The Secrets of Airingford

My second full day as the Lord Airingford dawned with Stephanie wrapped around me. We were naked, and I remembered every second of our lovemaking. She was surprisingly flexible, and very accomplished at giving physical pleasure. I gingerly climbed out of bed, mindful that my groin muscles were a little tender. That wasn’t surprising; despite my being in excellent physical condition, the human body was not designed to fuck anywhere near as much as I had over the last forty-eight hours.

After I had freshened up, I opened the bathroom door, stepped out, and stopped short at the scent of cigarette smoke. “Good morning, my Lord Airingford,” smiled Stephanie with a small bow. She giggled at my panicked glance downwards. “Fear not, Milord, it is not the cigarette that casts the enchantment, but rather the cigarette holder.” At my relieved, but puzzled look, she said, “However, I am rather hungry after last night’s activities, and so would rather eat than to tell you all of the mystical secrets of the Airingford family, Airingford Manor, and the Hellions right now. I would wager that you are in the same state.” At the mention of eating, I realized that I was much more hungry than curious, and so we shared a leisurely English breakfast in the breakfast room, a small version of the main dining room on the second floor where my bedroom was located.

After breakfast, Stephanie excused herself to dress, rejoining me about an hour later in what I was coming to consider “my room.” She lit another cigarette before beginning, “There are many things you should know as the Lord Airingford. Our family’s lineage traces to the Arthurian period, and somewhat ashamedly, I must tell you that we were not on the side of the just.” Great, was my answering thought, now I’m one of the bad guys. Figures. “Please do not look at me as if I am a morally bankrupt witch, Ron,” she pleaded.

“Yes, milady,” I responded. My malevolent stare morphed into a gaze of concentrated interest without a second thought.

“That’s better,” she smiled. “It is difficult enough to know in your heart that you are a direct descendent of Morgan leFay without being reminded of it by another person’s nasty look.”

“As I was saying, Ron, our family are the keepers of the remaining magical artifacts from our ancestress. Some of the more—dangerous—of these are buried, hopefully where they will never be uncovered.”

“Pardon my naïve question,” I interrupted, “but if you’re so worried about them, why not just destroy them?”

Stephanie shook her head sadly, “They’re enchanted against destruction. If you were the most powerful sorceress in the world, would you let someone take your weapons away from you?” She paused, and then added, “Not that it hasn’t been tried. The most recent gallant effort almost destroyed the family line. If it hadn’t been for the pregnancy of the then-Lady Airingford, all of those artifacts would have been waiting to be found and as is their nature, misused, possibly resulting in the reincarnation of my ancestress herself.” She looked at the floor. “It would not be what you would call a joyous family reunion. Imagine The Lord of the Rings where evil triumphs, complete with magical creatures impervious to modern weaponry.”

That turned my blood to ice. Stephanie caught my shiver, and softly, soothingly resumed, “The Hellions exist to… drain the magic, so to speak, from some of her most potent artifacts. You are already acquainted with the sapphire of fealty. It is mind control at its most insidious, because not only does it remove any desire to resist, it also removes any concept associated with resistance. The commanded party will happily perform any request made, no matter how horrible, including those that would defy every instinct towards self-preservation.” She stopped in correct anticipation of my fearful shudder, only continuing after I had stopped quivering. “As long as there is a blood heir to Airingford family, the power will be reserved unto the family. Should the family line end, or if the sapphire is not used at least three times each day, it would revert to its natural state, and beckon someone who would use it freely to its nefarious potential. This is why I use it several times daily, regardless of whether the need is there. It was being cleaned when you first encountered it, as it seems to lose specificity if it becomes dirty. The jewelry shop was founded by a member of the Hellions, and has been in the family since.”

 Being familiar with the way American business worked, I asked Stephanie what would happen if a family member decided that they were tired of running the store, or if a larger jeweler decided to buy it out. “As for the former, the family has been members of the Hellions for many, many generations, and will be for generations to come. Willing or otherwise.” She smiled, “As for the other scenario, someone did try to purchase the store, but they—chose not to pursue it.”

I knew that I did not want to find out what that meant, so I chose to probe another mystery. “So what about the—smoking thing?” I asked. “All I know is that I have never felt so horny and able in my life! I’ve also never been so—” I hesitated. “—big. How the hell does that happen?”

“There are nine quite special cigarette holders kept here at the Manor,” she giggled, before turning serious. “They are under lock and key at all times, except when being used. Unlike the sapphire, they will work for anyone. They can create, induce, enhance—” Stephanie looked at my crotch and licked her lips, immediately blushing when she realized that I had caught her actions. “—and sustain passion via the smoke.” She looked at me. “Do you indulge?”

I vigorously shook my head, and Stephanie rejoined, “Ah! Pity. Three of the holders are in a men’s style. You will have to rely on Claire, then. Similar situations have occurred in the past, and it has been… workable.”

When I had no reaction, she resumed, “There are many rules regarding the use of the cigarette holders. In general, cigars engender a stronger reaction than cigarettes, while smoke exhaled directly in someone’s face will bond that person to your command—as long as it is sexual—until you or your assignees are sated to your heart’s content…” Stephanie looked skyward, obviously thinking. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!” she exclaimed. “The color of the cigarette doesn’t matter—that was just personal whimsy.”

I wondered why Morgan leFay would have had cigarette holders, since tobacco was unknown in Europe at that time. “The holders are made of various materials and were crafted between 1890 and 1990, the last at my direction. All of them contain pulverized, or extremely small, pieces of a magical talisman.” Seeing that I still had a question on my face, she expanded, “The magic in the talisman requires smoke, and prior to the creation of the holders, this was accomplished by infusing candles with pulverized talisman. Since the talisman itself is indestructible, after the candle burned down, the dust was recovered, and new candles made. In order to produce the amount of smoke necessary for the magic to permeate a room, the candles were quite large. After a fire caused by these candles razed almost one-third of the manor, and very nearly exposed the Hellions, the Lord Airingford at the time began to experiment and arrived at the cigarette holders as a most efficacious solution. It allowed the Lady Airingford access to the power as well, and it could be directed to specifically affect one or more persons.”

I had been mulling everything over as Stephanie revealed her family secrets, and I had the definite impression that she was leaving some things out—maybe a lot. I also figured that asking her how much she had left unsaid and why she chose not to reveal it would be useless. The more pressing question for me right now was, how could they resist the temptation to use such powerful and easily accessed magic? Especially when it was legendarily evil magic? “So,” I started, “you’re telling me that the Airingford family is the guardian of evil magic that would destroy the world, and that your adherence to duty is all that stands between civilization and the potential end of the world?”

“At least by the magical means we keep, yes. We can do nothing about man’s increasing appetite for destruction,” Stephanie evenly replied.

“That’s very altruistic,” I pointed out, “but you said that these artifacts were created with evil intent, and that the intent is part of the true nature of the artifact. Therefore, the artifact must ultimately be used according to its true nature.”

Stephanie regarded me with admiration and muttered, “You know, you’re quite brilliant. Claire will appreciate you a great deal.” She waved her hand dismissively as if to shoo away those thoughts. “Yes, you are correct in all of that,” she acknowledged, glancing at the clock. “Which brings us to tea time and the story of the Hellions.” She summoned a butler for tea, and excused herself in a most ladylike fashion.

“The Hellions are, in addition to being a slightly more socially conscious version of the Hellfire Club, our accomplices in our sacred duty,” Stephanie said as we resumed our discussion a few minutes later over tea. “To pick up your earlier thread, yes, the artifacts must be used for evil. However, in the context of medieval times, evil can take many forms. Simply put, the Hellions help us to be evil through deviate, and therefore evil, sexual practices. The group sex alone satisfies the definition, but our—variations—seem to appease the few artifacts we use so that we do not need further rituals to discharge the eldritch energies within.” Her eyes narrowed, and she said, “And as this is my final full day as the Lady Airingford, I believe that it is time for me to call upon those energies.”

I cocked my head, unsure of her meaning until she placed a cigarette case, lighter, and a long white cigarette holder on the table. I was in the process of bolting from the room when I heard Stephanie purr, Ronald, dear boy, do sit down with me.”

The gray returned, draining the will to flee and replacing it with the pleasure of sitting with the Lady Airingford at tea. I was quickly bathed in swirls of smoke that inflamed my passions as I sat across the table from such an incredibly sexy goddess. My dick felt like a miniature baseball bat and was pushing insistently against its binding. My desire grew wildly as my goddess, the embodiment of female perfection, would drag on her cigarette holder, purse her lips, and envelop me in sensuous smoke. As she took her final drag, I could take no more. I dragged Stephanie from her seat, picked her up, and carried her to the bed, where I ripped her clothes off and ravished her without restraint.


“Are you sure that you won’t be wanting to learn how to smoke so that you may do the same to any woman—or man—who interests you?” Stephanie asked after she’d recovered from my enthusiastic ravishing. “The pendant kept you from running away, but the smoke made you mmmmm—most virile. I do enjoy your—manliness so. I do hope that my daughter will have it in her heart to be—generous.” She glanced at the table, where the smoking paraphernalia lay, ignoring my strange look. “Unfortunately, Ron,” she unhappily sighed, “as much as I would like to have you fuck me into a mindless, multi-orgasmic stupor in private, we must preside over the Hellions again tonight.” At my pained expression, she elucidated, “Normally, we meet fortnightly, but the three days’ of meetings are part of the ritual associated with the changing of the guard, as it were. As the Black King, you realize that you must attend.”

I nodded and sighed, “What time is dinner?”

Stephanie must have heard the resignation in my voice, because she sympathetically said, “If you would prefer, you may take your dinner here in the privacy of your suite this evening. Perhaps that may raise your level of natural enthusiasm for the evening’s festivities. It would be good if you arrived seeming as if you are—interested in being the Black King.” I asked if she would be joining me. “No,” she replied, collecting her effects, “the Lady Airingford is the hostess of this gathering, and protocol requires my presence at the formal reception and dinner.” Stephanie placed her hand on the wall above the fireplace, and a panel next to it opened, revealing a hidden passage. I gaped. “Surely you don’t expect me to march down the hall naked in front of everyone,” she teased. “I’ll have to warn Claire not to use so much smoke—after the first time.”

In spite of the magical coercion, the deception, and my unwanted position as Lord Airingford, I was beginning to like Stephanie. That didn’t keep me from thinking about escape, however. I devised a quick plan… that ran into an insurmountable obstacle. I had no idea of where my passport was. It was not in any of my belongings, and the last time I remembered having it was when I placed it into the tuxedo that first night. So much for running away and hiding in the English countryside, I sighed to myself and ordered dinner, feeling very much a prisoner, although one in elegant surroundings without locks.


I arrived at the ballroom at about nine o’clock, having taken an unplanned, but refreshing nap after dinner, to find the evening’s orgy already in progress. I smelled cigar smoke, and automatically looked for the source as my cock began to respond. Stephanie was nearby puffing away on her holdered cigar, wearing leather attire and happily torturing a couple who were both bound and spread-eagled on separate pieces of equipment.

I continued looking around the orgy for my favorite partner, but Mrs. Ravenscroft was occupied in a daisy chain of Hellions with her husband, much to my disappointment. Almost fully erect now, I began to feel the need to find a partner. It was psychological, physical, and very real. I briefly wondered if this was what a drug addict felt, all the while searching for my “fix.” I found my first partner of the night amongst a group of half-naked servants standing at the ready after catching a glimpse of a cute, slender brunette. She seemed to be trying to hide, standing almost directly behind a large butler, and out of the direct line of sight of the main sexual activity. As soon as it was apparent that I was headed for her, however, the other servants moved aside, leaving her exposed. I could tell that she was fighting the sexual compulsion affecting everyone else in the room by the distressed, panicked look on her face and the hesitation of her hands. She was masturbating, but very reluctantly, and she was definitely not enjoying it. Suddenly, she seemed to realize that she was being watched, and startled, she looked up from her masturbation to regard me with fear. I stood in front of her with a definite lecherous bearing, the bulge in my pants obscenely evident and now, somewhat painful as well. I needed relief.

I dragged her away from her position against the wall with supernatural strength, uncaring of her obvious resistance, finally annoyed enough by her recalcitrance to pick her up as she cried, screamed, and kicked. I carried her to a table that had restraints and locked her down to solve one problem. Undressing hastily, I sighed in relief as my cock sprang free. The girl gasped and her eyes went wide as I growled, “It is time to serve your master.” I stroked my cock, and positioned myself to take the helpless girl, who protested with a screech of soul-rending horror. I did not care, but her bush and folds were bone dry despite her earlier self-stimulation. I knelt, pushed her thighs apart, and began to lick at her pussy, but she wasn’t making it easy, wriggling as much as she could. My annoyance flared into white-hot anger, and I stood up, raised my hand to smack her and…

“Ron, that’s enough.” Stephanie’s placid voice froze my upraised hand, and somehow quickly drained the anger that I felt. I blinked. “You can see that she is very frightened, milord.” I blinked, wondering how I could have missed that until Stephanie pointed it out. “Come, child,” cooed the Lady Airingford soothingly as she undid the leg restraints. “What is your name, and how old are you?”

“Milla,” the girl sniffled with an obvious Eastern European accent. “I am eighteen. I come here for job, work in kitchen—”

Her increasingly hysterical sobbing was cut off by Stephanie gently saying, “Calm yourself, dear. There’s no need to be afraid or cry.”

“Yes, milady,” the girl replied, the accent suddenly almost imperceptible. She wiped a stray tear from her eye.

“That’s a good girl now,” Stephanie purred. “I want you to forget everything that you have seen and done and that has happened to you in the ballroom. Your first day at work was spent learning the routine of the house. You spent the night in the servant’s quarters so that you may learn how the house awakens.”

“Yes, milady,” was Milla's deferential response in near-perfect English. She curtsied.

“Archer,” Stephanie called to a nearby servant, “take Milla to the servant’s quarters through the back passages and give her a room. Bring Renée back in her stead.”

I felt the guilt rise immediately after Milla departed. “I almost—”

“Do not trouble yourself, Ron,” interrupted Stephanie. “The magic is not subject to conscience. Nonetheless, you do need a partner.” My jones was returning with a vengeance, and she quickly added, “I am otherwise occupied, milord. Renée will be here momentarily.”

All I knew was that my dick needed attention, and masturbation seemed so… Wasteful in the middle of an orgy, but the only women who weren’t occupied didn’t interest me in the least. My horny frustration had distracted me so much that I jumped at Stephanie’s voice. “My Lord Airingford, may I present Renée.”

A nicely rounded redhead curtsied, smiling nervously as she submissively looked up at me. I heard the click of a lighter, and Stephanie exhaled downwards forcefully, obscuring Renee’s face. The redheaded woman’s knees buckled, and Stephanie repeated the action before quickly extinguishing her holdered cigarette. “You will serve the Black King. You are his sex toy, with no will and no desire other than to please him with your body.” Renée signified the completion of her enchantment with a fawning, “Yes, milady,” while Stephanie attached a leash to the collar around the young woman’s neck and handed it to me. My flushed and panting slave then gleefully engulfed my erection and determinedly bobbed her head.

My dick surged at the warm, wet friction. She was not Mrs. Ravenscroft, but Renée knew the art of oral pleasure well. I felt my cock twitch in her mouth, but I really wanted to fuck. I tugged upwards on the leash and pulling away from Renée, who kept her tongue working until she couldn’t reach. Only then did she get to her feet, with a saucy hunger in her eyes. Her lips were parted, and the sex flush had broken out on her face and chest. She hopped onto the same table where Milla had been, but there was no need for the restraints. Renee’s enchantment extended throughout her body as my cock slid into her pussy without resistance, and with a juicy slurp.

She greeted my frenzied, fast, long strokes with soft grunts, bucking at me as her delta became a creamy mess. My amazing stamina didn’t register to my senses; I was just urging more feeling through my body via my dick, and when I felt my ejaculation approach, I sped up, slamming harder and deeper at her. Without thinking, I pulled out of her and grabbed my cock with one hand, while roughly pulling Renée to her feet. I quickly pushed her to her knees just in time to get hit in the face by a stream of cum. I stroked my cock a couple more times to draw another burst, this time aimed at her ample tits. Renée got the idea, and grabbed my dick in time to get another gusher across her chin and cheeks and she resumed sucking at my cock. I started to feel the flood rise again, and roared in satisfaction as I shot more cum into her mouth.

Renée gave me a decadent smile as my cock finally started to go soft in her hands. She opened her mouth to show me that she hadn’t swallowed; and then she did.

It was depraved. I loved every second of it, all the while knowing I shouldn’t. I leisurely put my pants back on after fastening Renée to the table, giving her wanton kisses, and allowing her neither genital stimulation nor sexual release. She pouted, but her eyes still sparkled, knowing that we were not done for the night. I finally released her from her bonds and tugged on her leash to indicate that she should follow me. She hesitated as she stood, glancing to the side at another leashed woman being led on her hands and knees. “Only if I have to punish you,” I replied to Renée’s unspoken question, and led her around the orgy. As I neared Stephanie, the scent of cigar smoke began to hang heavy in the air, filling my nostrils with its pungent sting, and my cock with blood.

My proximity to the magic in the Lady Airingford’s holder increased the amount of blood that my dick could contain, and Renée looked at it with amazement and renewed lust—it was noticeably longer and fatter than it had been as she had played with it earlier.

For my part, I was getting used to (and enjoying having) a porn star dick. I decided to hang out near Stephanie as she flogged her newest subject, torturing my own pet by not letting her have at my prodigious erection, and hoping that I wouldn’t give in to my increasing jones before someone else came along. Renée had shown me that she was into depravity, and so I wanted to accommodate her. Fortunately, I recognized Mrs. Elliott, from the first night, as she walked through the ballroom, ostensibly headed for a man on the other side of the room, who was grinning broadly.

When she got close enough to hail, I regally called, “Mrs. Elliott!” She stopped, looked down at my erection, and licked her lips. “I require your service.”

“Of course, my Lord!” she eagerly replied. I cast a look across the room at the man who had been awaiting her arrival. He bowed, and headed in search of someone else. The Black King had claimed his intended.

“Mrs. Elliott, please assist my pet in worship. I was quite taken with you in our first encounter.” That drew a big smile from the forty-something brunette, and she sank to her knees alongside Renée. Both women began to tongue my hardness. “If you dislike the effort Renée is showing, please discipline her appropriately. Conversely,” I said, after pausing, “if she demonstrates the proper enthusiasm, you may show her your approval.”

Mrs. Elliott stopped long enough to listen to my commands before going back to work. She licked along the opposite side from Renée, and then gently pushed the redhead away so that she could take me into her mouth.

“Ohhhh, yes, Mrs. Elliott,” I approvingly moaned. She gave me a teasing smile and pulled away, simultaneously pushing Renee’s head towards my cock. The young servant gave a reluctant jerk, more out of surprise than willful disobedience, but her ersatz mistress’ reaction was instantaneous: Mrs. Elliott swatted Renee’s ass with her open hand.

It wasn’t a playful swat, either. Renee’s eyes bulged and she yelped loud enough for a nearby couple to look. “This—” Mrs. Elliott delivered another blow, this time at the end of a full arm swing, making the redhead’s eyes water, “—is for making noise without permission,” she sternly, haughtily snapped. “Now, let’s try this again, girl, shall we?”

Renée nodded, biting her lip in anticipation of the next spank. If I had any doubt as to Mrs. Elliott’s experience with, or proclivity towards corporal discipline, they were erased when, eyes alight, she parted her legs and placed my hand between them, allowing me to feel the wet heat of her excitement. I slid one, then two fingers into her. She responded with a sensuous moan and her eyes fluttered as her hips slowly oscillated. “What is your first name?” I whispered seductively, Renée forgotten for the moment.

“Sylll-via,” she moaned, “my Lord.”

“Then Sylvia, finish your task,” I softly commanded, removing my fingers, “and I will reward you for your willing participation.”

Sylvia’s strike was immediate, and violent, causing Renée to jump and grit her teeth so as not to make any sound; tears were flowing from her eyes. Sylvia grabbed her head and kissed the redhead ferociously, and then moved her to my cock, which had hardened even more without direct stimulation. Nonetheless, I let Sylvia roughly guide Renee’s blowjob for a few seconds because she seemed to be getting off on it, but I quickly stopped the redundant activity.

I had Renée lie on her back, and it took no persuasion to get Sylvia to place her pussy on the servant’s face. Mrs. Elliott made a brief noise of surprise when I pushed her onto her hands and knees, but as soon as she realized what was about to happen, she correctly adjusted her position. I knelt behind Sylvia, and with a sharp tug on Renee’s leash, ordered, “Lick us,” before pushing into Sylvia’s pussy, which was so wet that my first stroke met no resistance. I pulled all the way out, making her shudder, and thick, white cream coated my cock. I pulled on the leash, and Renée opened her mouth for me to fuck until nothing but her saliva was on my dick, while Mrs. Elliott’s butt undulated enticingly. I repeated this several times, teasing Sylvia, who would groan equally loudly at penetration and removal. However, it also left her cognizant enough to begin licking Renee’s pussy. I paused long enough between fuck strokes to allow Sylvia’s efforts to start affecting Renée, and then I would quickly re-enter Mrs. Elliott and pound at her a few times before pulling out again.

When both women were constantly whimpering in concurrent frustration and excitement, I sank into Mrs. Elliott’s gooey, warm, slick, and welcoming pussy, and began to pump smoothly, easily, steadily, without haste, and without bottoming or pulling out as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t long before the double stimulation of Renee’s tongue and my cock sent Sylvia into orbit, and she vibrated around my rod, her inner walls grasping me more tightly as her orgasm intensified, until I finally had to stop moving.

Renée had no such restriction, and perhaps motivated by revenge, mercilessly buffeted her mistress’ clit and outer folds along with the underside of my dick. Sylvia moaned once, low and throaty, and then gasped, and her next moan rose in pitch and volume until it was a wail of glorious nirvana.

Her legs turned rubbery, but Renée helped support her so that I could resume fucking her. The servant girl also switched the focus of her efforts: she started working almost exclusively on the underside of my cock. I could feel my eruption approach, but concentrated on greedily extending the sizzle as long as I could, greatly aided by the magic wafting in the air. Nonetheless, all good things must end, and this was no exception. Growling animalistically, my hips quivered for a seeming eternity, searing torrents of delicious fire shot in bursts through my cock, filling an ecstatically howling Sylvia to near-overflow. The final shudders and last dribbles of my orgasm were induced by Renée, who had removed my receding phallus from Mrs. Elliott to claim something for herself. I smiled at the servant, whose leash I had dropped in the throes of release, and then, possessed by a sudden urge, delivered a sharp, hard, open-handed smack to Sylvia’s ass. She shuddered and gasped in pleasure, dripping cum onto Renée. “Clean her, and thank her with a kiss,” I curtly commanded, reclaiming Renee’s leash, and reaffirming her submission.

“Yes, my Lord!” Renée excitedly breathed, and eagerly obeyed, prolonging Mrs. Elliott’s orgasm until the brunette’s nervous system and brain could take no more. Sylvia melted onto the cushion, unconscious, only to recover within a matter of seconds. Before she could gather her wits, Renée grabbed Sylvia’s face and kissed her deeply, sharing the mixture of cum she had obtained from Sylvia’s pussy.

The depravity of the act sent a potent charge of sexual energy and desire through me, including my cock, which unexpectedly, and annoyingly, barely responded. The enchantment had faded, rendering me merely human. I looked up to see Mrs. Ravenscroft, naked and walking by me, ignorant of my presence as she looked at her destination. My legs were so fatigued that I couldn’t stand up quickly to catch her attention. “Stephanie!” I shouted in frustration, not knowing what else to do in order to be able to have Emma again. Mrs. Ravenscroft paused at the sound of my voice and sought the source, smiling when our eyes met. Without exchanging a word, I knew that she had abandoned her original plans, and was ready for me. Unfortunately, I was not even close to ready for her. Before disappointment could surface on her face, Emma looked up, as if distracted, and Renée and I were suddenly enveloped in a cloud of swirling smoke. My erection began to develop at the first sniff.

“Ooohhhh, a playmate!” exclaimed Mrs. Ravenscroft at the sight of a swooning Renée and the leash in my hand. The redhead was the first to receive Emma’s attentions, as the girls kissed and fondled and licked and cooed at each other, giving my cock time to reach its full extension.

When I was erect, Emma gracefully maneuvered herself onto her back with her head between Renee’s legs. The redhead needed no command or instruction as the lithe blonde began to pleasure her orally. Renée came very quickly, while I watched Emma lick and suck at Renee’s pussy, stroking myself until I couldn’t take it any more. I began to fuck Emma with short powerful strokes as our servant moved to the side and started masturbating. She paused with a question on her face, when I looked at her. I gave her a brief nod, and we each focused on our primary tasks.

My crazed thrusts forced soft grunts out of Emma. Seized by supernatural lust and ability, I soon lost the perception of Emma Ravenscroft as a person; she was no longer a lover, but purely a sex object. Her pleasure was inconsequential and less than secondary to my need for physical pleasure. Her orgasms, successively more powerful, only meant that I could not fuck her as fast and as hard as instinct demanded. Suddenly, there was no resistance, no friction—and no pleasure. Without a thought, I pulled out and immediately attacked Renée because she was the nearest female.

And then Renée and I were joined, sex animal and sex object, my hunger once again in complete control of my actions. Only my dick and the warm, slick, tightness that it traveled existed for me, the song of intense sex overwhelming all of my senses, erasing my thoughts, time became immaterial—and then it was over in a noiseless explosion, a brilliant white light filling my vision, as the blast occurred over and over and over…

Aftermath. Feel warm. Sleepy. So happy. Tingly all over. Reality crashed through my post-orgasmic stupor as my eyes beheld a lot of people around me, yet ignoring me while hushed conversations and urgent movements were taking place. Emma… Renée… I gasped loud enough to make some people look at me when a group of men lifted Emma’s rag-doll-like body and carried her from the room, followed by a grim, worried-looking Mr. Ravenscroft. A few moments later, a stretcher was wheeled in. All the sexual activity in the room had ceased, and a hush had fallen over the ballroom.

I stood and moved aside as Renee’s pale, limp body was gently lifted from the floor, placed on the stretcher, and wheeled away. This made three women whom I’d at the least, knocked out, or even possibly killed by fucking them to death.

Stephanie brushed my shoulder with her hand, making me jump at the unexpected contact. I had been so self-absorbed with worry and guilt that I hadn’t heard her until now. “I was saying that I believe it is time that we take our leave of the party.” I dumbly nodded, feeling numb as she led me through the remaining Hellions, whose exaltations of, “All hail the Black King! All hail the White Queen!” rang hollow, matching the void in my soul.

We entered my suite. “That was most spectacular—and impressive!” she exclaimed after closing the door, breathless and flushed. At my angry look, she snapped, “Oh, calm down, Ronald. You didn’t hurt them.” The “yes, milady” had barely escaped my lips when Stephanie excitedly continued, “they aren’t dead, nor have you put any of them at any increased risk of doing so.”

“Why does that… well, why are you so… turned on?” I asked, drawing a blush from her.

“Yes, well, erm…” Her blush deepened as she stammered, apparently surprised at being caught. “If the legend is true,” she began, half to herself, and then she seemed to belatedly remember that I was with her. “I believe that you have managed to send them to an altered level of consciousness. You have conducted them to a heretofore mythical realm via sexual delight.” I wondered aloud exactly what that meant.

“Family legend has it,” she continued with barely-restrained desire, “that once a millennium, there is a sexual sorcerer so powerful, that the release obtained from sexual congress with the sorcerer is so total, so all-encompassing, it can become addictive to the point of complete obeisance to the sorcerer’s whim.” Stephanie looked at me and licked her lips. “Simply, if you are this sorcerer, you can make women orgasm so hard that they’ll do anything to experience it again.”

“So why are you looking at me like a raw piece of meat?”

“Because, despite the possible cost of my free will,” Stephanie replied, “I want to experience that bliss, die that little death, and be transformed, if only for a little while, into the purest of pleasure. “

“Wow,” I said, swallowing hard. “That’s a lot of pressure on the male.”

“Either you are or you aren’t,” she rejoined. “So there’s no pressure whatsoever involved.” She looked away. “It is legend primarily because the tablets containing the prophecy have been broken, and so the exact meaning is… unknown,” Stephanie finally admitted. “But I would still like to find out if you are he,” she suggestively added.

I followed her subsequent gaze, and my eyes landed on the cigarette holder she had placed on the table before our conversation. She reached for it, and I immediately pleaded, “Stephanie, please, no. Not tonight. Not after… everything that’s happened.”

She looked at me, and then back to the magical talisman beneath her fingertips, choosing to pick it up and contemplate it while I held my breath. “Very well, my Lord,” she sighed, placing it back into its case, and then to her purse. Her disappointment was obvious, although the graciousness of her acquiescence was regal, and very much appreciated. “I will see you tomorrow, Ron.” Stephanie gave me a wry smile. “I think it best if I do not share your bed tonight.”

She arose, walked to the door, and blew me a kiss before departing. Once the door had closed, I locked it, undressed, and plopped onto the ever-so-comfortable canopied bed. Now that I was alone in the near-silence of my room, exhaustion immediately saturated my mind and body, putting me to sleep before I could bother to cover myself.

This story copyright © 2010, 2011, The Flying Pen

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