From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Circle (MF+, fdom)
Date: 10 Apr 1996 02:55:39 GMT

			      The Circle

	Jennifer snuggled close to Wimple as they walked down the red
brick cobbled street. They moved as one, casting a four legged shadow
in the dim moonlight, tapping an almost equine rhythm with their feet.

	Wimple couldn't remember when he felt this good, maybe he
never had, in any case he knew better than to analyze good luck too
closely. Tonight was one of those rare moments in time when nothing
could go wrong. She leaned on him, but he was following her.

	The street veered in a slow arc to the right, Wimple went with
its flow. "No silly, not to the right, the left," she said. "You'll
like my sisters, they'll love you... " The narrow alley spoke of age,
somehow it seemed older than the city itself. The red stones took on a
brownish glint, moist, each framed with just a touch of algae.
Obviously few feet had passed to sterilize their surfaces barren of
one of Earths earliest citizens.

	He felt a twinge of uneasiness as the light dimmed into dark
gloom. Long forgotten protective instincts welled up inside him,
visions of hoodlums threatening violence passed through his
imagination. He saw potential threat in every doorway and crevice.
Automatically simple logic came to his rescue and stood before his
imagination. The stones themselves spoke of little traffic, felons
such as those would haunt more productive streets. Nothing threatened
here save an over protective nature.

	Jennifer broke his reverie; "We're almost there, see the
light?"

	A solitary lamp post partially obscured by a bend in the lane
bravely pushed away the blackness a meager half a block ahead. `Near
there must be the house of her sisters,' Wimple thought. His mood
lifted, the evening's earlier enchantment flowed back into his chilled
consciousness, perfected. Jennifer stood directly in front of him, she
pushed him playfully backwards with outstretched arms, palms flat.

	Caught off balance, he stumbled backwards and fell hard
against the woman behind him. Helene giggled, bit him coquettishly on
the nap of his neck and flung him forward into the ready arms of the
buxom brunette first called. With astonishing speed Sue's powerful
enfolding embrace took the breath from him, she kissed him deeply,
driving her wet tongue down his throat like a snake in pursuit of a
gopher. Just as abruptly she sent him careening into yet another
embrace, fondled provocatively, teased beyond endurance, and then cast
off to the next in line, as if a toy in a round game.

	With each erotic welcome his disorientation expanded at equal
pace with his rising passion until finally he fetched up, falling
heavily forwards into Raven's powerful grasp. She cradled his head
between her hands, her long jet black hair cascaded about him forming
a dark canopy shutting out everything. Her face filled his world. She
looked down at him, eyes piercing, breath hot on his face. He was
transfixed by their deep and penetrating stare. She was breathtakingly
bountiful, yet he felt coldly scrutinized, the way a mouse must feel
in the inescapable presence of a sleek and hungry cat.

	He grinned self-consciously up at her, Her persistent,
communal and enigmatic smile deepened into an unyielding and pitiless
leer. For the first time Wimple was afraid of loosing more than his
dignity. His confusion was replaced by fear dangerously close to
panic. With a single thrust she ejected him from their shared canopy,
sending him sprawling, face down, dead center, within the ring of
protagonists sisters.

	Wimple feebly picked himself up, gasping for breath, reeling
near exhaustion, trying desperately to regain some measure of control.
His body pounded with ragging lust, while his mind sought an avenue of
escape. He floundered looking from face to face, pleading with his
eyes. Their girlish tittering laughter profoundly deepened his
sensation of surrealism. There was nothing his mind could fix on. It
was as if reality had abandoned him the way it often does in dreams.

	Smiles, still uniform, had lost their subtlety, now they
mimicked Sue's portending leer. Jennifer advanced slowly, swaying
seductively and locked her hands behind his neck. She cooed in his
ear, as if to a frightened child, kissed him ever so gently, still
advancing as though leading in a dance. Wimple's fear and confusion
evaporated under her caressing touch. The succor of her comforting,
rhythmic advance belayed all reason.

	As if in a slow waltz, Wimple retreated backwards retracing
the distance between he and Raven standing, hips wide, like a catcher
at the ready, directly behind. Minutes later his back felt the firm,
warm points of her generous breasts press into him. From behind the
tall woman's voluptuous body sent near electric thrills through his
frame and in the fore was Jennifer's delicate, titillating, reassuring
kiss.

	At that moment Wimple's effort to understand dissolved into
total surrender. The urgency of his need thrust forward as if driven
by an independent will, while his self went into total retreat. He
would try to understand later, now all of existence was need, dignity,
self, even his apprehensions where abstractions far too remote to
intrude. He had spent his entire adult life in a manic effort to
control events around him, he could grapple with pain, control it, if
not defeat it, but he was defenceless against pleasure. letting his
will go filled him with a comfortable weakness, an odd contentment
almost religious in texture.

	Suddenly something cool and unyielding dropped tightly around
his throat. His arms flailed involuntarily straight out from his sides
to be captured by Linda and Kimberly pulling hard in opposition, like
twin cats clutching an escaping bird. Raven slowly tightened the
leather belt around Wimple's neck, her body quivering with an
intensity of excitement even Wimple could feel through his dimming
consciousness.

	"Too quickly, too quickly!" Jennifer shouted. "You'll spoil
it!" Raven relinquished her implacable grasp, just enough to bring
Wimple's consciousness back from the yawning pit of consuming darkness
that had opened before him.

	Wimple's eyes spoke to Jennifer, imploring to know why?

	"Why not?" she answered, as though talking about the weather.
"It's not as though you mattered, no one does, there are plenty more
where you came from. If there is a point, it is simply that; as in
nature, there are two types of entities, pray and predator. We play
the part of predators, you are cast in the role of pray. Which is
which is of no consequence, how the piece is played is everything. You
and we have auditioned our entire lives, this is your moment, you're
on."

	Wimple struggled convulsively against his restraints of noose
and hands, but he was far too weak and his captors resolve too firm.

	"Don't fight it," Jennifer said, "it will go much better if
you don't. We love all you! Predators don't hate their prey, they love
them. We kill for the love of killing, but only those marked by their
nature for death. Not sadists but saviors, we give your life meaning
in the manner of its passing. Is it better to vomit up your life, fed
on by some hideous disease, or leave your remains painted on a lonely
highway? Surly we are a better prospect than that?"

	With that she kissed him as departing lovers do at train
stations. Sighed wistfully and knelt in front of him, Japanese
fashion, tidy and demure. She paused for a long, moment meditating,
and then reached out and unzipped his pants, brushed aside their
fastenings and pulled them, undergarments and all, to the ground in a
single fluid motion.

	"Besides," she continued, "we are only doing what you want,
what you have always wanted. What we do, we do for love of you. If you
cannot accept the logic, then concede the evidence of your own body. I
will prove it to you. If your body refuses, we will let you go, if not
then we will know that you are well chosen."

	She fondled his now limp penis as she expounded her
philosophy, stroking in syncopation with her words, punctuating each
phrase with a squeeze of superb craftsmanship and clinical detachment.
Massaging slowly her hand moved up and down his organ. In defiance of
his will, his flagging member began to show signs of life.

	She shifted his growing erection from hand to lips. Moving her
tongue expertly down its length, abrading its surface with her teeth
just enough to produce the desired effect. "See," she said, "isn't
that much better? Do you really want me to stop, all you have to do is
go limp and we will believe you."

	Jennifer looked up at Raven approvingly, "I think he'll do
just fine," she said. She turned toward her sisters, "he's ready." One
by one, each in her turn, knelt before him. Each in her turn suckled,
stroked and fondled with infinite care and consummate skill, as though
taking part in a sacrament of lust. As each finished, the noose around
his neck tightened a fraction more, orchestrated by Raven in perfect
harmony with her sister's ministrations and Wimple's reflex.

	The shimmering moonlight bore whiteness to a slow execution
administered in lascivious black erotica. Like feeding animals atom by
atom they sucked, tongued and probed their victim's life away. Raven
waited patently, her ever tightening noose ready for Wimple's final
reply.

	The last sensation Wimple knew was the pulsating throb of his
exploding climax tearing at his soul, searing every cell in his body
as he fell into to utter nothingness under Raven's prefect timing.

	His body now hung limp, held half erect by Raven's black
leather belt. She smiled, bit into the back of his neck, ran her
tongue through the ravaged tear and tasted his blood approvingly. With
deep satisfaction she let him drop, in a forgotten heap, on the cold
wet paving stones of an equally forgotten lane.