DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.
STORY CODES: Historical (1980s), Demonic, Satanic, Incest, Shemale, Young Ones, Sodomy, Abuse, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, NC, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Ritual Murder.
CREATED: 19.06.2020 / REVISITED: 18.07.2023
AUTHORS NOTES: Loosely based on a 1982 movie by the same name. I have kept most of the characters from the original movie and incidentally, most of the character’s scripts—which I painfully transcribed over the course of an entire month. Of course, it’s a lot more perverted (as you would expect from me); however, I was faithful to most of the scenes. Try and watch the movie and compare—I would be very interested to get your feedback.
SPECIAL THANKS: To Broken Grunty for his supreme editing skills.
SYNOPSIS OF BLACK CANDLES:
It’s the eighties – a time of exploration and revelry. A young woman, Carol, travels with her boyfriend, Robert, to England after the abrupt death of her brother, Drew. Though her visit has only been brief, she feels uneasy about the death of her brother and suspects foul play is afoot. And staying with her estranged sister-in-law, Fiona, she finds herself and her companion, soon drawn into a satanic cult that is based in her sister-in-law’s house. Their provocative occult rites seem to center around perverted and sadistic sexual congress.
FILMOGRAPHY OF BLACK CANDLES:
A soft-core sex film masquerading as a horror movie, Black Candles sees Spanish director José Ramón Larraz — the man responsible for cult erotic Euro-horror classic Vampyres — using the themes of Satanism and witchcraft as an excuse to depict as much sexual depravity as possible. While he doesn’t quite stray into graphic Jess Franco territory, steering well clear of gynecological close-ups, Larraz still manages to seriously steam up the screen with wall-to-wall lesbian and hetero sex. Plus a little something for animal lovers.
CHARACTERS OF BLACK CANDLES:
- Carol – protagonist, sister of deceased (Drew), 32
- Fiona – Carol’s sister-in-law (was married to Drew), occultist, 38
- Robert – Carol’s boyfriend, a professor of Latin, 39
- Reverend Huber – reverend, foreigner, occultist, priest of Satan, 42
- Georgina – witch, occultist, 38
- Drew – Carol’s deceased brother, a successful lawyer, 42
- John – Georgina’s husband, works on the farm, 44
- Steve – Georgina’s son, stable boy, 12
- Annalise aka Little Annie – Reverend Huber’s god-daughter, 13
- Mr. Gonzolas – occultist, foreigner, husband to Mrs. Gonzolas, 45
- Mrs. Gonzolas – occultist, foreigner, wife of Mr. Gonzolas, 36
- Doctor Gaunt – local doctor, occultist, 40
- Mr. Connor – lawyer, Drew’s boss, close friend, 55
Black Candles 2
BLACK CANDLES CHAPTER FOUR (2,505 WORDS) – THE DRAW OF DARK PERVERSION
Carol returned from her day trip to London. She felt exhausted and a little strange, after her dizzy episode. Her mind seemed to stray back to that disturbing image of a young girl being raped by a goat-like demon. She remembered the young naked girl wriggling behind the hairy body of the foul creature.
She could clearly see it was a deformed phallic — so long and hard – penetrating the child, rutting again her in animistic brutality. And the fact that she was wearing a necklace — that appeared to be a lot like the one her deceased brother had given her. He’d said in his note to her to keep it safe.
Back in their bedroom, she kissed Robert and went to her suitcase. She’d put the precious necklace in the suitcase pocket for safekeeping. As she searched she realized that it was no longer there.
“You’re being hysterical,” aspirated, Robert tried not to lose his temper.
“I tell you, Robert, I brought the necklace with me. I am sure I put it in my luggage. And someone has stolen it,” claimed Carol.
“You probably left it at home,” answered Robert.
Fiona rubbed her stiff cock as she watched the interchange between the couple through her secret peephole.
“There are too many strange things happening in this house. First, the strange man I saw outside the window on the first night. And now my necklace has disappeared,” stated Carol with a painful frustration in her voice.
“What are you insinuating?” asked Robert.
“There are such phenomena as malevolent powers that are able to influence an individual against his will, Robert, the people that weld those powers require a garment or an article of the person they wish to influence.”
“You’re really serious aren’t you?” Robert shook his head.
“Of course I am. Because I believe there are forces that we are unable to perceive.”
“What kind of forces?” asked Robert.
“Occult,” Carol was almost in tears.
It seemed to her that Robert thought her mad.
“Occult? I believe I am an open-minded man, Carol. But today, witches aren’t burned at the stake. Witches have disappeared. They burned them all in the middle ages; and there weren’t any more witches — just hysterical females —”
“And all those strange things that I have observed since we have arrived?!” cried Carol.
“Anyone that is normal would call them a coincidence,” he answered bluntly.
“I don’t think they’re a coincidence, at least not all, Robert,” she bemoaned.
“You’re very immature if that is your reaction, Carol.”
Robert’s firmness did nothing to calm Carol’s worries.
“I won’t stop until I find out what happened to my brother,” shouted Carol into Robert’s face.
“You’re letting your imagination run away from you! You’re sick!”
Robert turned away.
“I’m not sick —” cried Carol.
Fiona smiled to herself. Her cock wanted to penetrate Carol’s boyfriend again. Sodomy – the sex of demons … yes, she thought — the discord had been sown — Carol looked even more vulnerable — weak and delicious to her — soon they would both kneel before her cock … soon they would both serve Satan!
Doctor Gaunt was in his early forties. He didn’t usually make house calls, but in Fiona’s case, he would always make an exception. The patient was laying in bed when he arrived. The bespectacled doctor examined Carol with his stethoscope, while Fiona and Robert looked on.
“It’s nerves,” he stated categorically.
Doctor Gaunt turned back from the others and faced Carol.
“And when your nerves get better, you must try to relax,” he soothes.
“And my dizziness?” asked Carol.
“Take these tranquilizers, and I would stay in bed today if I was you,” he gave Carol some pills and went to leave, “You’re in very good hands,” he qualified.
Fiona left with Doctor Gaunt to see the good doctor. Robert closed their bedroom door and sat on the bed next to Carol. He leaned forward to give his girlfriend a kiss, but Carol wasn’t happy with him and stubbornly turned away.
They met away from the house. Fiona wanted to make sure that they were not in earshot of Carol. The situation, as she saw it was getting more critical. In a way, she had instigated the changes in her guest; seducing her boyfriend — and bringing him around to see her as a much more interesting lover. Then there was Georgina. She had also been stirring the pot. She’d stolen Carol’s necklace, the gift from her dead brother, and used it in her evil magick.
The rest of the coven was restless. They knew that the unholy Sabbath approached. They were eager to attain their demonic desires. A sacrifice must be made. They needed to share in the erotic perversity of their taboo rites. The gathering milled together uneasily. There was the Reverend Huber, Doctor Gaunt, Georgina, Little Annie, and Mr and Mrs Gonzolas.
“She’s suspicious, what do you think?” asked Fiona.
“You were supposed to take care of everything?” demanded Georgina.
“I am trying too! —” insisted Fiona.
There was an air of dissatisfaction in Fiona’s answer.
“I will have to find another way of dealing with her!” answered Fiona.
“It wouldn’t be advisable to have her drugged indefinitely, Fiona,” interjected Doctor Gaunt.
“We need a quick solution that doesn’t arouse suspicion,” said the impatient Reverend.
“I don’t think we should resort to violence. I think the police will see a connection with the death of her brother. We need to think of another way of dealing with Carol … ” said Mr. Gonzolas, “Confuse her mentally into a state of vegetation — that would make her commit actions, that afterward, she’d feel complete reproach — she would prefer to leave and forget about it all.”
“You’re right,” agreed the Doctor.
“And if she goes to the police?” asked the impatient Reverend.
“The best thing would be a mysterious ailment, Doctor. An illness that is hard to diagnose. An unexpected stroke, like her brother, but once she’s far away —“ added Mr. Gonzolas.
“And her boyfriend?” asked the Reverend, “What do we do with him?”
“He says he’s defrocked, an ex-priest, an unbeliever, you know — I will handle him —” insisted Fiona as she began to smoke her third cigarette in as many minutes.
Carol lay naked in the darkness.
She had tossed the bed covers away and lay completely exposed. Why did she feel so sexually aroused all of the time? The darkness brought her no comfort, as she could not sleep deeply. Instead she lay in a semi-unconsciousness state, that seemed to hold her between consciousness and unconsciousness.
She felt her mind driven to a kind of sexual madness. Wanton. Horny. Her cunt was wet and open. Robert’s bed was empty and Carol’s unconscious fingers were busy between her legs. Masturbating like a goon. Her eyes flickered left and right beneath her closed eyelids as she dreamed of wickedness.
Her dreaming mind moved down the dark corridors of the old house. To the base of the stairs, which lead down to the cellar. Her mind traveled down the narrow carpeted stairs that lead deeper and deeper into darkness. The slight illumination showed the walls of the narrow passage. The walls were adorned with horns. Animal horns. Hunting trophies. Ugly. Forbidding. Symbols of death. There, ahead were the doors. The double doors lead to the cellar that ran below the old house. It had been years since she’d been in there. In her comatose mind, she smell burned things.
Then the doors were open. She was inside. Almost in a disembodied state. She saw, in the incandescent candlelight, people … lots of people … lots of naked people … she knew instinctively that they were all devil-worshipers.
”In nomine Magni Dei Nostri Satanas. Introibo ad altare Domini Inferi,” they were chanting to the sound of pagan beat.
The echos of an ancient evil, made her feel like running away … but something else kept her there … she had to see for herself. Everywhere, were the trappings of satanic ritual and the occult. This was an evil and wicked place. She instinctively knew that bad things happened there. Evil and wicked things. Ritual murder.
”Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini Inferi.”
The offering of innocence. Child sacrifice? This was the domain of demons … Was this a clue to the demise of her brother? Was he somehow involved in the coven of vile witches? Was he a sacrificial victim? Were they responsible for his death? She had to stay and she had to know.
Yet Carol still had that gnawing feeling. It rippled through her disembodied spirit — the sensation of being sexually aroused — as she looked upon so many naked bodies. She thought she recognized her sister-in-law, Fiona, and the Reverend Huber. He appeared, not as a priest of Christ, but as a priest of Satan. Neither was undressed at first.
In her dreamy vision, she saw Fiona or someone that looked a lot like her sister-in-law, only she wore a pair of demonic horns on her head. The demonic woman removed her long black gown. The delicate fabric fell from her shoulders, first revealing her milky-white pert breasts and then her true sexual identity was revealed — Carol was completely shocked — it couldn’t be her brother’s lover because, instead of a vagina, she possessed a limp cock and testicles.
”Dominus Inferus vobiscum.”
This trans-woman stood naked, except for a pair of long black silken gloves covering her hands and forearms. The horned trans-woman began to gyrate her slender boyish hips, thrusting them to a rhythm dictated by the slow chanting and pagan beat. Carol watched as her cock grew from its limpness and hanging testicles; to being fully erect and curving angrily upwards over her belly button, reaching up between her coned breasts.
Carol felt uncomfortable about her unexpected arousal at the sight of her androgynous genitalia; not to mention her desire to kiss her breasts or her need to impale herself upon this sex demon’s cock. But the sensation, both, aroused and repulsed her. Now, the trans-woman was exposed to the entire gathering. She provocatively touched herself; openly masturbating her rampant cock before them; as they all touched themselves before her. Carol realized that she represented some kind of priestess or acolyte to the Devil.
Carol saw that the men were all aroused to full erection and the women, wantonly masturbated themselves with their fingers. The chanting continued. Over and over as the black candles flickered.
The Reverend guided the acolyte to the sacrificial altar that was elevated so that everyone could witness.
”Suscipe Domine Satanas, hanc hostiam, quam ego dignus famulus tuus offero tibi, Deo meo vivo et.”
The acolyte laid down upon it as the Reverend held forth a golden chalice inscribed with demonic sigils and the inverted pentagram of the Baphomet. The acolyte began to urinate into the chalice. Her gloved fingers caressed her own breasts as her body undulated and gyrated upon the dais, in perverted sexual expectation.
The Reverend drank from the briny liquid and passed it to Georgina. She greedily drank from the urine-filled challis. Robert, her so-called boyfriend, drank. Young Annie drank. The Doctor drank. The Gonzolas drank. The stable boy drank. The lawyer, Mr Connor, drank. They were all there. Naked, in anticipation of the impending Black Mass. Disgustingly aroused. All drinking the transsexual acolyte’s offering of piss.
As Carol’s eyes cast around the candle-lit basement, she saw that the pagan-like orgy had already begun in earnest. There was a strong acrid smell of burnt sulfur. The chanting and drumming only seemed to get louder, more insistent, and more urgent.
The witch, Georgina, and an unrecognized woman began to kiss deeply and passionately. Their pinkish tongues flickered back and forth, as their sweat-covered naked bodies pressed together excitedly. Carol felt the warmth of their illicit union. She felt their Sapphic passion. She wanted to kiss them both. As they embraced, their eyes still remained focused on the activities upon the satanic altar.
Mr. Gonzolas grabbed the young twelve-tear-old stable boy. They coupled together, first frotting, cock-to-cock, then as the boy turned and offered his anus; it was obvious that he was about to be sodomized. Meanwhile, his wife bent over to entice another unrecognized male, about half her age, to fuck her up the ass. Carol smelt debasement. Perversity. Evil. Everywhere she looked there was lewdness. Fornication. As much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t — she mustn’t.
Carol found herself standing at the back of the room. She had a clear view, yet her position meant that nobody in the room seemed to give her presence any credence. She was visible but invisible. Her body felt hot and frustrated. The voice of the evil Reverend echoed to the back of her skull as he preached his evil gospel in dark Latin. She did not understand the words; but seemed capable of following the meaning, as the naked actors and actresses began their theatrical performance to unseen applause.
The Reverend and Robert both removed their gowns.
”Dominus Infernus vobiscum.”
“Et cum tuo.”
Robert stood naked and prone to the left of the altar, while the Reverend stood at the foot of the evil altar, between the acolyte’s open legs.
She humped the air and ground her hips, urging him to sodomize her. Her cock was red and inflamed with satanic lust. Robert caressed her breasts and kissed her hungry mouth. His mouth closed around the trans-woman’s cock, sucking it eagerly. The Reverend began to lick at her ripe anus fervently. Carol heard the acolyte’s gasps of devilish joy. Then the Reverend was on top of her. She saw her boyfriend mounting the face of the tranny, pushing his cock in between her eager lips. Pushing his cock into her greasy rectum, the Reverend began to sodomize her slowly. The threesome fucked as the other naked celebrants fucked around them in all kinds of configurations.
As the dream shifted. It seemed that the orgy was over. The Reverend and the Trans-woman that resembled her sister-in-law, stood clothed in their dark gowns, while all the others remained completely naked, including her boyfriend. The Reverend help up a strange effigy in his left hand.
“Repeat after me,” said the evil Reverend as he touched Robert’s body with the effigy, “I renounce my Christian baptism.”
“I renounce my Christian baptism —” repeated Robert.
“Glory to Satan, master of the world,” said the Reverend.
“Glory to Satan, the antichrist,” said Robert.
“Now you are one of us —” said the Reverend.
“And now I am one,” repeated Robert.
“And now you are one of us,” chanted the evil congregation, “And now you are one of us.”
Carol wanted to scream. Tears filled her eyes. Her vision blurred momentarily. She buried her face in her hands. Though she could not longer see it; she could still hear the sound of the congregation — grunting as they fucked before the statue of the Baphomet.
BLACK CANDLES CHAPTER FIVE (3,720 WORDS) – THE WICKEDNESS INTENSIFIES
The late morning light filled the room. Robert entered their bedroom. He saw Carol laying with her back to him.
“Isn’t it about time you got up sleepy head? It’s almost eleven — get up —” said Robert as he lightly shook her, “We didn’t come here to sleep, come on —“
Carol yearned loudly.
“What time is it?” she said getting out of bed without any clothes on.
“I told you, it’s almost eleven,” replied Robert.
“Oh it’s happening again,” said Carol.
“— What’s wrong — aren’t you feeling well? ” he responded.
“Why are you dressed?”
“I returned from London. I spent the night in a hotel,” answered Robert.
“You were in London, all last night?”
“I missed the last train. When I called on the telephone, nobody answered … I thought you might be sleeping, so I spent the night in a hotel — Expensive,” he said.
“You could’ve got a taxi?” asked Carol.
“It was too complicated and I wasn’t sure how to get here,” said Robert as he watched her get dressed.
“You smell,” she said, “I’m serious. It really stinks you know — sulfur — that’s it!” said Carol as she sniffed his jacket.
The day seemed very pleasant. Carol looked out of the window and observed the gathering of Fiona and her strange menagerie of acquaintances. She thought about her doppelgänger … the evil trans-woman, she’d witnessed in her dream. She shook her head to try to push away these unwanted thoughts. Looking out into the garden — they were all there—those strange people from her nightmare. The nightmare had faded somewhat, but the sensorial experience seemed fresh in her mind. The evil ritual with its erotic trappings — an allegory of corruption — She would have no part in this.
Carol walked out into the hallway. She was unobserved. She looked around to make sure that nobody was paying any attention. They were not. She made her way to the basement. The stairs and corridor had a ghostly resemblance to her recent dream. The animal trophies lined the dark walls that led to the doors to the hidden cellar.
Carol turned the handle, but the door was locked.
Carol walked out into the garden. Though it was warmer than usual, the sunlight was soft and diffuse. The smell of the rose bushes filled the air. It looked like a remarkably tranquil scene. But Carol felt disturbed and frustrated with her discovery of the locked cellar. Her nightmare was so hauntingly real. Too real and provocative. She had to find out more.
“There you are at last. I would to present you to all these nice people who have come to tea and are so anxious to meet you,” said Fiona, as she stood up to greet her sister-in-law.
Fiona had cut some of her long-stemmed red roses for her. Sitting at a large round table on the patio were the Reverend Huber, Doctor Gaunt, Little Annie, and Mr. and Mrs. Gonzolas. They all began to stand, like Fiona, to welcome Carol. Carol’s eyes went from face to face. Her nightmare was still plaguing her. She felt a sense of guilt — deeply shameful — it was as if she didn’t belong there.
“This is the Reverend’s god-daughter, Annalise,” introduced Fiona.
The young girl smiled sweetly.
“We all call her Little Annie, she is such a bright student. This is Mr. and Mrs. Gonzolas and of course, you already know, Doctor Gaunt.”
“You look better today,” remarked the good doctor.
Carol didn’t sit down with Fiona’s friends. She was not in the mood for conversation. Instead, she walked among the roses. Life seemed to move around her, through her, as if this was the dream — and the ritual nightmare — was her reality. She watched the young girl, whom they called Little Annie, as she played the flute. Sweet and innocent in appearance. She saw Robert smoking his pipe while playing chess with Mr. Gonzolas. She saw the doctor reading and drinking from a large glass of brandy. She heard the carefree sound of laughter. It seemed too normal.
Carol walked back into the house, she noticed Mrs Gondolas and her sister-in-law, in the kitchen. They were talking together and making marks on the wall diary. As she passed the library, the Reverend looked up from his large black book. He watched her closely as she watched them. She couldn’t help but notice the title of his large black leather-bound book — the “Compendium Maleficarum,” — a witch-hunter’s manual written in Latin by Francesco Maria Guazzo, and published in Milan, Italy in 1608.
The evening came. Carol had decided it best to rest up as the good doctor had suggested. She had returned to the privacy of her own bedroom. Away from everyone else. She had donned her nightgown when Robert returned. He closed the door and leaned back against it.
“What is it?” Carol asked.
Robert didn’t answer right away. Instead, they began to kiss and Robert pulled her nightgown down. At first, Carol felt uneasy. The nightmare. She initially resisted Robert’s sexual advances. Her body wanted him, even though her mind said no. He was one of them or words to that effect. Robert slipped from his clothing.
“Your crucifix?” asked Carol.
“I don’t know what became of it. I must have lost it,” answered Robert.
— I renounce my Christian baptism —
“You don’t seem bothered about it? It could have fallen in the bed or in the shower,” insisted Carol.
“Why in the hell are you worried about it? Sometimes you’re a fucking drag.”
“You’ve changed you know? You are not the same person. I don’t understand. What’s wrong with you? It was wrong bringing you here. Robert, why don’t we leave for London?” pleaded Carol.
“You know that would offend Fiona, Carol,” lied Robert.
“To hell with Fiona and all those weird foreigners, people that hang around her, like a bunch of vultures.”
Robert put his arms around her. And kissed her.
“Robert, not now —” she bemoaned.
But Robert was persistent. Carol began to melt into his strong arms, and soon they began to kiss passionately. His mouth was warm, wet, and inviting. His eager tongue, keen to fill her mouth, plunged between her lips like a serpent. Robert was raunchy and eager for sex. Carol wanted it too, but maybe, she needed a more soft and tender love.
Robert was rough and he throw her down against the bedding. He quickly turned her over, so that she faced away from him. Carol was not used to this kind of rough love play. It wasn’t like Robert? This was crude and uncaring — He wanted to fuck her from behind — and it seemed that penetration was all he cared about. Carol continued to be submissive until she realized that her boyfriend wasn’t interested in fucking her vagina. He pressed his raging hard against the opening to her anus.
“Stop! Stop! No. I don’t want to!” she protested.
But Robert was not about to — take no for an answer — He used his superior weight and strength to hold her down against the bedding, as he gained purchase, positioning his hips to align with hers. He pressed forward and groaned. His cock head brutally sank into her dry, un-lubricated anus. He laughed at her feeble attempt to push his off of her. He was determined to sodomize her.
“Stop being such a fucking prude, You little slut!” he snarled, as she resisted him with every bit of strength she could muster.
But he was just too strong for Carol to fight off. His weight pressed down upon her. He growled like a wild animal, as he began to fuck her harder and deeper. Carol began to cry.
“Stop!” she whimpered.
The pain was awful. She couldn’t believe that he was such a selfish pig. She hated him. His cock began to see-saw in and out of her. Every thrust brought her more pain. She closed her eyes. The ruinous ritual. The debauched orgy. The black magick. He was one of them.
Carol was beside herself. Her anger was palpable. Fiona was dressed in a long black evening gown with her pearl necklace. She had brought Carol some of her vile tea. The same herbal tea that she’d been insisting that Carol drink for the past few days.
“I don’t like your teas!” Carol remarked as she refused to drink the stinking fluid, “I don’t need it. And I’m convinced it’s not good for me.”
“Doctor Gaunt recommended them,” reinforced Fiona, “Why don’t you just drink this one, as I just prepared?”
“All right, I’ll drink it later,” agreed Carol, “Fiona, there’s a big door underneath the stairs. I suppose it’s the passage to the cellar?”
“Yes,” answered Fiona.
“It’s closed you know?”
“I believe so,” said Fiona.
“Is there anything in the cellar?” asked Carol
“What kind of a question, Carol. What you always find in cellars; heating systems, water pipes, and old odds and ends.”
Fiona looked frustrated with Carol.
“Why did you circle this date on the calendar?”
“That’s when autumn starts. At the beginning of every new season, I get together with a few friends to have a party,” she lied, “And, by the way — you’re invited — to one we are having tomorrow. Aren’t you dressing for dinner?”
It was late into the evening when the candle-lit dinner party started to wind down. With food and drink aplenty, All of Fiona’s friends were there and seemingly in high spirits. Everyone had dressed formally for the occasion. The men in dinner suits and the women in cocktail dresses. Some had already loosened their bow ties and were relaxing with cigars, cigarettes, and generous glasses of top-shelf brandy liqueurs.
Carol and Robert sat together. She hadn’t eaten much or said much.
“What’s wrong today is that people are absolutely crazy about inventing ailments that don’t exist,” stated Robert as he smoked his pipe.
Georgina poured another drink. Fiona lit her cigarette.
“Everyone suffers from something,” replied Doctor Gaunt, “In the majority of cases, it’s simply psychosomatic. Our century is one of psychiatrists and psychoanalysts. I think we should return to the olden times and get back to nature and eat what our great grandfather’s eat!”
Carol watched Mrs. Gonzolas as she ate a bunch of grapes. Her lips pressed against the delicate fruit in a provocative manner — Carol watched her chewing — devouring; the drool voice of the doctor seemed to be drowned out; like a psychedelic melody— dream-like — Carol’s eye moved backward and forwards between all the dinner guests at seemed to be looking at each other. It seemed to her almost animalistic — eating and drinking each other in.
Carol stood up abruptly from the table. A sudden pain overcomes her. Gasping for breath, the dinner guests all stopped in mid-sentence. They turned to look at Carol as she suddenly collapsed into Robert’s arms.
Georgina held Carol’s ornate necklace behind her back. She grinned knowingly as she watched the others swoon over the stricken woman. Fiona looked towards Georgina and smiled.
Robert lay naked and gagged upon the bare mattress. His legs pressed wider with the assistance of a spreader. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly and fastened to the Iron bed posts. His cock stood red and inflamed, as the base of his shaft and testicles were held in a tight silver cock-ring, engraved with sigils of the occult. Dressed in a long fitted black cocktail dress, the familiar feminine figure, stood with her back to the door, touching herself through the sheer materials with one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other. She wore a dark demonic mask that covered the top half of her face and her mouth was lined with shinny black lipstick.
With her small finger, she put the record-player stylus onto the surface of the black vinyl; and the room began to fill with the eerie sound of a grinding church organ. She turned back to face her helpless victim. The candlelight flickered, though there was no breeze. In fact, the room felt hot and sweaty. Robert could smell the sourness of his own sweat. The masked figure allowed the cocktail dress to fall from her shoulders, revealing her complete nakedness beneath.
Robert strained to lift his head. He stared with lustiness at her lithe body and small coned breasts. Then down over her protruding rib-cage and prominent hipbones. There, rising between her pencil-thin thighs rose her throbbing cock. He had never thought of himself as being one to be taken in by such a creature. “An open mind,” he had said — A witch? — Yes. A transgendered witch? But then, everyone just assumed that Carol’s sister-in-law was a genetic woman. Fiona was more than a woman.
Prancing in her six-inch stiletto heals, she paced around the iron-framed bed, that provided the perfect restraint for her perverted lover. She stroked her cock as it dripped with salty precum. Robert could only make faint growling sounds into the ball gap that was tightly fastened into his mouth.
She grinned evilly and blew a plume of grayish smoke into his face. She said nothing. But he saw her enjoyment in his complete helplessness. She raked her sharp polished fingernails down his stomach. Her fingers gripped his straining cock. It was blood red and throbbing. He needed to cum.
“Aaaarghhhhhhh …” he groaned into the ball gag.
She’d edged him for quite a while — jacking him painfully slow — her black nail varnish made her fingers look like demonic claws. She squeezed his rigid flesh as his hips bucked up and down the mattress — begging for release.
Climbing onto the bed, she pressed her narrow, boyish hips to his, holding their throbbing cocks together in her tight grip. She masturbated the both of them together — a sex demon and her prey — Robert groaned as the pleasure intensified. Her fist gripped both of them tightly, frotting cock against cock. He wanted to blaspheme in unholy ecstasy, but could only buck harder against his restraints; screaming into his ball gag. His cock was dribbling with copious precum that oozed through his lover’s knuckles.
And she knelt over him. Her anus poised over his desperate manhood for the longest time. He squirmed and twisted. His ball gag restricted his breathing which had become labored and sharp. Snot streamed from his flailed nostrils.
”Oh! Yes! Sodomy! Unholy — Depraved — A witch’s fuck!”
Almost as soon as she reached the base of his cock, as their balls touched, she lifted herself up his fleshy joystick — up, until only his cock-head remained inside of her ass-pussy — and then she thrust downwards, drilling it deep into her filthy bowels.
“Hail Satan. Fuck God. Hail Amadeus. Fuck the Holy Spirit. Hail Jezebel. Fuck Jesus fucking Christ,” the witch blasphemed.
Again, and again she road him as her fist closed tightly around her own cock, furiously masturbating herself as she bucked up and down.
“Fuckkkkk —” she groaned as she thrust downwards again upon Robert’s throbbing meat, “Aaarghhhhh — Hail Lilith — ’m going to cum … aaarghhhhhhh …”
Just at that moment, she felt Robert shoot his slimy semen into her ass, she pointed her cock at his grimaced face. The witch bucked wildly as she squirted her thick ropy load across his chin, nostrils, and eye-sockets.
“Hail Satan!” she groaned and then collapsed forward over him.
Carol looked at herself in the mirror — She’d dressed sexily — but not for her boyfriend. She did it for herself. He was an asshole, she thought. The bathroom door opened and Robert walked in. He wrapped his arms around her. She did want him to touch her. He repulsed her.
“Robert. Let go of me, you’re one of them,” she blurted.
“Everything is okay — It’s okay — Carol, it’s a new dimension. It’s unknown to us. It’s marvelous,” Robert answered.
Carol wasn’t so easily convinced. She felt horrified. Lost. Scared.
“Why don’t we leave? We can go away from here. It’s that nightmare, I think. Oh, Robert, I beg of you, in the name of God —” Carol demanded as she pulled away from him.
“You know God is nothing more than a metaphor. Just pageantry that is slowly losing its appeal —” answered Robert.
“I don’t know how they’ve poisoned you, Robert. You’ve changed,” said Carol.
She couldn’t fight this. She finally placed her head against his chest.
“Don’t leave. I need you,” said Robert as he caressed her in his arms.
“We can escape from all this,” she said and kissed his mouth.
He didn’t answer, so Carol turned and picked up her bag. Just as she was about to leave, their bedroom door opened. It was Fiona, dressed in a usual long black tunic.
“Going somewhere?” asked the witch.
She turned to Robert, who said, “Me? Where too? That’s crazy.”
Carol looked at him. Confused and frustrated, she began to weep openly into her hands.
Georgina lay on the bed. She flicked the ass from her half-smoked cigarette. Her gown was loose and open, exposing her perk breasts and aroused nipples. She’d been masturbating but needed a hard cock in her overheated cunt.
Just then her husband, John, entered their bedroom. He saw the heavy pendant hanging upon her sweated chest. The Devil’s Paw. He wanted to leave, but Georgina grabbed his arm.
“I’m suffering. What are you waiting for? Fuck me now,” she demanded.
John shook his head and pulled back from her tenuous grip.
“You’re drunk,” he grumbled as he went to leave.
Georgina jumped up and tore her loose clothing from her body, exposing herself completely to her limp-dick husband.
“I want it right now … now … now —” Georgina demanded.
Her breath was short. She panted grabbing John furiously and pushed him hard again the wall.
“If you won’t do it, our son will … Steve … Steve come here… Come to me —”
John seemed to collapse. It was as if all his strength had left his body. Paralyzed, he slumped to his knees, and then, with his back to the wall, he slipped downwards until he sat on the floor over his knees. He saw his twelve-year-old young son, Steve, come to his naked mother’s call.
Steve looked down at him. He knew he looked helpless and pathetic. John wanted to shout at his young effeminate boy — to leave this place — but his son just stared and then grinned. John watched helplessly as he saw his son turn and undress and get on top of the bed with his amorous mother. He could see his wife, as she lay with her legs splayed wide, her freshly shaven cunt open and moist, ready for the fucking she wanted. The fucking he couldn’t give her. She was an unholy slut. A sex demon. The Devil’s whore. His eyes wanted to close. But they wouldn’t obey him. She’d use black magick. He knew it. The fucking evil witch. He wanted to crawl away. But he couldn’t move. He watched them kiss passionately, like blasphemous lovers. Incestuous.
“Come, my horny son … fuck me hard and — seed me — for it’s Satan’s will,” groaned Georgina, as her son’s cock pressed against her wet slit, “Aaaarghhh … Hail Satan!”
The boy pressed his narrow hips forward so that his little boy cock penetrated his mother’s slimy hole.
”Yesssss … Yessss … More … Christ-less motherfucker … Yesss —” moaned Georgina as she looked over her son’s shoulders, peering directly into her husband’s pitiful eyes.
It was late into the night. Twilight. The farmhouse was just a silhouette against the moonlit sky. Darkened clouds moved across to bring shifts of complete blackness. The restless dogs barked and pulled against their chains. The night was frisky. It seemed to buzz with omnipresent sexual energy. John staggered with a half-finished bottle of whisky in his hand. He stunk of sweat and booze. And he felt bitter and frustrated with himself.
“You know how you are when you get a drink. Go home,” said his incestuous wife as she stepped out of the shadows.
“When I want. I have finished with all this crap,” he retorted, pushing back his greasy hair.
“Making threats … I’d be careful if I was you,” the witch pointed her finger at him accusingly.
His anger was obvious. He hated her.
“You’re the ones who should be careful,” John cried, “If I feel like it, I could send you all to prison for the rest of your lives — All of you —”
John’s stance was unsteady, but the threat was real. Then he turned to leave.
“John, where are you going?” demanded Georgina.
“What’s it to you bitch?” he spat back and staggered off into the night.
Carol awoke abruptly from another broken dream. She sat up holding her heaving chest as her heartbeat raced. It was still very dark in the bedroom, but still, she could see that Robert was not in the bed next to her. Where was he? Carol got up and pulled on her robe. She opened the bedroom door. Just as she stepped into the dark corridor, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Robert?” Carol called in a hushed voice, “Robert is that you?”
Suddenly out of the darkness, a man appears. He quickly put his hand up over her mouth. She recognized him as John, the farmer. His face was flushed and sweating; his breath stunk of booze.
“They’ll kill us — They’re watching us —” he whispered and uncovered her mouth he added, “— Trust me — there’s no time for explanations. Get out of here before they do to you, what they did to your brother.”
“But is Robert involved in this?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes. He’s a witch like the rest of them. If I were you, I’d get the hell out of her … but don’t go to the police; they have accomplices everywhere. I’d seek the advice of a priest … Only a servant of God can help you. Now, go — do as I say —”
“But what about Robert? I refuse to leave him here,” she answered.
“I believe that you’ve lost him forever. He’s one of them now. Leave here, while you still have time.”
Just then the large clock in the hall began to chime in the darkness.
“Wait here,” he ordered, as he turned to investigate.
BLACK CANDLES CHAPTER SIX (2,749 WORDS) – THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND
The clock chimed. Its sound echoed throughout the darkened house. Carol noticed a gathering around the open fireplace and hid quietly. They hadn’t noticed her. At first, she couldn’t make out their identity, but as her eyes adjusted she recognized their faces. There was her sister-in-law, the Reverend Huber, her boyfriend Robert, Georgina, Doctor Gaunt, and Mr. Gonzalos. They were huddled around the naked bound figure. There was a cacophony of sound as the naked man struggled against his bindings that held him, face down, over the large wooden table. That’s when she recognized him as a man that had warned her only moments before.
“Georgina … Georgina … don’t do it. Don’t let them kill me,” cried the helpless man.
His wife was masturbating herself as she looked on cruelly at her estranged husband. She laughed at his predicament and spat in his face. Her sister-in-law and the Reverend looked on dispassionately. There were others too, laughing cruelly at him as Mr Gonzalos took down a long sword from the wall.
“No! I will tell no one … I will swear —” cried John desperately.
The crowd only laughed mockingly. Mr. Gonzalos took the sword and walked around to their captive’s rear. John began to weep hysterically.
”… I will say nothing — please don’t kill me! —” he pleaded.
Carol saw her boyfriend smiling evilly as the poor man wept openly. She saw Mr. Gonzalos draw the dull blade down their captive’s naked back as he lay stretched and completely helpless. She heard John’s voice labored with fear … And then it happened. Carol watched in abject horror as the executioner rammed the blade up his anus. John screamed and vomited blood. They all began to laugh as more of his blood began to spill over the table and onto the floor.
Carol had seen enough. The grounds around the house were dark as she ran for her life. The night seemed alive with sounds. Night creatures stirred out of her line of sight. Her fear, was palpable. She glanced over her shoulder anxiously as she continued to run away from the direction of the house. The sound of a screeching owl made her stop in her tracks. Was she being followed. Or was it just the sound of the wind moving through the rushing trees?
Suddenly, someone grabbed her with strong arms.
“No! No! No! —” she cried as her assailant carried her back towards the house.
Carol found herself stripped naked in a darkened bedroom. Black candles flickered from brass candelabras and the fire crackled with an orange glow. Carol got up and desperately tried the door, but it was locked from the outside. She hastily looked around for a way to escape. But this was to no avail. Carol noticed the huge painted image of the Baphomet that hung above the elaborately carved four-poster bed. As she looked closer, she saw that the coverings depicted sex demons … wicked monsters the process raping, abusing, and torturing angels. Carol was horrified.
The door opened and Carol grabbed the bed sheet to cover herself. Fiona, her sister-in-law lead the group of four women into the room with a long stem glass of wine in one hand and a brass thurible in the other. Georgina locked the door after she entered. Carol recognized the other two acolytes as the thirty-six-year-old, Mrs. Gonzolas, and Annalise (aka Little Annie) the Reverend Huber’s thirteen-year-old god-daughter.
Georgina stepped forward and slapped Carol hard in the face.
“Uuurghh —” cried Carol as she fell backward onto the bed, spilling out of the sheet that she’d used to cover herself.
As Carol tried to stand up on her shaking legs, Georgina slapped her again — this time even harder.
“You bitch. Stay there,” screamed Georgina.
As she tried to strike Carol again. Fiona held her back. At the same time, Mrs. Gonzolas and Little Annie held Carol’s naked body down on the bed.
“That’s enough! Don’t slap her anymore,” ordered Fiona, “You won’t cause any more problems? Will you?” Fiona asked Carol.
“You witch! You’ll pay for this. You poisoned my brother!” cried Carol, her face burning from the veracity of Georgina’s attack.
“That’s not true,” she lied, “Now let’s not get acrimonious … relax … you are important to us Carol … we want you to feel special … among us … a familiar … we’re all here to help you to understand your purpose … nobody needs to get hurt … relax my dear …” Fiona continued to soothe her captive.
Her words seemed to have a hypnotic effect on Carol. Carol felt immobile, inert … yes … see didn’t want to fight … she wanted to appease her sister-in-law … her mind felt befuddled.
“You’re going to be Satan’s bride,” whispered Mrs. Gonzolas.
“Our lady of the Sabbath,” added Fiona.
Carol didn’t understand what this implied. She just lay still.
Turning to Georgina, Fiona ordered, “You, mix up the potions.”
Fiona looked at Little Annie and Mrs. Gonzolas as she took a delicate sip of her wine.
“And you two. Prepare her —”
Fiona opens the brass thurible, retrieved a dark liquor potion, and gave it to Georgina. Carol’s enigmatic sister-in-law sat on the edge of the bed and began to lightly stroke her hair.
“The Sabbath —” Fiona cooed to Carol seductively, “Is an orgy of wickedness where all the instincts are given free rein.”
Fiona helped Carol sit up and presented a dark potion to her. Carol obediently opened her mouth, so that the witch could administer it to her. The potion seemed to have an immediate effect. Whatever fight that was left in Carol, quickly dissipated. She was done fighting. Four-against-one were not good odds and resistance would have proven useful. The potent mixture felt hot in her throat. Not unpleasant. There was a bitter after-taste — but her body seemed to welcome its seductive influence.
Little Annie and Mrs. Gonzolas removed their clothing and climbed onto the large bed on either side of her. Fiona continued to stroke Carol’s forehead and scalp with her long silver-painted nails. Carol’s eyelids felt heavy. She squinted in the candlelight, looking upon the naked forms of the two women that now flanked her. Their soft hands gently drew Carol’s legs apart as they rubbed more of the strange potion, made from the concoction of aphrodisiacal herbs, goat’s semen, and Little Annie’s menstrual blood, directly onto Carol’s sensitized breasts and vagina.
Now only Fiona remained dressed, as Georgina shed the filmy outfit she’d arrived in and climbed onto the bed and knelt against the headboard. She looked down at Carol, as she touched herself between the legs.
“Annalise,” said Fiona, “I want you to initiate Carol into our cult. Prepare her the Passion of Satan’s Bride!”
Little Annie moved between Carol’s thighs and pressed their naked bodies together — breasts to breasts; and vagina to vagina — kissing Carol with an open mouth. To Carol, the sensation was dreamlike. Was she in a lusty dream again — about to awaken at any moment? — She responded to the young girl’s intimacy, their tongue-twisting together, as they both groaned illicitly into each other’s mouths. The pleasure was intense.
Carol closed her eyes.
She could feel many mouths upon her; sucking her erect nipples — sucking and kissing them as she groaned in complete Sapphic abandonment. Little Annie moved further down Carol’s body so that her mouth covered Carol’s aroused cunt. Her childish tongue probed Carol’s labia and then sank inside her vagina. She’d never experienced cunnilingus like this before — better than any boyfriend she’d ever had, Little Annie was adept. Carol felt the rush of orgasm coming. They interlocked their fingers as Carol’s rump rose higher to meet her new lover’s flickering tongue. Illicit pleasure upon pleasure. Was this what it meant to be part of their cult?
Fiona watched the teenager bring their new acolyte to one … two … three orgasms.
“Dominus Infernus vobiscum” she muttered beneath her breath.
Fiona’s fingers rubbed her erection through the material of her gown as she watched her acolytes fuck Carol with their mouths and fingers bringing her to orgasmic delight over and over and over … Yes, she would make an excellent choice of bride for their lord, and master — Satan be praised!
Carol’s consciousness was slowly re-emerging from the foggy sensation that had overtaken her. She stared at the large black raven sitting upon a golden perch. Her ears were ringing … no, it was the sound of a ceremonial gong and the chiming of bells — like a church — but she knew it was the furthest thing for a church. She recognized elements of her nightmare around her — she was in the basement — but this was no longer a dream. This was real. Black candles burned brightly all around her, their light strangely inviting and warm. The black raven was staring at her. The blackness of its pupils — like black pearls.
Unlike her dream, where she had been almost concealed at the rear; now she found herself completely naked and lay spreadeagled across their evil altar. She remembered the ritual. the young girl, Little Annie — licking her cunt out — making her cum over and over — what a delicious pleasure — and she was to be the Bride of Satan? What did that all mean? An orgy of wickedness where all the instincts are given free rein?
As she turned her head, ever so slightly, she saw her sister-in-law—her dead brother’s wife — and a powerful witch. What part did she play in her brother’s death? Oh, Drew, she thought — what became of you? — Fiona appeared in a long black loose gown. Her boyfriend, Robert, stood next to her. He was completely naked. Carol could see that he was erect. Fiona seemed to be rubbing his cock; masturbating him. But her eyes were not looking at him — they were focused on the Reverend. There was the sound of an evil choir singing an eerie Latin hymn that filled the basement and filled her ears.
Fiona and the Reverend stood together. Priest and Priestess. Carol’s chest rose and fell as the Reverend lifted the challis. Carol knew what was in the challis. Her nightmare emerged and blended with her reality. The Reverend drank the priestess’s urine. Everyone was there. They were all naked and watching the ritual to make Carol the bride of Satan. They each drank the salty elixir.
“Satan. Come to us,” chanted the evil Reverend.
“Satan come to us!” responded the congregation.
“This is a great moment. This is your hour, Carol,” whispered Fiona as she petted her — stroking Carol’s sensitive nipples, “Are you ready to be possessed by the antichrist?”
“Satan, you are the divinity,” chanted the congregation that had gathered around them.
Carol watched as the bearded Reverend removed his gown. With one hand held a thick manuscript and in the other, he gripped his erect penis. Robert bent forward and kissed her feverishly hot vagina. Then Little Annie. Then Georgina. They all took their turn … kissing the vagina of Satan’s bride. Their faces appeared as the faces of evil. The raven flew over and settled down looking at her too. Were they about to kill her? A sacrifice to their evil god of hell?
She strained her neck to see what was going on. From her nightmare, she recognized the horns upon her sister-in-law’s head. But now, there was more than just horns—She had the face of the Goat of Mendes — She had the face of the Sabbatic Goat. No longer her sister-in-law, not Fiona, not her dead brother’s wife — this was Satan.
Satan’s gown fell to the ground. Carol saw the demon’s milk-white body had been tattooed with the sigils of demonology. The Latin words solve and coagula have been inscribed upon the demon’s arms. The demon’s legs appeared to be like that of the hinds of the goat too. Satan’s cock looked disproportionately large — its throbbing head — dripping with precum. Satan moved between the legs of the bride-to-be. No, Carol was no virgin, but she’d had never experienced Satan’s phallus.
The demon pressed its huge cock to her vaginal opening as the evil congregation watched eagerly masturbating themselves. As the first few inches entered her, she felt its girth stretching her vaginal muscles to their extremes. There was no pleasure … only a dull pain, much worse than when Robert had sodomized her.
“Your cock will rip me apart,” Carol muttered.
The demon took no notice of her fears … all it wanted was to seed its bride. Up close, the goat mask looked seamless … as if Fiona’s face had been the mask … hiding the beast’s true identity. Carol looked into the demon’s eyes as they stared back at her — nothing human was there, only evil and wickedness.
“Don’t fear … Satan is possessing you,” muttered Robert, “Soon you will receive the seed of Satan —”
Carol’s head moved frantically from side to side as the pain of their unholy mating increased. Each thrust of their blasphemous fornication brought greater and greater suffering. She felt as if Satan’s cock was tearing her insides to shreds — The others seemed to be inspired by her agony and infliction — willing it to hurt and cause further harm … as if Satan’s torturous intercourse was theirs’ to be enjoyed.
“You’ll feel wonderful as Satan’s semen enters you — after the anguish of rape — you will feel the ecstasy of pure evil,” groaned the Reverend.
The intensity of her torment had become overwhelming — She was on the brink of unconsciousness — Was this what Fiona had meant by the passion of Satan’s bride? Carol screamed at the top of her lungs. Despite her state of mind, all around her, she saw everything in explicit detail as the congregation begin to fornicate, men and women, women and women and men and men, adults and children; the demonic orgy was going wild all around her. Carol saw images, not unlike that of medieval paintings of damnation. Evil creatures. The demonic hordes. The open mouths of fowl monsters consume them. Possessed with the sufferance of all humanity. An eternity of sexual torture. She saw countless naked bodies twisted together as the flames of hell leap upwards consuming everybody and everything as Satan’s semen erupted into her womb.
Carol awoke — as Fiona’s car pulled into the driveway.
She rubbed her tired eyes. What happened? A nightmare within a nightmare? This couldn’t be … the ritual … the sacrifice … the goat-faced demon … her dead brother’s lover … even as she tried to remember the details of her nightmare, the thoughts began to recede—mingling into vagueness—a nightmare within a nightmare?
Fiona’s car had stopped. Outside the car window, the wind howled and the dark trees swayed. Robert turned around in the passenger seat towards the backseat.
“What happened?” Carol asked.
“You fell asleep, Carol,” Robert said,
“We’re here now. Did you have a nice rest?” added Fiona
“Yes —” replied Carol as they all get out of the car.
The house was dark.
“Well, there are no lights. They go out every time it rains you know,” said Fiona.
“Could it be the fuses?” asked Robert.
“No, I think the lines are down., replied Fiona.
“Well go into the kitchen and light some candles.”
Fiona, Carol, and Robert walked into the darkened house. Fiona lit some — black candles.
“It looks like we’re going to celebrate rites to the Devil,” joked Robert, and Carol laughed uneasily — a nightmare within a nightmare?
“Could be, who knows,” added Fiona.
Carol looked stoic.
“What is it?” said Robert as he looks at his girlfriend, “You’re shivering, did you catch a cold? Was it when you were asleep in the car?”
“What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well? I have some very special herbs. I cultivate plants. They can bring you relief?” said Fiona.
“No — feel okay — thank you,” said Carol.
Carol turned around and got a fright. She hadn’t noticed the Reverend standing behind her.
“Did I frighten you?” asked the bearded priest.
“He’s my uncle, Reverend Huber,” explained Fiona.
“I was awake and I heard your car,” replied the Reverend.
Fiona passed a couple of tea to Carol, or what she thought was tea. It smelt rather strange — an aroma that reminded her of something — but in all the excitement of their late-night arrival, she couldn’t remember what it was.
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