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Samson locked the door behind himself, ran up the stairs into the attic, and pushed the trunk full of broken railroad spikes over the trapdoor. He had to hurry, or he would miss it. They wouldn't be at it for long. He ran to a coat rack by the wall and pushed it over in front of the window. The whole place darkened.

There set in the wall, beneath where the coat rack had been, was a small hinged door, about a foot tall. The door was nailed shut. Samson opened a copy of Heaven's Workshop from the bottom shelf of a bookshelf beside the small door, and took the hammer from the hollowed out pages. He pulled the nails out of the door, one by one, and popped it open. There was a little box inside. He opened it and lifted out the skeletal forearm and hand of a small baby.

He lifted it carefully and held it across his palm. Zips and flashes sparked through him. He began to feel like he was moving, even though he was completely still. He turned, rested his back against the wall, and closed his eyes, letting the baby's arm work its magic.

He was inside Jessica, thick and hard, feeling her gripping him. Feeling her heat and wetness, her motion and excitement beneath him. He saw her blue-grey eyes, half blind with the lust and sorrow that consumed her. He tasted her kiss. He felt the thrusting. He was first engulfed by her and squeezed hard in her slippery wetness, and then he was withdrawn, only to plunge back in again. Samson shuddered. His stomach tumbled. His body stiffened. He could feel everything.

He had to stop himself from making thrusting motions with his hips. He didn't need to. He was only observing. He slipped out of her, and Samson saw her lover's eyes glance down at her pelvis, flip her pleated skirt up onto her belly, and slide himself back into her.

"Tell me you love me," Jessica pleaded.

"You're so beautiful!" her lover said. "Uh! I'm gonna come!"

"I love you, Jessica," Samson whispered.

The ecstasy peaked, and he found himself ejaculating into his underwear as Jessica was flooded with her lover's semen. She cried out, grinding up against him, wanting to climax with him, but failing as always. Samson moaned. She was a goddess. She consumed him.

It was over now. Her lover rolled off her, mumbled something about homework and walked out. He came and went like that every time, using her, and she let him. Samson hated him as fiercely as he loved her.

He put the baby's arm back in its box. Slid it back into the cubby hole and shut the door. Now came the hard part: hammering the nails back into the little door with only one hand, trying not to smash the mechanical hook that had once been his fingers, a long, long time ago, when he was just a baby.

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