The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Ring of Hathepeth-Amun

by Captain Eazy

XI

I’ll tell you one thing for gods-damn sure, when the ancient gods of lust like take over the world and shit, the first thing I’m gonna ask them to do is to simplify all the paperwork people have to go through in this world. I mean, life’s too short, unless you’re immortal, and if you are immortal you just don’t want to fuck with that shit, am I right? We had to go get car insurance for our new red toy, and we had to sign this and we had to sign that, and swear to gods I got so sick of it all that if it had been just me I would’ve walked out somewhere between signing page one and initialing page forty-seven. Everything could be a lot simpler, you know?

Any-old-ways, about two o’clock the next day we are finally on the road south to the Gulf of Mexico, where we still have to find a place to rent to be our headquarters. We’re cruising along with the top down, Jenny at the wheel, and just for the hell of it I pull my t-shirt up and let the wind play over my hot round boobies and tease my hard horny nipples for a while, but after a tractor-trailer passed us and then drove off on the right shoulder and plowed through a big old meadow Jenny asked me to pull my top back down. Some people should just keep their eyes on the road, that’s all.

That part of Florida is kinda rural and slow, and the traffic wasn’t bad so we made pretty good time through all these weird-ass little towns, Pretty Sister Pond and Fanning Creek and other little places, until finally we come out in sight of the greenest, sparkliest water I ever saw in my whole life, and Jen says, “That’s the Gulf of Mexico, Mistress.”

We tool along another fifteen miles, and then we pass a sign, white letters on a faded green background:

OBAFOSKEE INLET
“Home of the Sweet Cedar Pencil”

It was like a real unhurried, sleepy little town, with a main drag about a block off this blinding white-sand beach. Off in the Gulf the red sun was about to kiss the horizon, and we cruised back and forth, looking the place over. We finally parked the car, which we had named the Slutmobile, in front of this funky looking place called the Ole Crab House. We went inside, and the food smelled terrific. This hunky young black guy took us to a table and called a teenaged girl over, and she gave us our menus and junk and we ordered something called the Low Country Special. It was delicious, a mixture of crab and lobster and oysters and clams and even corn on the cob, and it went down soooo well with some good crisp cold beers.

By the time we finished eating, it was early evening outside, and we hauled ass to the Waterfront Motel and got ourselves a room for the night. “Any vibes yet?” Jenny asked me as we showered. I was like soaping her front real good, and every time I moved my palms over her slippery, shiny boobs she shivered and just about came just standing there.

“Not yet,” I had to admit. I could only hope for guidance from the gods.

We talked about maybe doing each other on the big bed in front of the picture window looking out over the Gulf with the light on and the curtains open, just to see if we could scare up a little local interest and action, but we were pretty pooped by then. Travel takes it out of you, you know. So we just did the old sixty-nine for a while, until we had both come enough, and then we snuggled together with the air conditioner blowing nice cool air over our heated bodies.

No dreams that night, so we cruise around the next morning, which is kind of a bummer of a day because of it’s overcast, though it’s a lot cooler than the day before. We bop in and out of a couple of realty places ‘cause they don’t have what we’re looking for, and finally we go into Emerald Waters Vacation Properties, and the receptionist there is just this to-die-for black girl, gods she was gorgeous, with this long, long Nubian neck, neat tits, not too small, not too big, and a face that had a wistful, nearly sad smile on it that looked as ancient as the Sphinx. I look into her big wide brown eyes and catch glimpses of her mind right then and there, she’s just coming off a long affair with this muscular but creepy guy who is in jail or something now, and she’s lonely and blue but hiding it. She is absolutely as straight as Jenny used to be, and I’m thinking I could totally see corrupting her and maybe even initiating her as a priestess eventually, ‘cause she could rake in the horny guys by the cartload. Her name is Tanelle, and Tanelle says she’ll get Mr. Pryce to talk to us about possible places to rent.

Mr. Pryce is a kind of fussy guy in his mid thirties, blond hair cut short, nice saltwater tan, body a little like a high school athlete’s that has kinda gone to seed, you know, not bad looking but no hunk either. He’s wearing khaki pants, a white short-sleeved shirt, and a dark blue tie with little lighthouses and life savers printed on it. When Jenny and I tell him we want to rent a house that’s (A) pretty big, so we could have guests, (B) not packed into a development or anything like that so we could have a little privacy, and (C) available for a couple months, he chews on his lower lip for a minute and then says, “Ladies, I don’t have a thing that meets all those criteria, but I have a sweet deal that would cover your A and your B, though it’s only available for the next two weeks.”

“Where is it?” I ask him.

He shows us on a map. It’s called Dune Tune—all the vacation houses have these names that just about make you wanna gag—and it’s like a few hundred yards back from the beach, all alone on this stretch of road. He explains that the lady who owns the house is a widow about seventy who now lives down in Miami, hundreds of miles away, and he tells us that she and her husband owned that stretch of land and built like six houses to rent out, but their own house was this one, and they kept a nice chunk of ground right around it so they would have privacy.

“That’s good, ‘cause we sunbathe naked,” I said.

He got all red and told us that for those kinds of activities, the house had a pool with a privacy fence, yada yada. We ask can we go see it, and he says he thinks he has time to run us out if we’re serious. Jenny asks how much the house will cost, and he says just fifteen hundred a week, so she takes fifteen hundred-dollar bills from her purse and lays them on his desk and says, “Leave these here until we get back. They’ll help show we’re serious.”

So we pile into our Slutmobile, and the guy, whose name is Carl Pryce, by the way, sits in the front seat beside her and gives her directions, and in like ten minutes we pull into the driveway of this real cute house. It’s gray, the color of driftwood, and built like up on stilts, I guess in case of real high tides or something, and we absolutely park underneath it, isn’t that wild? I see the tall privacy fence that not only hides the pool but a hell of a lot of back yard, and we climb up the steps to the front porch, and Carl unlocks the door.

Man, I could get used to a place like that. The living room was airy, the walls yellow, the sofa and other furniture in lighter shades of yellow, and it had all these kicky nautical decorations, like lamps built so they had ship’s wheels and stuff and some big-assed seashells here and there. The whole front wall was glass looking out over the dunes, and you could see the beach and the Gulf not all that far off. I thought that on a clear day you’d have a view of the sunset that would get you in the mood for a real good screwing, though looking at you, I can’t help thinking you’re in that mood a lot of the time anyway. Told you I liked you.

On the main floor there was a great big master bedroom with a very ample bathroom and a walk-in closet, and it had a separate porch off to the rear, with a hot tub built right into the deck. There was also a laundry and a kitchen and a dining room, and upstairs on the top level were two other bedrooms that shared a bathroom between them.

Carl opened what looked like a big tall cabinet in the kitchen, and surprise, it was an elevator! It went down to the place under the house where we had parked the car, and Carl and Jen rode it down. I went alone out onto the back porch and switched on the bubbler in the hot tub and gazed down into the blue swimming pool that you could practically dive into from up there.

So Jen and Carl come back upstairs a few minutes later and find me out on the back porch, and I grin up at them and say, “I love hot tubbing.”

It doesn’t take much persuasion to lure Carl in there with me, then Jen strips down and joins us, and I reach down and shake his cock, and he’s already real horny. I slip him into my pussy while Jen nuzzles her tits against his cheek and mouth, and we start to negotiate with those crazy bubbles running up the crack of my ass and getting trapped under my bobbing boobies as I fuck Carl.

It’s a terrific sensation to fuck in water like that, ‘cause it makes you feel like you’re practically as light as air, and as I rode the shaft of Carl’s prick up and down and up and down, feeling my pussy muscles clutch and clench at it, I got off pretty good. Carl was sort of bubbling himself by that time, not able to frame a coherent sentence. He came inside me, and we more or less hauled him out of the water half dead, and then Jen gave him mouth-to-cock resuscitation.

Well, while he was occupied, I peeked into his head and did a little rearranging and a little suppression of this and a little encouragement of that, and finally he said, “You know, I only have three one-week rentals confirmed for this place from now through the first of September. I can move those into other properties if I tell them we’ve had some plumbing problems here, and as long as you young ladies pay the fifteen hundred per week, I think everyone will be happy.”

That kind of business accommodation calls for a little reward, so I did my favorite thing of climbing on his cock with my butt toward his face and riding him while Jen lushed her sweet tongue up the shaft of his dick and over my eager clit. It was a much better way to seal our deal than a crappy little handshake. While I was messing with his head, I found out some more stuff about Tanelle, his luscious executive assistant. She was twenty-four, she wouldn’t flirt with him or anybody else, and she was sort of prim and proper about even discussing sex, and despite the fact that she looked so hot, she wouldn’t even listen to a dirty joke. Funny, ‘cause the guy she had been dating for a year, the one in jail now, treated her pretty bad and bragged all around town about nailing her, or he had been doing that until he got caught dealing drugs a while back. It was one of those sad cases, a real shithead of a guy who thought lust was just about satisfying himself and didn’t give a flying fuck about the old gods or even his partner. I thought Tanelle was well rid of him, and I kinda hoped that in prison some great big guys would look at the shithead and find him real attractive, if you know what I mean, but no, I did not try to reach out and encourage that. Sex should not be used for vengeance, people.

However, I did put a suggestion into Carl’s head that he would send Tanelle out some time that week with copies of instruction manuals for the dishwasher and the DVD and all that, just in case we needed them. In fact, I suggested that he decide to take a whole afternoon off and give Tanelle the rest of the day off, too. Always good to plan ahead, you know. Then we drove back to his office, and in a kind of grinning daze he had us sign some more fucking papers. I totally swear to the gods, if we ever do take over the world, I am going to banish any contract that runs over one page forever. And if anybody creates one longer than that, I’m gonna make his dick fall off or her pussy seal itself up, I hate paperwork that bad.

Well, we went shopping for groceries and necessities like lubricating gel and stuff, and then we went back and drained the hot tub, because it had strings of cum roiling around in it, and nice as it is, it kinda gets on your skin in sticky old strands if it’s been in the water for a while. Though it was still cloudy and sort of breezy, we didn’t hear any thunder or anything, so we swam naked in the pool for a while, and we sorta did each other this way and that, and then we cooked up some dinner, nothing fancy, just grilled some steaks and had those with a green salad and wine.

“Well,” Jen says, “we’re here at last. Think we ought to have our stuff taken out of storage and sent down, Mistress?”

“Not yet,” I tell her. “First let’s get the lay of the land and see what clues we can pick up about the Master. You dropped some salad dressing on your right boob, by the way.”

She cupped her titty with her hand and held it up and swirled the drop of dressing off with her tongue.

I grinned at my creation, this magnificent bronzed naked bitch of a virgin. I raised my glass of red wine. “To lust,” I said.

She clinked glasses and repeated, “To lust.”

And, I thought to myself, to finding the Master. And to what then had to happen next.

But I didn’t say that part out loud.

XII

We had a really great time for several days, runnin’ over to the beach, splashing in the water, picking up sea shells and boys and things. And playing around in our own backyard, where we could be free of swimsuits and inhibitions and junk.

Gods, I wish you could’ve seen Jen when she was oiled up real good, lying on her back with her legs slightly parted. Her dark skin just absolutely gleamed in that hot Florida sun, and her great big boobs swelled up like two perfect scoops of cinnamon ice cream, if they even make that, and I just could not keep off her for very long. I mean, her pussy was so plump and cute, and it got wet the second you looked at her, and I really, really liked the yips she made when she started to come.

Over several days, we spread the good word and I spread my great legs for a few studly boys, but somehow I couldn’t pick up on the Master’s vibe. Poor Jen was getting so eager for her consummation, as she called it, that I started to worry she’d get into our dildo stash and pop her own cherry prematurely, so I had to be real strict about that. The guys we picked up, though, said she was the world champion cock-sucker, or at least she held the local title. We actually went to the trouble of bottling some of the golden semen of Peth so we could dole out little doses, often in tropical-type drinks that I’d whip up in the blender. And we sent our victims forth with the word to stay hard, stay horny, and have a great time.

So on Friday we’ve driven to the market—get this, there are absolutely no chain stores in this little town of Oh Boy Fuck Me Inlet, not a one, not even a burger shop or a department store. So we have to go to this, like, unsuper market, though it’s really kinda okay, because it has everything we need. Any-whoopsie-how, we got back and squeezed into that toy elevator—take it from me, an elevator ride is way more fun if you’re in it with a healthily endowed and horny young lady—and we were unpacking groceries when there’s a ring on the doorbell, and I go answer it and there stands Tanelle, our Nubian friend. “Hi,” she says, holding up an envelope. “Carl asked me to drop these off, in case you need them.”

“Hi,” I said, happily remembering the post-coital suggestion we’d given Mr. Pryce. “Hey, c’mon in, we were just mixing up some drinks.”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Oh, come on,” I said, taking her arm. “It’s just me and Jen.”

So Tanelle walks into our kitchen, like the proverbial fly walking into the parlor of the proverbial spider, except spiders don’t really have parlors, they have webs, except the ones that have holes in the ground, so I never understood that saying, but you know what I mean.

“Hi,” says Jen, flashing Tanelle a big white smile. “Hey, we love the house!”

“It’s a nice place,” Tanelle agrees. “Here are the appliance manuals that—”

I peeped into Tanelle’s mind and said, “girls, I’m dying for a pina colada. You up for a small one, Tanelle? Sorry, may I call you Tanelle?”

Watching her thoughts was like watching a wrestling match. She has this big old “I Gotta Be Professional” in the black trunks and this handsome brute of an “I Really Love Coladas” in the white trunks, and they’re like body-slamming each other in her head. “You’re off work for the rest of the day, aren’t you?” I asked her, and I.R.L.C got I.G.B.P. in a chokehold and starts like pounding his head against the turnbuckle.

Her dark brown eyes got real wide. “Yes, I’m off for the rest of the—how did you know that, Miss Weston?”

“Call me Sam,” I said. “Short for Samantha, and this is Jen or Jenny, short for Jennifer. Carl said something about having a short day on Friday, I think.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I’m off, but I’m gonna be driving—”

“Just try one,” Jennifer said. “I don’t make them real strong.”

In her head, I.R.L.C. had old I.G.B.P. pinned, and the ref was slapping his hand on the canvas, 8, 9, 10! And she said, “Well . . . just one.”

It was another one of those hot Florida days, and she was dressed pretty coolly in a linen-y skirt, a pretty white blouse, and these very sensible black shoes. I said to Jen, “Be sure you put lots of honey in this time,” and she winked at me as she got busy with the blender. I hooked my arm through Tanelle’s and said, “Hey, come and get a look at our view.”

She and I went out on the porch deck and sat back in the shade of the house, in these great reclining lawn chair type things, deck chairs I guess, and I kicked off my shoes and propped my heels up on the railing. “The Gulf is gorgeous today,” I said.

“I love it.”

“Take off your shoes, lean back.”

She smiled, shrugged, and kicked her shoes off. Hey, guys, little tip: if your girl sits down in your place and kicks off her shoes, that is a very good sign. From the house came the muted whirr as the blender did its thing.

Tanelle and I chatted about how long she had been here (four years), how she liked her job (she was learning the business and made a decent salary, plus when she made a rental she got like a commission, not bad) and other stuff. She kept looking at me sort of oddly. I was wearing a bikini top, very decent, white, and some cut-off jeans. I knew I was getting sweaty and starting to glisten the way Jen did so invitingly when I oiled her up, but I couldn’t catch any sexual interest from Tanelle, she was very hetero, like I had thought to begin with.

But she speaks up and solves the mystery: “I want to ask you something. Are you, you know—a sister?”

“Only child,” I said.

She guffawed at that. “No, I meant—”

“Oh, the race thing! No, I started out about as white as you could get without being one of those people, what do you call them, an alpine-oh. Now, I just gradually got a lot of color. I’m that way all over now, from the sun and stuff, I guess.”

“And Jennifer?”

“Same as me. Just a couple of sun worshipers, soaking up the Ra’s.”

“Girl, that’s bad for you.”

I shrugged. “Both Jen and me are pretty immune, so it’s okay. Hey, Jen!”

Jenny had come out with the drinks, and we each took one. A delicious scent of coconut wafted up from the glasses. Jen had taken off her sandals, too, and now she wore an outfit not too much different from mine, a cute red-white-and-blue bikini top and blue shorts. She settled in the third deck chair, put up her long legs and crossed them at the ankles, and took an appreciative sip of her drink.

Tanelle tasted hers, and she smiled in a delighted way. “This is good! Jennifer, you ever work as a bartender?”

“No,” Jen said, her voice all very innocent and all. “But I’ve got a barkeep’s guide on the shelf in the kitchen. Sam can tell you I’m very good at following directions.”

I was sipping my drink at the time, and I coughed as some of the colada went down the wrong way and then came up into my nose. “Oooh, brain freeze!” I said.

They laughed with me, and Tanelle sipped more and more of her drink and got more and more loosened up. I could tell from the taste that Jen had like dumped a half cup of the golden semen of Peth into the blender, way more than we needed, but she loved the stuff.

“You’re both so dark,” Tanelle said. “You sure you’re not just passin’ as white?”

“Nope,” Jen said. “We just love dark skin, that’s all. Yours is great.”

Tanelle made a squidgy little face. “Yeah, ‘cept for my nasty old birthmark.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Where is it?”

She patted her tummy. “Splashed all over my stomach,” she said. “Like somebody took and poured bleach on me. I get the money together, I’m gonna see if some dermatologist can take it off.”

“Let’s see it,” Jen said.

Tanelle shook her head. “No, it’s ugly.”

“I’ve studied skin biology,” Jen said, and that was right, she had. “Maybe I can tell whether it could be fixed or not.”

Tanelle slurped up the last of her drink, and the straw went “rrrrrrppppttttt,” the way it does. “No, people might see us up here.”

“We could go inside. Cooler there anyway,” I said, and I got up and held out my hand.

The second I touched Tanelle’s hand, she sort of jerked like she’d touched a live wire. “Hey, that drink was stronger than I thought.” ‘Course it really wasn’t the drink, it was me touching her mind and getting her all nice and loose and relaxed, but she thought it was the rum.

“Better not drive, then. Hang out with us a little while until it wears off,” Jen suggested.

We repaired to the living room, as they say, though there wasn’t anything wrong with the living room, so we didn’t really repair anything. Tanelle took off her blouse. She had a cute rack, about a 34-C, and her light-chocolate skin was yummy looking, but right there on the curve of her belly she had a splotchy patch about as big as the palm of my hand that was this yellow-orange color. It disappeared into the waistband of her skirt.

“Mm-hmm,” Jen said. She tugged at Tanelle’s skirt, and the black girl made a grab for it. “No, I need to see how big it is,” she said. “Leave your undies on.”

So Tanelle stepped out of the skirt and stood there in light-blue panties and light-blue bra. Jen rolled the top of her panties down to the tree line, where her springy black pubic bush started and where the birthmark ended. “Oh, this isn’t anything,” Jen said at last. “You don’t need laser surgery or anything to fix this.”

“No?” Tanelle asked in a kind of dazed voice. Behind her, where she couldn’t see me, I was grinning my head off.

Jen was rubbing the spot with the flat of her palm, around and around, very softly and gently. “I think this could be fixed easily, don’t you, Sam? Hey, you remember how pale and pasty your boobs were? Show Tanelle what they look like now.”

“Okay,” I said. I came around in front of Tanelle and reached behind my back to unfasten my top. “Wait, though, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want to look at my big old boobs, just say so.”

“No, uh, that’s all right,” Tanelle said, her words a little slurred. “It’s medical.”

“That’s right,” Jen said.

So I unhooked and unslung and turned the twins loose in the cool air-conditioning. Jen reached over and started to caress me. “See? These were as pale and white as a fish’s belly last fall, weren’t they, Sam?”

I reached down to take care of Miss Right Booby, because Jen was doing a good job on her left-leaning sister. “Mm-hmm,” I said. “A lot smaller, too. Now look how full and round and dark they both are.”

Tanelle’s lips were slightly parted, and I saw the tip of her pink tongue between her teeth. “Very dark,” she said.

“Not as dark as yours, I bet.”

She grinned and shrugged. “Well, you know, African-American, as they say.”

“Do you mind if we see?” Jen asked. “Just to compare?”

Tanelle reflexively crossed her arms over her boobs. “That’s kinda dirty, you know.”

Jen gave me a wink that Tanelle didn’t see. “Oh, come on. We’re all girls, for gods’ sake. It’s not like we have nuts or anything.”

“Nope, no nuts at all. Just these,” I said, stroking my nipples. “But if you don’t want to show us yours for some reason—”

The golden honey was swimming in Tanelle’s veins by then. You could see it in the way her brown eyes were getting sort of lazy and distant. “No, I guess that’d be okay,” she murmured, and she took off her bra.

Her tits were just beautiful, two lovely brown melons tipped with nipples like chocolate drops. I reached out and stroked one. “Mm, nice,” I said. “Did your man love these up the way he should?”

She chuckled. “Max wasn’t much for foreplay,” she said. “You know. Boys.”

“They’re always so selfish,” Jen agreed with a little pouty frown. “That’s why I’m still a virgin.”

Tanelle seemed to be trying to focus. “You a virgin?”

Jen nodded. “Until the right man comes along.”

“Oh, I kind of thought—sorry, I thought you two might be, you know—”

“What, lesbians?” I asked. “Nah. I love a big hard dick about better than anything, and Jen is just being a good girl until the right bad guy comes along. Not to say we don’t play with each other now and then. It’s not good to be sexually frustrated.”

“No. I guess it’s not. Makes you bitchy, you know? ‘Least it does me.”

“Oh, me, too. Go too long without somebody giving you a good orgasm, you get all cranky,” Jen agreed as she lightly teased one of Tanelle’s chocolate-drop nipples to attention.

“Mmm, yeah. Tell me about it.”

I asked, “When did you, you know, lose it?”

Tanelle shrugged, making her boobs bob. “High school. The guy blabbed about it to all his friends, and when my mama got wind of it—whoo!”

“Boys can be real stinkers,” Jen said.

“Mm, I remember slumber parties in high school,” I said. “Us girls practicing kissing, so we could get it right when we kissed a boy.”

“Yeah,” Tanelle grinned. “We useta do that to.”

“Like this,” I said, and moved in to cover her mouth with my own.

Tanelle was very deprived. I mean, I could catch all sorts of vibes form her mind, and I knew she was so inhibited she didn’t even finger herself for a little relief. So when she kissed me, it was like a big old dam breaking for her. She pressed against me, put her arms around me, pulled me close, my great big boobs flattening hers, and I felt her thigh move between mine. When we pulled apart after a little tonguing, it was like that little wrestler guy in her head, the world champion I Really Like Coladas, had just climbed back into the ring, and his new challenger, I Gotta Get Laid, decked him in the first five seconds.

We had her on the sofa and her panties off in about that amount of time. “This is wrong,” she moaned as Jen sucked her tits and I fingered her slit. “Ohh, God, I shouldn’t—mm, that feels—oh, stop, please.”

Gods, I got so turned on! Her pussy was like red, so beautiful with its big pouty outer lips and its frilly inner ones, and her clit just begged for attention. When I dipped a gentle finger down, she was dripping wet, and she opened her legs for me. “Really want me to stop?” I teased.

“Yeah, please stop—fuck, no—no, don’t—don’t stop that—ohhh, God!”

I dropped to my knees and began to lick her, and she absolutely shrieked. I had been right about her—she could be a priestess in time, lots of potential there, and she loved sex, though she had suppressed that feeling as much as she could. I made her come twice, and then we all went to the bedroom, where that great big king-sized bed just waited for us.

Tanelle had never gone down on a girl, but she got into Jen’s box with her tongue real good, and Jen sucked and nibbled at my pussy, and I went on eating out Tanelle, a daisy chain, and we orgasmed at the same time—a daisy chain reaction, I guess you’d call it, ha ha. I broke out the dildos and watched as Jen serviced that great pussy, making loud schlucking sounds as she plunged it in and out of Tanelle, and Tanelle raised her hips off the mattress and just pounded it with her ass, shrieking again.

Jen kinda hinted that maybe I’d want to twist my ring, but Tanelle had already had a good dose of the sacred semen, and I didn’t want to complicate things too much. I did whisper to her as Jen had her turn over and stand beside the bed with her right leg up on the mattress so she could do her doggy-style, and before she had an orgasm from that, Tanelle was my servant. She even started to call me “Mistress,” but to tell the truth, my like Puritan conscience or something made me uneasy with that, I was white and she was black and all, so I made her promise just to call me Sam. “Thank you, Sam,” she said gratefully, but in her voice I could hear the unspoken “Mistress.”

We let her cool down a little, and as she lay on our bed, Jen went to get some of the honey—we kept it in a special jar near the blender—and I had Tanelle repeat my instructions to her, to make sure she didn’t forget anything. “I like fucking and sucking,” she said, cuddling up to me. “My role is to encourage men to produce as much semen as possible, and to take it from them in every way possible. I will teach my sisters the ways of lust. I will have no shame before man or woman, for lust is holy and good.”

Jen came back with a little shot glass about half full of the honey. I had Tanelle lie back, and we dribbled it all over her stomach, on the place discolored by the birthmark. I concentrated, silently telling Tanelle’s body that it would become whole and beautiful, that her tits would be extra sensitive from now on, that her clit would give her an orgasm from the merest casual touch. I could tell from her thoughts that, while she really liked fucking, she had never sucked a guy off before—just kissed a few dicks without enthusiasm, then had finished off with a hand job. I let her know that semen was good to take by mouth, by anus, by vagina, good to smear on the skin, good everywhere. On her stomach, the golden semen of Peth spread into a bubbling layer, swelling up as it did so. This was the easiest way to effect body changes, we had learned.

“Your pussy should be bare,” I said.

“Yes, Sam. Should I shave it, Sam?”

“No need,” Jen said, running her fingertips through the springy black curls. The golden bubbly layer was oozing down into it, and soon the pubic hairs would simply melt away.

“I’ll take cocks in my mouth,” Tanelle said dreamily. “I’ll swallow cum. I will be filled and overflowing with lust and only fucking and sucking will satisfy it.”

“Later you’ll come back to me,” I said. “You’ll know when. We will have a Master to serve then. You will take your place as a priestess of the old gods of lust.”

“Yes,” Tanelle agreed.

“And the Master will take me as a man takes a woman, and I will surrender my virginity for his glory,” Jen said, making me feel a little sad at what she still didn’t know.

“Let Tanelle suck your pussy a little,” I suggested. “While the stuff does its job.”

Joyfully, Jen swung her leg over and snuggled her bare, smooth pussy down close To Tanelle’s mouth. Tanelle reached to cup her ass cheeks, and I moved around to admire her tongue work. She had a long tongue, and it was almost like a very small cock as she licked Jen, making her pussy flesh glow with reflections, plunging her pointed tongue down as far as she could into the depths of Jennifer. Jen writhed and played with her titties, pinching her nipples, squirming in delight.

Down on Tanelle’s stomach, the semen of Peth had sort of thickened into this light, bubbly, plasticky sort of gel. I prodded at it and found it was dry, so I peeled it off. It came away leaving Tanelle’s skin smooth and unmarked, the birthmark gone for good, and her pubic hair came away, too. The semen had crept down into her crack—I swear to gods, the stuff has like a mind of its own, you wouldn’t believe some of the things it did to Jen and me when we played around and smeared it on one another—and as I pulled it out, it gave Tanelle a parting orgasm.

By that time, Jen was leaning forward with her hands braced on the headboard of the bed, and feeling a little naughty, I lay down beside Tanelle with my head about level with her boobs and reached out a finger to probe Jen’s asshole. She murmured, “Oh, yes, Mistress, please! More, deeper!”

So between Tanelle’s flickering tongue and my pumping finger, we got Jen off to a gushing wet orgasm, and she yelped out the way she always did when she came. Tanelle decided to spend the night, and then she decided to spend the weekend, and take my word for it, Monday when she went back to work, she was a different girl. I thought Carl would be pleased.

Maybe seven or eight times before lunch, if he could stand it.

XXIII

So the summer wore on, as they say, and Jen and I kept busy, but still no sign of the Master. We couldn’t try the ring thing again because that crazy ring had decided to lock itself on my finger again. At sunrise and sunset on three successive days I knelt naked in the backyard by the pool before a small fire in the barbecue grill, my knees on white sand, feeling the breezes caressing my tits, and I prayed in the old tongue for guidance.

Jen stood by and the first time, after I finished, she asked, “Mistress, what was that language?”

“I dunno,” I admitted. “Some dialect of ancient Egyptian, I think.”

“When did you learn that?”

“It just sorta popped into my head when I started wearing the ring. Sometimes I dream in that language now.” I brushed sand off my knees. “See, here I have earth, air, fire, and water. Earth is the sand, the air is that gingery-smelling morning wind, the fire’s in the barbecue, and the water’s in the pool. In their presence, I ask Amun and Ra and the Lord of Desire for their guidance. So far, though, I’m getting diddly-shit from them, so screw ‘em.”

But I kept up with the ritual, like I said, though it didn’t do anything for me outside of giving me a little sand rash on my knees.

Jen suggested we ought to get out more and circulate, so toward the end of the month we started showing up everywhere there were crowds, in the popular restaurants, at the dances and concerts, here and there, you know. We also totally swore off all sex at all practically, except with each other, so we could concentrate on the search.

‘Bout midnight on a time of the full moon we were walking the beach by the Gulf, and the waves were foaming in around our feet, and ahead of us the little ghost crabs were running for their lives—we could just see them in the moonlight—and the mosquitoes were homing in and then realizing we weren’t just a couple of walking buffets, the blood of like gods flowed in our veins, so they banked away again without biting us.

And when the moon was directly overhead, I suddenly stopped like dead in my tracks and said, “He shall come from the sea.”

“Huh?” Jen asked.

I shook my head. “What did you say?”

“What did you say?”

“I asked you what you said.’

This could have gone on until like dawn, but Jen really knew what I said, the point was she didn’t know why I said it or how I knew it. “You just stopped and said, ‘He shall come from the sea,’ Mistress.”

I frowned. “Did I?” Now that I heard the words, they sounded right, but I really didn’t remember saying them to begin with.

I reached down to hold Jen’s hand and looked out over the dark Gulf. A couple of lights burned way out on it, buoys I guess they were. Out of like nowhere a wind springs up and is right in our faces, fluttering our hair and caressing our necks and faces. We weren’t naked, of course, though we could’ve been, the beach was so deserted right that second.

“Listen,” I said.

‘Cause the wind had a kind of voice in it: I come, Priestess. I come without knowledge, I come in innocence. Find me! Save me! Let me know who I am!

“I hear it,” Jen said, shivering a little. “It’s that Egyptian speech, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I asked her, ‘cause by that time in my life I couldn’t always tell the difference between the old tongue and plain old American. I mean, they came in my ears different, but in my, like, brain they sounded just alike, you know?

Then something moved my right hand, the one with the ring on the fourth finger. With my left hand I was still hanging onto Jen’s right hand, if you see what I mean, but my arm drifts up like it has a mind of its own and I feel my fingers curling under until I’m pointing. My finger moves left, then drifts right, and then it’s like there’s a connection. “There he is,” I say.

“Where?”

“Out on the water somewhere. I don’t see anything, but he’s there. And he’s coming closer.”

“The Master,” Jen says.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Mistress, should we wait here on the beach?”

I think for a minute. “No, he won’t be in for hours. I think—I think he’s like on a boat, or something? No, we can go home and get some sleep, but I think maybe early tomorrow morning we should go down to that what-do-you call it, the marinara.”

“Marina, Mistress.”

“What-ever,” I say, sounding a little mean ‘cause I’m sad at what I know is coming, but Jen doesn’t. “Come on.”

We hopped into the Slutmobile and drove back to the house, and that night I gave Jen some especially gentle loving, ‘cause who knew what would happen after Master showed up. Well, I kinda knew, but anyway we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Next morning, swear to gods it was barely even daylight, Jen shakes me awake. “Mistress! Mistress!”

“Go ‘way,” I moaned. I am not a morning person, as you can probably guess by now.

“Come on, Sam. You made me promise to get you up before sunrise. The sun rises in one hour. If you’re gonna make it, get your ass in gear.”

I hit her with a pillow, but I got up. We showered together and like dried each other’s hair and all, and by the time we had dressed, the sun was up. “No breakfast,” I said. “I think we should go, like, fasting to meet the Master.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Jen said, looking all full of excited anticipation.

We drove over to the Gulf Star Marina, where there were like more boats than I thought existed, all tied up at these long, long, floating piers. The old guy at the office told us six boats had come in since midnight, and he showed us what their names were in this registration ledger. Five of them I just passed right over, the Do Sea Do, Emancipator, Wahine, and the Money Pump, because I took one look at the name of the sixth boat and somehow knew that had to be the one.

It was called One in a Million.

The great god Ra sails forever
In the Boat of a Million Years,
And sweet is his voyage,
And kindly is his visage,
And no soul travels to the Undying Lands,
Save on that boat with Ra . . . .

“That’s the one in slip F-18,” the old guy says. “She’s available for charter.”

So with my heart like dancing the fan dingo, as they say in Australia, we walk down the floating pier to where the boat was tied up. It was kinda big, a white boat with like a house thingy built on the deck and a tower up above that, and there was the name on the front. We stepped onto the deck from the pier, ‘cause we didn’t know then that was a no-no, and I knocked on the fiberglass wall near the wheel place. “Hello? Anybody home?”

We hear this shuffling and grunting, and the door opens, and this big disappointment walks out.

He’s about twenty-five or twenty-six, with spiky hair that started out black but had been kinda bleached to brown in spots by the sun. He had like three or four days’ worth of beard on him, and he wore metal-rimmed glasses. He was taller than Jen and me, about five-eleven I’d guess, but really kinda scrawny. He just had on jeans, and his chest was just all right, arm muscles okay, his abs—well, no six-pack or anything. He looked kinda grumpy, and I thought, This can’t be him, but something in me said, This is the Master, all right, take him or leave him.

“You’re way early,” he grumbled. “I don’t take her out until eight o’clock, and it’s not even seven.”

“Master?” Jen asked, adoration in her enchanting green eyes.

“Huh?”

It hit me. He didn’t know that he was like the incarnation of a powerful ancient priest, just like I didn’t know before I got the ring. I shook my head at Jen to warn her and cut in smoothly: “You’re like the master of this boat?”

He blinked at me. “I run it,” he said. “For my uncle. Look, if you want to charter a trip, it’s fifty dollars each for four hours, sharing the boat with up to eight other paying passengers, or if you want the whole boat to yourselves for the whole day, it’s a thousand five hundred for eight hours, or three thousand for twenty-four hours.”

“How ‘bout a week?” I asked.

“A week?” He scratched his head. “Uh, nobody’s ever—let me see, seven times three . . . I guess I could let you charter her for, like, eighteen thousand? I’m knocking off a whole day, but—I’d have to check with my uncle, though. And I’m booked for the next couple weeks, anyway. It’d have to be in the middle of August.”

Jen was just itching to start running her hands over his little squicky thin chest, I could tell. “When can you get back to us?” I asked, like all business and shit.

He scratched his head again, he could really have done with some hair gel. “I guess tonight. I’ll be in the Rusty Bucket about nine or so. Catch me then and I’ll tell you what my uncle says.”

“Okay,” I say, and grab Jen’s hand. “C’mon, Jennifer.”

“Hey,” he says. “One thing. Before you come aboard somebody’s boat like you did, you’re s’posed to ask for permission.”

“Yes, Master,” says Jen, and I can see that makes him kinda uneasy.

“Don’t be snarky, Jen,” I says. “Oh, by the way, I’m Samantha, she’s Jennifer. And you’re—”

“Mark Baylor,” he says.

“See ya!”

When I get Jen home, I explain to her what the brig problem is. Mark has no idea who’s inside him, and it’s my job—not hers but mine—to awaken the ba of Hastur, the Priest of the Eternally Lustful One, so he’ll, like, know he’s supposed to be our Master and stuff. “But there’s roadblocks in his head,” I complain. “He’s got a hell of a lot of inhibition going on there. And I can’t budge them. This is something I haven’t hit before.”

So, all things considered, I ordered Jen to go to sleep early that evening, and I drove into town myself, wearing this really, really hot outfit, and I go into the Rusty Bucket, which is their excuse for a swinging bar, and I see Mark and hook up with him and we take our drinks to a booth.

“Okay,” he says. “My uncle says it’s all right to give you the Million on a full-week charter for eighteen thousand. It’ll be Monday to Sunday, and I can give you August 7-13.”

“That’s cool,” I say, sipping my beer.

“You have to provide your own food and drinks, and I’ll tell you right now the Million isn’t a party boat. We can sleep four comfortably, with me in the deckhouse. How many will be going?”

“Just Jen and me. . . and you,” I tell him. I giggle. “I’ll bet you must get a lot of girls, such a great boat and all.”

“Miss—uh, Samantha, I have to tell you, no funny stuff, okay? I mean, you and your friend are really attractive, and if you want to invite a couple of boyfriends, I wouldn’t say you couldn’t do that, but I—well, I’m really not interested. Just so you’ll know.”

And I got a flash then of his mind and saw that he was a very confused young guy, ‘cause he was like romantic and all that underneath, but he was unsure of himself where women were concerned and though he jacked off a lot, he had totally never even been with a woman.

My Master was a virgin, can you believe that?

But he was not gay. I could see in his head that he had already masturbated while fantasizing about me and Jen, which was more than okay with me.

Any-fucking-way, he tells me he needs a deposit, and I ask how much, and he suggest five thousand, and I say I’ll have it for him the next day, and we plan to meet in the Rusty Bucket again, and that was pretty much that.

Next morning Jen and I go to the bank and check the balance on my card, which we hadn’t even used, hardly, and the Prof had been doing his job really well, so there was like over forty thousand dollars in it. I take out the five thousand in cash, they have to stuff it in this big manila envelope and shit, and then after I give Jen very strict orders on how to behave, we go that evening back to the bar, and I give Mark the money—he’s real impressed that it’s cash—and he writes me out a receipt. I keep trying to mess with his mind, untie some of those old strings of inhibitions and all, but swear to gods, it’s like impossible. I get that this has been going on for thousands of years, with Hastur’s ba trying like hell to get itself reborn, but the forces of greed and evil and all are tracking him and keeping him from knowing who he is. Poor guy, he must’ve been reborn like every generation, but every single time he died an unhappy old virgin, ‘cause the forces of evil, they’re mean as shit about letting anybody have a little fun.

But then they’d never run up against Jen and me before. I am a very competitive girl in some ways, and I’d be good gods-damned if I was gonna let the forces of evil fuck with my Master.

So in the couple of weeks we had, Jen and I shopped for things we thought we’d need, and I medicated—no, wait, that’s not it, meditated—and stuff, and Jen actually studied up on ancient Egyptian lore, and by the time our charter rolled around, we thought we were ready to walk up to the forces of evil and give them a good swift kick in the balls.

XIV

We called the Prof and got him to kick up the deposits to our accounts for the next two weeks so we’d have like a comfortable margin to operate on, and we went shopping for the food and drinks we’d need. We even bought this cute little container for four ounces of honey, emptied it out, and filled it with you-know-what. I packed my sistrum, in case it was needed. We had the Post Office hold our mail and we called Mark so he could come and pick us up on the day of the cruise.

Which started, needless to say, practically in the middle of the night. Anyway, he shows up, won’t even come in the house for coffee, and then drives us and our bags and our suitcases to the marina. We make like six trips hauling all this stuff aboard, it’s a wonder the boat doesn’t just sink, but somehow it holds up. There’s this cute little kitcheny thing on the boat called a galley, and that’s where we stowed as much of the food as we could force into it. Some of the stuff we had to sort of put in one of the cabins, ‘cause we had bought way too much. By the time the sun was good and up, we were ticking along out in the green water of the Gulf, with Florida a long low line on our left, seagulls cruising and cursing overhead, and now and then some big-assed fish jumping out of the water.

Mark says, where you ladies want to go, and we say, you pick, we’re just cruising. So we just putter along, heading generally south. Jen and I try our best, we really do. We strip down to the tiniest little bikinis you could imagine. We were like more naked than if we were naked, if you know what I mean, and we rubbed oil all over ourselves and tried to get Mark to pitch in and help, but he said he was the captain and the crew of the boat, and we’d have to get along without him. We made breakfast, these yummy croissant-bacon-and-egg sandwiches, and he ate a couple of those, but when we gave him coffee with some honey in it, he didn’t even touch it, just eventually dumped it over the side.

Something was fighting us, all right. We found a little place to anchor, real secluded, behind this low sand island and still a long ways out from shore, where there was nobody anyway, and Jen took off her top and so did I, and damn if Mark didn’t go below, as he called it, to get out of our way. Jen frowns over at me and asks, “Mistress, what’s wrong? Mark’s not gay, is he?”

“No, but he’s real hemmed in by inhibitions,” I tell her. “It’s like for five thousand years a spiritual spider has been twirling his soul around and around in its web, wrapping him up like a mummy. That’s what we have to break through.”

That night we partied, but Mark didn’t join in, and when we turned in, we were all alone in our little stateroom thingy. Next day we finally start to get him interested, ‘cause I can tell he’s got a hard-on from watching Jen and me swim bare-assed around the boat, but just as we climb back aboard, this thunderstorm comes up out of absolutely nowhere, and the sky turns black and lightning spears down, and he has to take care of the boat.

I said to Jen, “This storm is no accident. We were starting to get through.”

Her green eyes are real big. “Mistress, are gods actually fighting against us?”

I rest my chin in my hand. “I don’t know if you’d call them gods any more. People don’t worship them the way they used to. But selfishness and coldness and hatred, yeah, they’re still around and they’re fighting us. This storm is completely anti-fun and anti-sex. It’s like a cold shower just when you don’t want one.”

Third day, and no better. Just as Jen is rubbing close against Mark, getting him to show her how to steer, there’s a clunk, clank, clink sound, and Mark has to go do something to the damn engine. I had just about had it.

And the sistrum didn’t do a thing for him, not that I really thought it would, ‘cause it was really more effective with lesser souls. We couldn’t get him to swallow a drop of the honey, not because he knew or even suspected what it was, but those inhibitions that his ba had got all wound up in gave him like an intuition, and he avoided the stuff we put it in. On the fourth evening, I suggested to Jen that we cool it, so we sat around in the cabin after dark playing cards, and he came in from the deck and sat down to play Hearts with us.

We just talked of this and that, and when Jen asked if Mark had a girlfriend, he got real glum. It took a lot of coaxing, but finally he confessed his horrible secret to us.

“I’m bad luck for girls,” he said. “First girl I was ever attracted to, back in Junior High, was Mary Jane Crawdell. I kissed her one day, and that day her dad drowned in an accident at sea, and her mom and Mary Jane had to move away from Naples to Seattle, which is all the way on the other side of the country. The next time I kissed a girl, that evening she got hit by a car and developed amnesia and didn’t even remember who she was, let alone who I was or that she’d kissed me. Took a girl on a picnic and a snake bit her and she nearly died. Took a girl out on my first boat and lightning struck it and she was in the hospital with bad burns for weeks. I’m jinxed.”

I caught his mind vibes and I knew he was telling the truth. So on the fifth day of our trip, I talked it over with Jen, and we decided to make a last-ditch kinda stand. Next day, she got him to go over to the shore with her to hunt for shells, and I got into his cabin while they were gone and laid down all these very powerful protective spells and consecrated the place to the god of lust. I felt a lot of power. We had a little shrine in his dinky cabin, if it would hold long enough for us to use it.

And I got out our emergency equipment. Jen and I hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but since we’d been afraid it might, before going on the cruise I’d visited an adult toy shop and bought just the things we needed.

Jen and Mark came back aboard that afternoon looking sun-dazed and tired, ‘cause she’d marched him up and down that fucking beach for hours in the hot sun. I suggested we all take a nap, and he agreed. He drank a soda, then turned in.

Now, I had dosed the soda with some sleeping pills that Jen had taken once when she got real stressed over studying. Pretty soon we her him snoring, and we go in and he’s stretched out on his bunk with his jeans on, no shirt. The bunk has a substantial headboard and footboard, and it’s really pretty narrow, too narrow for good sex, but it’ll hold him.

So Jen cuffs his wrists over his head to the headboard, and I cuff his ankles to the footboard, and we get some scissors and cut off his jeans.

“Aww,” Jen says, disappointed, ‘cause his dick is so little looking. I assure her it will get lots bigger than she expects.

Then I twist my ring.

Gods, Jen worked like a trouper. She sucked me off and I stroked and I came all over Mark’s stomach, but that’s not near enough, so we do it again and again and again, and my legs are shaking, I’ve shot out so much honeyed cum. The stuff is spreading over Mark’s body, but we have to do even more. I rest for half an hour, and then Jen begins to jerk me off again, and again, and again.

Mark comes to just as the stuff has covered his mouth. He tries to yell, especially when he sees my pseudo-cock all red and pulsing just inches from his face, but his mouth is already sealed up. Jen coos to him and tells him it’s all right, he’ll thank us later, but I don’t think he believes us.

Finally his whole face is covered, and he slips into unconsciousness. The golden gel spreads down his legs and up his arms, and finally I don’t have to come any more, which is good ‘cause for the first time in my life I’m like all fucked out. Jen and I eat dinner and then just collapse.

Next morning we check on our patient, and he’s cocooned in the golden foamy gel, and the stuff has dried. It’s hard to see what he looks like inside. Carefully, I tear it over his face and then peel it away.

All his hair, except his heavy eyebrows, comes with it. He’s a lot darker and a lot handsomer now. We strip the stuff off his chest, and now his pecs are like really great and his abs are like a washboard. And then we do his cock.

No pubic hair any more, and damn if his resting cock wasn’t six full inches long now, maybe three times what it was, and his balls are huge and proud looking.

I start to nuzzle and lick his cock, and it responds and grows to a magnificent length. His eyes flutter open, looking puzzled. From where I kneel naked, I say, “Master.”

He can’t answer, ‘cause his ba is standing on the edge of his consciousness. “Jen, come here,” I say. “It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

I lick her real good, getting her lubed, while she gives Hastur-to-be a long, leisurely hand job to keep him hard. Then she swings over him, and I poise the tip of his magnificent member between the lips of her pussy. Tears are rolling down my face. “Jen,” I said, “I have to tell you. We’re gonna spill your blood.”

“Huh?” she asks.

“When you fuck him. You’re gonna, like, pop your cherry. You’re gonna bleed, Jen. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you that before. But it has to be.”

“Mistress, I know all about that,” she says.

“You do?”

“Of course I do!”

“Oh, okay, then,” I say. “Fuck him.”

And she does. She impales herself on that wonderful rod, an inch at a time, and her hymen tears and blood trickles down over the shaft, and when it does, Mark’s eyes fly wide, and he says, “My servants!”

“Yes, Master,” both Jen and I say at once, joyfully.

Jen is screwing him now like crazy, and he reaches around to cup her buttocks, spreading them, revealing her asshole to me. “Join us, Hathet,” he says.

So I twist the ring, and sore as it is, Peth’s pseudo-cock blossoms out. I get behind Jen and position myself and plunge into her pretty pink asshole, and she moans and thrashes. God, it is just so-o-o sexy! She’s all hot and tight, and I can feel Hastur’s member pumping away on the other side of the wall, as you might say, and Jen is pumping up and down with her big tits bouncing, and I’m crying I’m so happy, my tears dripping off my face and onto Jen’s bare back, and it builds and builds and before I know it, Jen screams, and Hastur-Mark nearly lifts us both off the bed as he arches his back and comes, and I shoot cum into Jen’s ass.

She gasps and absolutely faints, and I have to lay her down on the deck. Mark’s cock is oozing a glowing yellow cum, thicker than Peth’s, richer-looking, and he says, “Servant, you may clean me.”

So I thank him, kneel, and suck the drops off his cock, and they fill me with hot liquid fire. “Oh, gods!” I scream, feeling a change in myself.

He smiles, moves his hands, and the cuffs fall away. He holds my head and guides me down so he’s fucking my mouth, his cock filling me completely. When he comes again, I swallow and swallow and feel drunk on the sharp, sweet tang of Hastur’s cum. . . .

The semen of Hastur is holy,
It gives life upon life,
She who receives it will not die,
Will not age,
But will be immortal,
And all men will want her,
And she will rejoice in lust,
And she will find release,
And she will never tire of the act of glory,
Which is penetration and the release of semen,
Which is sacred and strengthens the ancient god
Who cannot be named.

XV

I thought the semen of Peth was hot stuff.

Hastur told us we would live forever and be forever young and that we could fuck and suck through all eternity. Jen would be his first bride, and my servant forever. I would be his chief prophetess and priestess, and we would begin to retake the world from the cold forces of hate and turn it again into what it should have been, a bed of sex and satiation.

“You will have to work hard,” he warned me. “We cannot really begin until we have recruited the necessary number of immortal priestesses and priests. Seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven of each we must have, and then our doctrine will begin to spread. Give me the Ring, my servant.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. It slipped right off. To my surprise, he put it on his own hand and turned it.

Then Mark was back, just plain old Mark. But his cock was the cock of Hastur.

Jen had healed so quickly, because of the semen she had absorbed, that immediately she climbed in his lap and got herself nice and stuffed and began to rock back and forth, fucking him in the Position of the Nodding Lotus. Mark looked at me over her shoulder. “Don’t be sad. Peth has served his purpose. You will be fulfilled in many other ways.”

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Tomorrow we will return to the place where you are living, and tomorrow you will begin to recruit priests and priestesses.”

I looked forward to that.

We had a great time. When we got to our house the next day, Mark became Hastur again. He walked in a kind of regal pace from the car to the house, and damn if at every step a lily didn’t spring up out of the earth, just like in one of those time-lapse movies. He put his hand on the weathered wood of the stair rail, and it sent forth shoots and like green leaves and shit spread out. Hastur was full of the essence of life, he was great, and up in our bedroom he threw Jen onto the bed on hands and knees and got behind and did her doggy-style. I realized I had never seen a girl fucked at really, really close range before, and he sensed my thought and beckoned me over. So while I lay on my back underneath them and sucked and nibbled at his balls, Jen ate me out. Gods, it was wonderful to see that huge, fat slippery cock slide in and out and in and out of Jen’s gorgeous, clenching, clutching pussy. That was life. That was the heartbeat of the universe. I was proud to be part of it.

Then at last I got my turn with that inexhaustible cock. Hastur was so strong that he did me a way I had never experienced before. He stood, like three-quarters of the way behind me, right? And he hooked his arm under my right thigh and held it up so I was standing only on my left foot, nice and open, and with his left arm he hugged my torso, his big hands playing with my sensitive tits, and he plunged that big old dick into me, and gods, but I nearly passed out, no lie. I know they say size doesn’t really matter and all, but to be totally filled by a hard-pumping guy that way, well, it’s a sensation every girl should enjoy. And a rapturous Jen knelt before us and pleasured herself, leaning way back so I could see her tits and her pussy, and this time the tears were running down her face, she was so happy for me. When Hastur gave me a blast of that thick hot super-cum, I jerked like a fish on a line. I felt its heat spreading through my center, and I knew that from that moment on my life was gonna be like totally changed forever.

So, okay, good things have to end, right? I’m gonna have to leave real soon now, going on my own for a while, though I think lusty lady Tanelle’s gonna join me in the Slutmobile. Lucky Jen, the Bride of Hastur, gets to live with Mark and pleasure him in all the one hundred and eleven postures of submissive love in that great house, which by the way we bought to be the world headquarters of our new religion, oh, some time I’ll have to tell you about how we got even more donations, but not right now, okay? Anyway, Jen will stay and serve the Master, and I’ll get to visit sometimes and as Master commands, join in their fun and games, but for the next few years I’m gonna be like super-busy, me and Tanelle. We’ll set out across this whole country, and then later across the whole world. We’re gonna change some things, and by the time we finish, the ancient, nameless god of lust is gonna be strong, and wars will cease, and nobody anywhere will have the least little shred of shame.

Now you, yeah, you right there, I just love the way you think. Mmm, and your equipment is good, too, and what you’d like to improve, well, we can getcha fixed right up.

Take my advice. If you’re like at a party or something, or just even in the dumb old grocery store, whatever, and this super hot-looking babe with big, bouncy tits and dark skin and blonde hair and really striking blue eyes gives you a lascivious look, maybe a wink and a lick of her lips, and she comes up to you and says, “Excuse me, but I think you should know you are pretty fucking hot,” don’t just stand there.

Go someplace with her. Eat her out, fuck her, whatever.

‘Cause I still got more than seven thousand seven hundred immortal horny priests and seven thousand seven hundred immortal lusty priestesses to recruit, and just between us . . . .

I think you might very well be next.

The End