whisper. “And you know, my beloved? I’ve been fantasizing lately about you taking me in just that way, from the back with my rear in the air, like a wanton woman. Would you like that? Oh, I can feel that you do. Even though I’m a lady, you would do me like a street girl, wouldn’t you? You are very... very... naughty...”

Three sharp tugs, and I exploded. It was just too much. I am almost ashamed to admit it. Helena kept stroking me even as I spread my seed all over my pants and her hand, laughing softly, and she let me go only when I started to deflate. She then floored me when she brought her hand to her face and licked off my spent from her fingers like it was the finest custard. But it was her eyes that spooked me. They were glazed over when she tasted me. The same expression that had been on Janice’s face earlier.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, August 3, 1924

Digging is not going well, in no small part because of the fights that have been occurring with increasing frequency. Everyone is on edge, for no reason that I can discern. Especially Lord Pendleton, who has taken to screaming at the workmen so much that I have had regularly to advise him to retire to his tent. At which times he screamed at me as well, before leaving in a huff. Even Ibaq, he who is usually so stoic, has given signs of being short tempered, upset at the camp cook for over-cooking our meat.

We uncovered the main entrance of the temple a few days ago, and there was a noticeable intensification of the restlessness of the workers at that time. At first, I thought it was because they believed a curse might be upon them—stories of the curse of Tutankhamun are still fresh in everyone’s mind, and while I do not believe in the supernatural, the locals here are a superstitious bunch. But Ibaq shook his head when I asked, and he said the workmen were not worried about a curse. There were rumors going around about the Wild Man of the Desert.

“The what?”

“The Wild Man of the Desert. An old legend. What you English might call a boogeyman.”

“That’s what has the workmen stirred up?”

“They heard the blow of the horn three nights ago, and they have been hearing it every night. According to legend, the horn warns that everyone should leave lest death falls upon everyone.”

I had heard noises at night, and I remember thinking that the wind was louder than usual. I guessed that the sounds could be mistaken for a horn in the distance. I shrugged. “So it’s an old tale to explain the wind at night, and possibly to warn of sandstorms that are more likely under those conditions. We have similar tales in my country about the shape and color of clouds to predict weather patterns. I shall relay this information to anthropologist friends of mine back at Oxford that will be pleased to add this tale to their repertory.”

When I stood to leave, Ibaq added with a worried look. “My grandmother told me the legend when I was a youngster, and I never forgot what she said. She said the Wild Man of the Desert never killed. He would make the men kill each other.”

“How?”

“She did not say. And the women...”

“Yes?”

“They simply disappeared.”

Speaking of the women, I do not know what is happening with them, and it is really disconcerting me. Two days ago, I went to see Lord Pendleton to discuss the next steps in the management of the finds we have had until now—a few statues and relics have be dug up in the sand around the temple, and I feel that we should pack and crate them and send them out—but when I stopped outside his tent there where noises coming from inside, and I cleared my throat to announce my presence but there was no reaction and I thought of leaving but finally I pulled the flap open and Lord Pendleton was inside with, of all people, Janice kneeling before him, her chest uncovered and her big breasts bouncing around as she accepted the old man’s shaft into her mouth. He had his hands wrapped in her black hair and was using his grip for leverage to pull her head towards him in time with his thrusts.

“Take it all, you little whore!”

His thrusts were deep and hard, but Janice never protested, in fact looking up at him with what I can only qualify as admiration and subservience, the same look she gave Helena sometimes when she carried on an enjoyable duty. Saliva was streaming down her chin from the rough invasion of her mouth, dripping down to coat her chest with a thick slimy veneer. She choked a few times as Pendleton’s shaft sank in especially deep, something that he seemed to relish.

“Oh yes, just like that!” he groaned, “just like you did the other day—I saw you with those two men, shaking your bottom in their face, letting them fondle you and squeeze you, letting them suck on your big boobs and then rip off your dress and take you from both ends. You liked that, having a big one in your mouth and a big one in your cunt fucking you at the same time? You are such a whore. A good for nothing tramp, a depraved tart, a cum-eating harlot. Oh! Yes, like that, in your throat, you hussy. I’m going to come—do you want my cum? Do you?”

Janice pulled Pendleton’s cock out of her mouth, breathing hard, sweat and drool pouring down her face, and her hand worked back and forth on the saliva-coated shaft as she moaned. “Please, sir, please! I want your cum! Please”

“Where do you want it, you guzzling whore?” He reached down to squeeze one of Janice’s breasts, which made her moan.

“In my mouth, sir! I want to swallow all of your precious juice! Please feed me your cum, sir!” She wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and jerked him harder.

“Ah! I knew it! Only whores want to drink a man’s cum!” He slapped one of Janice’s breasts, hard. “Here it comes, take it, take it all!” And then he pushed his cock in as far as it would go inside Janice’s mouth, and she took it all inside, her eyes closing, and it was clear that he came because his face tightened and his fists clenched in her hair and he made a guttural noise with his throat, and Janice took it all, swallowing with gusto, her hands on Pendleton’s rear, keeping him in place.

I left without making my presence known.

Again, I debated saying anything to Helena, but I refrained this time. I am still unsure whether that was the right thing to do—I hate keeping things from my wife.

And then last night, something even stranger happened. I woke up in the middle of the night, after a wonderful dream where I was lying in the sand on a perfect beach, with waves of warm water lapping over my legs. There was a delightful sensation on my crotch, and I opened my eyes, and the sensation did not dissipate, in fact started to feel even better, and I did not move and let my eyes accommodate to the darkness, and finally saw that it was Helena, lying down on the bed next to me, the back of her head towards me, her long blonde hair spread across my chest, and she was bobbing her head gently on my shaft, taking it in her mouth in a regular motion that I belatedly recognized as that of the waves in my dream. I was rock hard. I was feeling wonderful. And I was confused. Helena had very rarely been interested in oral sex except in those rare occasions where she felt it was necessary for preparing me for intercourse, for she much preferred feeling me inside her, enjoyed looking at me while we made love. But this was not a perfunctory act to get me aroused. She was lavishly sucking me, her lips and tongue and hands working in concert to elicit a heavenly sensation from the tip of my shaft all the way down to my toes.

I could not say why, but I did not move. I did not let her know I was awake. Maybe she was aware of it, I do not know. But I did not want to break the spell. It was already unreal enough as it was. And she was good. Where had she gotten so good? I have been on the receiving end of quite a few fellatios in my days, and I can honestly say that what my wife was doing to me last night was fantastic. I knew it would not take me long to come—the sliding of her lips up and down on my shaft combined with the way in which her tongue swirled around the tip was threatening to overwhelm me. Helena must have felt it, because her rhythm changed. She increased her pace, and took me in deeper, and the vision of Janice taking in Pendleton down to the root and gagging on his shaft flashed before my eyes and my hips jerked and pushed my own own shaft into Helena’s mouth and she just accepted it, sucking in hard, and I exploded, and she did not move and let me spurt in her mouth, hot jets that burned as they shot out of me like cannonballs. As near as I can tell, she swallowed everything, something she has never done before, and then she licked me clean, something which almost made me hard again. My eyes half closed, I saw her wipe her mouth on the cover, and lay back down on the bed next to me with what sounded like a satisfied sigh. As my wife fell asleep beside me, all I could think of was Pendleton’s words to Janice: “Only whores want to drink a man’s cum.”

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, August 6, 1924

My hope, ever since we found the temple, was to be able to uncover the entrance and find a way through that would not require us to destroy too much of the structure. My hope now has become simply to ensure that there are enough workmen left for us to actually uncover the entrance. Tempers are at an all-time high, and the fights are more intense, both in terms of frequency and violence. Someone sneezes a little too loudly and someone else will knock them to the ground. That no one has died yet is more a testament to luck than good sense. Pendleton is no help, as he seems to instigate more fights than he prevents. I found him brawling with a young man yesterday, about a topic that neither of them could recall after they had calmed down. I was surprised that Pendleton could keep his own against a much younger adversary. He is stronger than he appears. Even Ibaq, cool and level-headed Ibaq, seems ready to blow at a moment’s notice. He keeps it under control, but when I inquired he told me that he feels a fierce anger boiling just beneath the skin. Strangely enough, I remain unaffected. I do have to admit to the odd flash of annoyance about things that in the past would not have bothered me. Flashes that I would be happy to chalk up to fatigue and heat, but that after seeing the general status of our expedition I have to fear might have the same unknown source.

The Wild Man of the Desert. Ibaq has started to tell me some of the stories his grand-mother narrated to him when he was younger, and they go back centuries, tales from the desert folks that have been carried over from the olden days. Legend has it the Wild Man of the Desert came from a city that was destroyed through a massive civil was, and later traveled from city to city, bringing destruction with him, before finally heading out to the Neverland of the desert and remaining there, forgotten. My instinct is telling me that this is but a tale to explain an epidemic illness that must have swept through these regions centuries ago, borne by travelers and merchants.

The ladies are not helping cooler heads to prevail. I now wish they had remained back in England, and not simply because the situation here is turning out to be unexplainably volatile. I am wondering whether it might be more sensible to send them away, bid them return to Damascus and wait for us. They are inciting violence of their own. This evening, I came upon a ruckus in one of the recreation tents were the men play games before turning in for the night, and I thought it was another fight brooding, but it was Janice, surrounded by a half-dozen workmen, stripped naked and lying on a table, with one man thrusting into her between her legs, and another thrusting into her mouth while her head was dangling down from the table, affording him a deep penetration. Other hands were grabbing her breasts, pushing and pulling them roughly, or kissing and biting her legs, held high by the man entering her. The crowd surrounding them were chanting in their language, and while I could not understand what they were saying, their intent was clear. There was a lot of shoving and some punches exchanged, the tempers still running high. At first I thought Janice was protesting, and I considered intervening, and perhaps I should have anyways, even after realizing that she was in fact egging the men on, telling them to do her harder whenever she had a chance, that is, whenever the large shaft plowing her mouth pulled out to let her breathe. I remained put mainly because I feared I would be turned upon and attacked had I tried to stop them. So I watched them take her one after the other, cycling at one end of her body or the other, untiring. Janice seemed to relish swallowing their semen, claiming for more, asking them, begging them to come in her mouth and feed her their spent.

I am ashamed to say that I did not leave, but stayed at the entrance of the tent. And then Pendleton, seemingly from out of nowhere, parted the ranks of the workmen, pushed the man that was just finishing up between her legs, and without warning thrust his own erect shaft inside Janice, practically growling at the men that were looking at him with now clenched fists. Janice’s scream suggested that he used a different entry point than the men that had preceded him, but her resistance did not seem to affect him, and in fact probably spurred him on. Soon her screams had turned into groans of pleasure before they were cut short by another man pushing his own shaft into her mouth.

That’s when I felt a presence right behind me, felt a pair of hands slide around my waist, and a warm body press against my back. Helena. I could not believe my eyes—she was almost naked, wearing but a thin shift that left practically nothing to the imagination, the translucent material doing little to hide my wife’s beautiful body. She ran her hands up my chest, and kissed the back of my neck.

“Look at her—isn’t she beautiful?”

I did not know what to say, and merely nodded noncommittally. I was hoping she would keep her voice down, that the men would not notice she was there, as there was no way to tell how they would react were they to find another woman in their midst.

“Those perfect legs, those perfect breasts. I wish my breasts were half as nice as hers.” She pulled the top of her nightdress down over her chest, baring her own breasts, grabbing them, hefting them, massaging them. “Do you like my breasts? Do you think they look as good as Janice’s? Do they make you want to rub your flesh pole between them until your spurt all your delicious juice all over my face? Mmmm...” She moaned, brushing her lips lightly on my cheek, making me shiver. While one of her hands was still massaging one of her breasts, the other one reached down through my pants to grasp my erect shaft. “I’m so thirsty,” she said, her voice low. “I want to drink up all your delicious cum. Can I please suck you?”

“Helena, please—”

“Look at her, she’s so lucky. She has all of those boys around her, spraying cum on her, on her face, in her mouth. I wish I had all of those boys around me wanting to feed me too.” She looked at the circle of men surrounding Janice with naked envy.

And that was when I realized that Pendleton had seen me, and more importantly, had seen Helena next to me, her negligible nightdress down to her waist, exposing her breasts and playing with them. His eyes bore on my wife with undisguised lust, and there was a leer on his face that made my fist clench. Helena did not seem bothered in the least by Pendleton’s look, in fact she let go of my shaft and stuck two fingers of that hand in her mouth and sucked on them, looking at Pendleton’s the whole time, while her other hand was squeezing her breast hard and tweaking a nipple.

I had to break eye contact, fearing either that Pendleton would come and grab Helena, or perhaps worse that Helena would walk to Pendleton and the circle of men. I grabbed Helena’s arm and gently but surely pulled her back out of the tent and made a dash with her for my own, praying that we would not be followed.

We were not. Helena, clearly still aroused from the experience, went down on me and sucked me down to the root in a show of extreme enthusiasm and skill and collected her desired juices in record time, smacking her lips with pleasure and lying down next to me afterwards, mumbling something about men coming all over her.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, August 12, 1924

I believe the two words that are foremost on my mind this evening, as I write this under a starry desert sky, are “giving up.” I am so close to giving up that it frightens me. If it weren’t for Ibaq accompanying me, I would be burrowing into the sand out of despair.

We left camp five days ago. The first death occurred the morning we left, another fight between workmen that this time turned lethal. The sight of blood pouring from the severed neck of the poor decapitated workman turned the rest of the workmen into ravenous uncontrollable monsters. It was as if their bloodlust had been held in check by a strand of hay that had just snapped, and all hell broke loose. My first thought was for Helena, and Janice, and I feared what might happen to them. I raced to our tent, fending off the odd workman that thought me an attractive if not easily subdued victim, and I had to use my pistol to dispatch them. I found the tent empty. Helena and Janice were gone. The tent was undisturbed, so I discounted the possibility that they had been taken. I figured they fled once the violence started.

As I rushed out my tent, screaming Helena’s name, I ran head long into Pendleton, who promptly threw me to the ground, and knelt down on top of me, a knee on my chest. He had a long knife in his hand, and a crazed look in his eyes, exhibiting the same bloodlust as the other workmen, with a personal twist of his own.

“Where’s your wife, old chap?”

“Get away from Helena, you monster!”

He put his knife on my throat, the cold steel biting into my skin. “Not before I have a taste of those fine bosoms of hers, which she so enticingly exposed two nights ago. I shall rub my shaft between them, before ravishing her like she has never been before by the likes of you. I shall make her beg for me to do her harder, as hard as I can, and I shall oblige, and then I shall conquer her little hole and introduce her to the pleasures of buggery. I will turn her into a beggar for my seed, old boy. Lady Helena, begging on all four for a chance to swallow her new master’s spent.”

He was grinning madly as he recited his litany, and I am sure he would have slit my throat had Ibaq not hit Pendleton on the head from behind, felling him on the spot. The brave man pulled me up, and we ran to safety.

“Ibaq, have you seen the ladies.”

“No sir, but two camels seem to be missing. Were I to venture I guess, I would say they fled.”

“Where? Why would they go?”

I am not sure because it is so hard to tell given his dark skin, but I believe Ibaq blushed.

“What is it, Ibaq? What do you know?”

“The Wild Man of the Desert, sir.”

“What about him?”

“In the legends, the women all disappear. They say the the Wild Man of the Desert calls them.”

“It’s just a stupid tale! It’s not true! They’ve run to seek shelter, to find help! We can just follow their tracks!”

We found two camels and left, the sounds of destruction and murder receding in the background. And here we are, two days later, in the middle of the desert. The tracks ran east, away from the pass that leads back to Damascus, and we followed them for two days. Until they ran out. A sand storm, most likely. There is nothing in the area, nothing to suggests where Helena might have run away to. I do not know what to do. I fear there is but one lead to follow, a desperate irrational one. I look at Ibaq, sitting by himself near the camels, muttering under his breath. He has been more and more short-tempered since we left, indubitably subject to the same influences that the workmen back at camp have been. He is still keeping it under control, good man that he is, but it is hard work, I can tell.

“Ibaq, the Wild Man of the Desert—did the legends say how to find him?”

After a long pause, he stared at me with eyes of burning amber. He shook his head, “no.” Another long pause, during which he closed his eyes. Then, “My grand-mother said the legends were wrong... There is a way to find the Wild Man of the Desert... If you are foolish enough to want to...”

I waited.

“Go where the arid winds blow,” he said at last, closing his eyes.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, August 14, 1924

And so we followed the wind, or tried to. We ran out of water, and we suffered terribly. We were weak from thirst, which was not helping Ibaq’s control. He was getting worse, falling into an ill-tempered silence that testified the extent to which he was fighting to keep from attacking me. Ibaq was my friend, but I recognized the anger that was burning in his usually quiet eyes. It was the anger that had engulfed the workmen back at the camp, the anger that had consumed Pendleton when he was on top of me relishing the thought of slicing my throat. But Ibaq, faithful Ibaq, was trying to contain the rage. He rode his camel few hundred yards ahead of mine, tracking the wind, and I maintained a safe distance lest I antagonized him. Strangely enough, there was no anger in me, only despair at ever seeing my dear Helena again. And thirst, of course.

And then, sometimes yesterday, we came to a small oasis tucked away in the recess of a large rock formation. Ibaq pointed it out to me from the distance after stopping, and after I caught up with him, I saw how much he had deteriorated since the last time we talked. He was keeping his face clenched, fighting the rictus that threatened to distort his features, and his fists were gripping the reins tightly. He spoke in short clipped sentences, and I could tell that he was fighting the urge to leap at me with all his strength. I feared him and pitied him equally. I had no idea how to help him. After we had found Helena, and Janice, I would bid him leave so that he could find some remote place where he could rest peacefully.

“These rocks... Old place... Ancient oasis... Legendary... Thieves hideout... Lost for generations...”

“I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”

“No... I’ll go... Wild Man... language... dangerous...”

“Very well. I’ll follow you though. You guide the way, old friend.”

We directed the camels towards the trees lining the oasis, and I hoped against hope that Helena and Janice would be there. The odds were astronomical, but I clung to them the way a drowning man might cling to a life preserver.

Ibaq was on edge, that much was clear from how straight he held his back and how tight his shoulders seemed. He had unsheathed his long knife and was holding it across his lap, guiding his camel with one hand.

Ibaq’s attention meant he was the first one to spot the shape emerging from between the rocks. All I saw—before Ibaq’s scream of rage and his jump off his camel and his mad scramble towards the shape—was a shapeless brown robe the color of dry sand topped by a white mane of hair and holding a long rifle. And when Ibaq was close, still screaming like a mad man and brandishing his long knife clearly intent on impaling the robed figured, that figure slowly raised the rifle and one shot burst through the air like a thunderclap and Ibaq fell to the ground, his knife flying off in the air and planting itself in the sand a few yards away from him. Incredibly, Ibaq let out another scream and tried to scramble back to his feet, as if unaware and uncaring about the large stain of blood growing on his chest. His scream had a gurgling quality to it, suggesting that his lungs had been punctured. How he could find the strength and willpower to stand again was beyond me, but all that work came to naught as the robed figure aimed his rifle and shot it again, this time catching Ibaq in the head. He collapsed backwards and twitched for several seconds before finally laying still.

I remained shocked at the speed and violence of the confrontation. When the robed figure turned his rifle towards me, I raised my hands to show I was unharmed, and spoke the few words of dialect I knew to try to convey that I was a friend, that I was not dangerous, that I was a seeker. The man in the robes, for it was a man, an older man, although not as old as his hair and beard suggested, looked at me quizzically, and keeping his gun aimed at my head, spoke in a flawless English.

“British?”

I nodded. I could not place his own accent.

“How are you feeling right now?”

“Somewhat frightened,” I replied honestly. “And thirsty, awfully thirsty.”

He was taken aback at my response. Which was surprising in itself, as being frightened was a natural reaction to having a rifle pointed at one’s head after seeing another man just shot to death, and thirst is a common side effect of traveling through the desert.

“You’re not angry?”

“Well, I am somewhat upset that you just shot Ibaq, but considering his actions, I cannot completely fault you. I am looking for my wife, and her servant. I was hoping they made it all the way here. I am Lord Barnaby, from the Sik-Ladi expedition.”

The man looked at me for a long while, his rifle still aimed at me. I meant to ask him if he was the Wild Man of the Desert, but before the words could make it through my parched throat, the world started to spin, bright stars exploded across my eyes, and darkness fell upon me.

I came to smothered by the most delightful feelings. There was the softness on which I was lying, which I discovered later was a a bed of soft fleeces smoothed out by time, piled up in a cool cave that rivaled the most luxurious rooms in the most astonishing palace. But the most wonderful feelings came from my crotch, along with the weight of a warm body on top of me.

When I opened my eyes, it took several seconds before the shape before me resolved itself into the familiar curves of Helena, who was sitting astride my lap, completely naked, and very slowly moving up and down with my shaft deep inside her treasure box. She was silent, her own eyes were closed, her mouth vaguely open, seemingly enjoying herself immensely. She was moving slowly, straightening up on her knees to keep only the tip my shaft inside her, before slowly sinking back down and letting me in all the way. The feeling of her womanhood tightening around me were incredible. Her breasts were swaying enticingly with every thrust of her hips, her nipples like two hard rocks. She was beautiful, her long blonde hair untied and draping down her back.

I reached up and grabbed one of her breasts, and the fullness of it filled my hand. I was harder than I ever remember being. And happy. Helena. I had found her.

She opened her eyes when she felt my hand on her. “Hello darling! I hope you don’t mind, but I saw you lying down looking so adorable that I could not resist. And your soldier saluted me so enthusiastically when I kissed it that I felt I had to see to him.”

“I found you.”

“You did. And you have no idea how glad that makes me. Actually, let me show you how grateful I am...”

And on that note, she increased her pace, twisting her hips as she pumped up and down. Her internal grip on my shaft was ever stronger, and I did not know how long I could take the stimulation.

After a few minutes, once my hips had started moving of their own volition to seek to meet Helena in the middle of her thrusts, she smiled and lifted herself off. I was about to protest, selfishly, when she turned around and sat back down on my shaft, facing my feet, her wonderful round rear towards me. And just like that, with her hands gripping my thighs, she resumed her rocking motions, sucking my shaft deep inside her and massaging it from inside. The visuals associated with the incredible feelings were mind-blowing. I watched her perfect buttocks shiver every time she sank down onto me, and clench every time she raised herself up. I could see her juices leak down her thighs, and that by itself was almost more arousing than anything else.

Again, it did not take very long before I was pushing up my hips to meet Helena’s thrust halfway, with my hands on her hips to pull her down against me, enjoying the feel of her skin under my hands, the feel of her muscles tightening under my fingers. She was moaning, Helena was, loud moans punctuated by deep groans when she took me in particularly deep and grinding her hips on me, altogether more vocal than I ever remember her being. I loved it.

And then, just as I felt I could not hold on any longer, when my hips started jerking almost on their own, Helena pulled herself off from me again only to push her rear down towards my chest and, her thighs on either side of my head, leaned over and took my full length in her mouth, down to the root, and the feeling of my shaft sheathed deep inside her throat while her tongue licked the underside hard and her lips and cheeks sucked equally hard brought me to climax almost instantly, and while my wife swallowed my seed without catching her breath, I dove like a starved man into the moist slit that was hovering an inch in front of my face and sucked and licked and drank at the source of all life and Helena ground her lap into my mouth and I sucked on the hard knob of flesh above her slit while my tongue sought to touch the deepest reaches of her womb, and then she stiffened and came all over my tongue with that honeyed sweetness that I would recognize amongst all others.

She sank back onto the pelts next to me, and rested her head on my chest, catching her breath, while I wiped my face and waited for my heart to beat at a more leisurely pace. “Wow,” I said, “that was incredible.”

“It was,” added Helena with a smile in her voice.

“Helena,” I said, my tone turning serious, “what happened? How did you get here? Where are we? What—”

“Sshhh,” she said, looking up at me. “Let us rest a little while longer and then go see Mast... Gil. He will explain everything to you.”

“Gil?”

“You’ll see, my darling. You’ll see.”

And see I did. After we had recovered and dressed, Helena in a long flowing wrap and me in a tunic I had seen some of the older locals wear, she brought me down a corridor carved out of rock into another cave, much larger and much more subdued than the one I had woken up in. Most of the walls were lined with shelves filled with books, old leather bound volumes that must have taken more than one lifetime to accumulate, and piles of papers were strewn in the corners, amongst pillows of all shapes and sizes. Sitting in a large chair on one side of the room, the old man with the white hair that had shot Ibaq earlier was writing in a large volume.

Helena went up to him, and I was astonished to see her bow low. “Master, my husband, Lord Barnaby, has some questions for you.”

“Understandable, Helena. Understandable. Come in, my friend. Come in. Lord Barnaby, I am pleased to meet you, this time under better circumstances. You collapsed from your camel earlier, I suspect from dehydration, and I took the liberty of bringing you into my lodgings and let you recover. I pray hope that you are feeling better?”

“I do, and I am in your debt, sir. Not only for giving me shelter, but also for providing refuge for my wife.” I decided not to bring up the fact that she had called him master, at least not yet.

“Ah yes, dear Helena. Lady Helena Barnaby. I fear I owe you an explanation.”

“Before everything else, do you also happen to know the whereabouts of Janice, my lady’s maidservant?”

“She is fine. Janice? Mind coming here, girl?”

Janice appeared from a side passage. She smiled a warm smile when she saw me, and my own smile in response was replaced by a look of shock when I saw that she was wearing a wrap not unlike Helena’s, except for it barely reached the top of her thighs and it bared her generous chest. She wore a necklace with a large sapphire that hung down between her breasts, drawing attention to the fleshy globes tipped with large aureolas and dark nipples. She made no gesture to cover herself up, in fact quite the opposite. She strode towards me and hugged me tight, a liberty that she would have never taken a week ago. I blushed as I felt her breasts press into my chest, easily felt through the thin material of my tunic. I feared Helena would get upset, but she merely smiled sweetly at the display of affection.

“My lord,” said Janice, letting me go, “I am so glad that you are all right. I feared you would have been killed back at camp. Master explained to us that no one was likely to have survived, but my lady was adamant that if anyone would survive it would be you. I am delighted her faith proved unerring.”

She glided her way towards the old man, and without any self-consciousness sat on his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck. The man smiled good-naturedly, giving me an almost sheepish glance. He gestured towards the chair before him, inviting me to sit down. I did so, and Helena, after signifying that I should spread my legs by pressing two fingers on the inside of my knee, sat at my feet between my legs, resting her head on my thigh and caressing my calf.

“Lord Barnaby, welcome to my home. My name is Gilbert of Ockham, from the land that you now call Surrey, I believe, back in England. I have been living here for a long time, and you will I hope accept my apologies for the accommodations, for I do not entertain guests very frequently.”

I looked around, at the books on the shelves, at the artifacts sprinkled around the room. The archeologist in me could see how old much of it was. “With all due respect, Mister Ockham—”

“Please, Gilbert. Or just Gil.”

“Very well, Gilbert. With all due respect, may I inquire how long you have been here? Some of these artifacts are not, to say the least, recent.”

Gilbert looked even more sheepish for a second, an effect almost negated by the lazy finger Janice was running down his cheek. “I have made these caves my lodging for the past two hundred years, Lord Barnaby.”

I must have looked as astonished as I felt, for I did not expect such an answer, and he nodded his head. “I know, I know. Right now, you think I’m crazy and that solitude has gotten to me. But believe me, my lord, I am far from crazy, and I am far from young.

“I came to this land with the Third Crusade, under command of King Richard, more than eight hundred years ago. I was a young lad with more enthusiasm than wit, I am afraid to say. And I saw my fair share of combat, which did much to destroy that enthusiasm but did not add to my wit in the least. When we were attacked at Jaffa, where I was stationed, I was cut down, and I woke up in the aftermath of the massacre, before King Richard could claim back the city. Despite the terrible wound that I had suffered, I was alive. I could not explain it. And Saladin’s forces around me were crazed, seething with anger and ravaging the city and all surviving crusaders they could find. That was my first hint of the curse that would follow me. Not knowing any better, I escaped the fallen city.

“No, to forestall your question, I do not believe I am immortal. Wounds do not seem to kill me, but I do age, albeit extremely slowly. That is but one of the mysteries that surrounded my new life. As I traveled from town to town, learning the language and the habits of the locals, I noticed that if I spent too long in one place, eventually, men would start acting more and more erratically, more aggressively, more angrily. Soon, fights would break out for the most foolish reasons, and those fights would become more frequent and more violent until men started killing each other. It did not take long for me to discover that whatever the reason, I was the cause, and that my presence in their midst was causing men to lose all inhibitions and revert to lethal animalism. And so I became a wanderer, electing to never spend more than a short week in any given place.”

“The Wild Man of the Desert, Ibaq called you,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

Gilbert nodded. “It has been a while I have not heard that epithet. And I am sorry I had to shoot your friend. But I know of no cure when the madness reaches the homicidal stage, and your friend was well beyond. Yes, I suppose a sort of legend has grown around me, much to my dismay. I felt so morally responsible for all those people hurting themselves because of me that a few hundred years ago I set out to find this old criminal refuge that had been forgotten by all but a few of the elders in a remote village, and made it my home. It is away from prying eyes, far from civilization, and I offer a natural defense: anyone getting too near will have killed themselves or been killed by others before they can find me. Except you, of course, who appear to be immune.”

“You do not seem overly surprised.”

“It has happened in the past. Men that were unaffected by whatever aura I produce. And I have cherished many of those relationships. Some have become friends. It can get awfully lonely living away from fellow humans.”

I could detect an eagerness in his voice when Gilbert said that. Rather than pursue that conversation, I asked the question that was foremost on my mind, looking at Janice sitting on Gilbert’s lap and now peppering his face with little kisses while one hand cradled one of her breasts and pinched her nipple. I could see she was squirming in the old man’s lap, and I could but imagine the sensations that she must have produced on his groin. A new erection stirred under my tunic and Helena, who was still between my legs, must have felt it against the back of her head for she turned towards me and smiled and reached up with a hand to rub my now hardening shaft through the material. I managed to find my voice. “What about the women?”

“Ah yes, the women. Well, that’s somewhat more complicated.”

“Ibaq told me that men go crazy, but that women disappear. That you call them.”

“Not quite the truth, I’m afraid. But it is true that the women do not go crazy, or at least, they do not become rage-filled maniacs. What they do is crave. At first, their craving is but a slight hunger, easily dismissed. But as days pass, the hunger becomes more intense, and they will soon go to any length to satisfy it. It is a hunger for semen, fresh male semen, and they will seduce and abase themselves to any depth to satisfy it. But it will not. No matter how much they try, they cannot satisfy that hunger. For what they crave is my semen. And so they will seek me out. They will seek me out and find me and pledge their life to me so that I can give them what they need.”

“That is why Helena and Janice...”

“Yes, that is why they left your camp. To find me. Before they went insane. For that is the result of not getting my seed: weakness, insanity, and finally death. In every single case I have ever encountered.”

“So they have to... Helena? Janice?”

“Yes, they have to drink my seed. Every day. Otherwise, headaches are the first symptom. They are condemned to stay here, lest they die a painful death.” He looked genuinely sad at that statement.

Janice, on his lap, made a face, and thrust her breast in his face. “Please don’t say that, Master. This is not a prison. This is home. Where we get our life juice.” She rubbed her dark breast in his face, squirming even more noticeably on his lap. “That delicious life juice that makes me so wet. I’m thirsty, Master. Please...” Without waiting for an acknowledgment or even a reaction, Janice sinks to her knees, between Gilbert’s legs, and reaches inside his tunic to pull out his semi-hard shaft. “I’m so thirsty...” she reiterates before leaning down and taking much of it in her mouth, a moan of delight escaping her lips as it was invaded by flesh. Gilbert puts a hand on her head, a gesture that was half reassurance, and half love, and let Janice suck him to hardness.

I did not know quite what to do, never having been in the presence of a couple in the middle of their act, except for the occasional times in the last few weeks when I stumbled into such a situation back at camp. This was much more intimate, and I felt like I was an intruder. Helena broke the spell.

“Janice is such a pig—she’s always sucking him off, day or night. She’s insatiable. And she’s so hot when she does that, too. Can you see the way her big boobs shake when she sucks?” Her head was still pressing against my own erection, and I could see that one of her hands had disappeared inside her wrap and from the way her legs were spread before her and the motions of her arm, I could tell she was playing with herself, watching her maidservant at work.

“Janice,” Gilbert finally told the girl, “I think you are making our guest uncomfortable. Perhaps you should wait until we are alone to continue your ministrations.”

Janice turned to me, a glint in her eyes. “Perhaps he can join us? Perhaps they can both join us? I’m sure my lord has fantasized about stuffing his prick inside my body before, and I’m equally sure he would get a rise out of seeing his wife making love to me.” There was pleading in her eyes, I could see, and I felt myself blush, for I had indeed fantasized about the lovely black girl in the past.

Helena laughed, and stood up, holding out her hand to me, while respond to Janice. “I think I will take my husband away and distract him in my own way, Janice. Let us postpone such a discussion until later, once he has adjusted to his new surroundings. Come, my darling. Let us take care of that uncomfortable lump beneath your tunic.”

And take care of it she did.

Lord Barnaby’s Journal, August 30, 1924

I have been here for two weeks, two weeks filled with wonder, two weeks awash in greatness, two weeks that taught me more than is healthy for a man my age. All of which makes having to leave that much harder.

I have been spending my time with Gil, who gave me a tour of his network of caves, all beautifully decorated by artifacts and curtains and furniture he has accumulated over centuries of travel. We have spent time pouring over books, discussing philosophy, history, and the affairs of the world. He is a vastly educated man, with rather unconventional ideas for a British mind such as mine, but despite the shock and reluctance I sometimes felt about accepting to see things from his point of view, I found my mind expanding with every hour spent with him. Gil, on his hand, was elated to have a companion with whom to share his little world. He told me that the last time he had met a man immune to his effect had been almost sixty years ago.

Helena joined us frequently, participating in the discussions, voicing her own opinions, countering our sometimes male-centric arguments. Is it any wonder I fell in love with such a wonderful woman? When I was not satisfying my intellectual needs with Gil, Helena made sure she was satisfying my more physical needs, in bed, or out of it. My beautiful and smart wife turned out to be a sexual vixen, under the influence of Gil’s presence, which heightened women’s sensitivity and sexual proclivities. During those two weeks, she made love to me several times a day, generally waking me up by riding me hard or sucking me off with her fabulous mouth, and seeing me to sleep by letting me slide my shaft into her from behind while we lay against one another in bed, her back to my chest, and after we both orgasmed I would then simply fall asleep with my softening shaft trapped inside her. And in between, she would find every possible occasion to stir up my frenzy. It was not only that she wore flimsy garments that more often than not barely covered any of her delightful maddening curves. But she made sure to flash me tantalizing views of her breasts and of her treasure whenever she could, often punctuating the display by running a hand over said breasts or said treasure, squeezing and rubbing and pinching, her mouth open and her eyes closed in arousal. She would hug me and kiss me whenever she could, her hugs involving pressing herself against me hard enough to undoubtedly feel my quasi-permanent erection against her body, her kisses invariably turning into soul kisses that made me lust for her like an animal. She would sometimes corner me and push me in a dark recess in one of the rooms of the cave and either surreptitiously kneel before me and slip my shaft out of my tunic and bury it in her mouth and bring me to climax with her exquisitely talented lips faster than one could recite God Save the King, or she would drop to her hands and knees and entreat me to take her hard and fast, just like that, like an animal, swaying her perfect rump to and fro to entice me and I would of course relent because who could resist her and I would slide inside her enveloping warmth and rut until my seed submerged her. And let me not even dwell on those times when she took hold of my shaft and with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes guided me into her forbidden hole and let me have my way with her in such a deviant fashion and moaned and groaned in delight as her tightness threatened to choke my organ before I would explode in a soul-wrenching climax.

And lest I forget to give credit where credit is due, let me only mention in passing that yes, Janice did sometimes join Helena and me in sexual congress, and add that she is just as talented and enthusiastic and indefatigable as my wife is when it comes to the pleasures of the flesh. And that she is equally skilled at satisfying both men and women.

And yet, and yet, I have to leave. Tonight, if at all possible. It is breaking my heart, it is tearing me apart, it is making me want to scream, but I have to leave.

In the middle of the afternoon today, while I was asking Gil about old pre-Babylonian fertility goddess cults, still trying to nail the puzzle of the temple I had found earlier in this wondrous journey, we were startled by a wild scream coming from outside. It was Helena, screaming herself hoarse before suddenly falling silent. Glancing at each other, Gil and I sprinted out of the room and headed outside, only to be met by the sight of a dirty and berserk Pendleton sitting astride Helena and ripping her clothes off. He had thrust a large swath of material into her mouth, and was roughly pawing her breasts, practically clawing at them. He looked like he was foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were unblinking and blood-shot. His clothes were stained dark brown and it took me but a moment to realize that it was drying blood. He was screaming words that I thought at first were meaningless prattle, but that soon resolved themselves into a leitmotiv of “gonna fuck you gonna fuck you you whore you whore you filthy cunt you filthy cunt” over and over again.

I barely remember wrenching the rifle from Gil’s hand and lifting it to take aim. A red mist seemed to invest my mind, and through it I saw Pendleton, now howling like a wolf, spread Helena’s legs apart and prepare himself to ravish her, while she struggled and tried to squirm from underneath the bigger man. Pendleton was grinning widely as he secured his grip on my wife’s thigh and was without question enjoying in advance the rape he would soon inflict upon her. Pendleton was still grinning widely two seconds later when the bullet from my rifle shattered his right temporal cranial bone upon entry and obliterated the left side of his head upon exit. He remained kneeled over my wife, his stupid grin on his face, motionless, his eyes shifting wildly in their socket, and it was not until my next bullet pulverized his jaw bone and nearly decapitated him that he folded onto the ground between my wife’s legs, a breath before she scrambled away from him.

The red mist was still swirling in my head as I breathed hard, and it is not until Gil looked at me with a desperately sad look on his face that I knew I was grinning myself, my hands clenching on the rifle, with a wild desire to scream and drive the rifle through and through Pendleton’s lifeless body wanting to burst from my chest. Slowly, the red mist lifted. But I knew what the mist meant, I knew that the feeling of joy at the shot that took out my old colleague was not just because I was defending my wife, I knew that despite my host’s best hopes I was not in fact immune to the effects of his presence. It merely acted more slowly upon me than most men.

And so I have to leave. Remaining here would guarantee that I be overtaken by the homicidal madness and either hurt people I love or more likely be put down like I put down Pendleton, neither of which scenarios I am pleased to contemplate.

I cannot bring Helena with me. Janice I have no claim to, especially since she seems genuinely happy with Gil, and seems to love him, and that love seems reciprocated. But it breaks my heart to leave Helena, and I can tell that she is not happy to see me go. But I cannot bring her with me. She would go insane and die without Gil’s vital essence. I would have happily have her and Janice milk poor Gil dry and build up a reserve, but alas, the offering has to be fresh. And so she must remain. Helena has sworn to remain faithful to me, and Gil has gallantly offered to provide her with his essence in a vial, possibly mixed with her food, but in all honesty, I do not care about such details. I want her happy, and fulfilled, and if she finds some measure of satisfaction in the arms of Gil, I cannot fault her.

I will be back, though. It will take some experimentation to determine how long I need to stay away from Gil’s influence before I can come back again, but once that period of time is settled I shall come back and spend time with my beloved. Even if it is but three weeks at a time—which is how long it took for the effects of Gil’s presence to take hold on me on this trip—those will be three weeks to be cherished beyond all others.