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: LGBT themes, Cohesion, Corruption, NC, Rape, Bondage, Sadism, Young, Snuff, WS, Scat, Blood Fetish, Gore, Necrophilia, Beast, Drug use, MC, Black Magic (Obeah/Voodoo), Devil Worship, Demons, Evil themes.

CREATED: 14.06.2019 / REVISITED: 02.11.2023

Diary Of The White Witch 2


The following is based on a true story. It is 1965. Rachel Johnson is a perky twenty-five-year-old from the East Ender. She traded in the dull grey skies of London for the bright color of the Montego Bay some six months prior. Her uncanny resemblance to the painted image of the infamous Annie Palmer, coupled with her fanatical interest in this 18th-century woman, named the `White Witch of Rose Hall’ was punctuated by the discovery of her personal diary that is filled with the bizarre tales of her sexual wickedness, sadism, necrophilia, and devil worship.

Unwittingly, it seems that through the process of her involvement in her historical stories, Rachel has awakened something she should have been better to leave alone. It is pervasive and intermittent. She finds that she is drawn into a dark magick that makes her act uncharacteristically, which would be more in line with the thinking and actions of Annie Palmer. Could it be that the spirit of the White Witch had reached out from beyond her hexed grave and broken free of the Vodou curse that had supposedly held her in the tainted ground for over one hundred and fifty years? Could it be that Rachel is actually possessed by this evil creature?

The Back Story of Annie Palmer

A young girl born in 1804, orphaned at ten years old, after her parents died of yellow fever, and brought up in Haiti under the wing of a black nanny who had taught her how to use Haitian voodoo. They said she had moved to Jamaica at the age of fifteen and two years later married a wealthy sugar cane plantation owner called John Palmer.

It was never stated where her extreme cruelty and perversion had been cultivated, but in an estate with more than two thousand slaves under her control, and sexually unsatisfied by her husband, she began a reign of sexual debauchery, torture, and murder.

When her husband discovered her secrets – some say he may have caught her in the act, she killed him. Despite standing only under five feet tall, all the locals feared her. She quickly became known as the “White Witch of Rose Hall” for her black magic, evil deeds, and unquenchable sexual appetite.

Annie was supposed to have killed two more husbands, said to be gullible white foreigners, unaware of Annie’s infamous reputation. Each time, Annie became wealthier and even more perverse.


Rachel lay naked across her small bed in her saturnine little room.

The heat of the day was almost intolerable. The damp bed sheets clung to her naked legs and the uncomfortable humidity made the air hang still and pungent with the odor of sour sweat mixed with Rachel’s sexual excitement.

Rachel began touching herself with one hand, whilst she turned the yellowed-stained pages of the perverted diary with the other. In the poor illumination, she squinted at the obscene scribbles with epicanthic eyes.

“Ayi bobo (hallelujah).”

“Takoo had delivered the young slave couple and their new born baby to my basement temple. I would fuck them soon. Fuck them and then kill them. Eat their sexual organs … and own their spirits for the glory of Erzulie.

“I had spied them the morning before whilst out riding upon my vast property. They seemed oblivious to me at the time, as I rode past. I had overheard the joyful muttering of love between the pretty ebony couple. And watched as the petite young black girl fed her hungry baby from her young pert breasts. Their happiness was an affront to my wickedness. Slaves were not permitted to be happy. No, love was only the reserve of their Mistress.

“They must be made to suffer. Under the pain of death. Wretchedly smiling at one another … The more I watched the hapless young family, the more I wanted to destroy them. Yes, I would destroy them, but first I would toy with them, mentally and physically … punish them with all manner of evil toys from my perverted temple. And then when I was done, I would sacrifice them and their suckling child to Erzulie, my demon goddess …

“Maybe I would make them eat their baby … alive … Yes! …. before I killed them both. Make them watch each other suffer for their ridiculous love. Slave love. Nigger love. I wanted to fuck. I would gut her cunt and his virility, I would wear his cock around my neck; her breast milk will be served as my appetizer.

“Suffering … Yes! Suffering was such a pleasurable thing. And the greater the suffering… the more powerful my demonic orgasm! Praise the devil incarnate!

“I thought about their effrontery as I selected my clothing or the lack of it. I wanted to make a grand entrance so that they would immediately recognize me as a priestess of the great devil goddess, Erzulie. The game I would play, would be one of misunderstanding… asking why had Takoo brought them here to my temple? Erzulie demanded blood sacrifice … surely it must be a mistake?

“At first they would say that it was a mistake … but when they realize that there was no mistaking the irascible temperament of their evil goddess … they would begin to plead for their lives, for the life of their newborn … but that is where the fun would begin … suggesting how they could appease the enmity of Erzulie and save themselves and their child … what bizarre sexual acts would I force upon them in order the escape the pain-of-death … who would be the first?

“The thought of this delicious encounter was more than tantalizing … to feel their anxiety, anguish and abject horror. The very thought made me almost cum.

“So it began. I made my entrance dressed in a rich crimson and green ceremonial gown, open to the front, that lay my breast bare and my shaved sex exposed. I made my obeisance to the effigy of the sex goddess obvious — demonstrated my role as a servant of the evil one. I made plaintive prayers and sort to panegyrize the effigy with offerings before turning my attention to the young couple who were bound naked by their wrists and ankles … and their child, lying bare and helplessly upon the evil blood altar.

“The young woman was crying. No … more like wailing. Her young black partner struggled against his restraints while he hung flaccid. That would not do. Flaccidity! Erzulie demanded erect males. Hard as nails! Juicing at the slit!

“I called to Takoo … What was the meaning of this? Why were they here? Didn’t he know that Erzulie held great anger tonight … that we must forfend against her disapproval … were they to be offered to the goddess? Sacrificed? Surely this was a mistake?

“No, Takoo said. No, they were the ones that Erzulie called for. Their blood sacrifice must be made… there could be no turning back. No substitution. They both began to beg and desperation filled their pleas …

“Maybe … there was a way … maybe if the young man was to perform a profane sexual act before the great goddess … maybe if he was to sodomize the priestess before the effigy … that this disaster could be avoided … surely the evil goddess would be appeased by such a sinful act?

“Maybe? Takoo was naked and hard. His cock dripped as he began stroking the young man’s resistant flesh …. to make him hard and erect before the sex demon. Yes. Perversity was the true offering!

“The young man twisted against his restrains — trying his best to resist Takoo’s fondling. His discontent was palpable. I shouted at Takoo to stop. I removed my gown and began to touch myself. Excited, I then began to rub myself against his smooth black flesh — frotting harder and harder against him.

“Next I knelt down grinning sardonically. Taking his cock between my fingers, I began to lick and suck the young nigger’s cock head, sucking his black mushroom as I played with myself … my oral pleasuring quickly brought him to full erection. There, I said to Takoo. There … he is ready for our goddess.

“Then, I toyed with his woman, stroking her hair, and felt the tears upon her face. She begged me to stop … ‘Please don’t hurt my baby’ … she repeated over and over … I began to rub my wet cunt against hers; kissing her directly on the mouth. She tried in vain to twist away, trying to avoid my probing tongue. The tips of my boyish nipples rubbed against her pert young chest. I bent and sucked each of her nipples … drawing the warm breast milk into my mouth.

“Moving away, I knelt down before my demon. Hail Erzulie.

“This was Takoo’s cue. He had untied the young man but held a knife to his neck. He gestured to him and the young man took a position, immediately behind me, so that his erection pressed upwards against my perineum. I rubbed back and forth, wetting his cock head with my copious juices … my cunt was drenched … soaked in girl juices … urging him to thrust forward into me … to sodomize me. I desperately needed a big nigger cock in my rear hole …

Rachel groaned unabated. The Jamaican Pearl blended with her own sybaritic masturbation. Three fingers of her right hand dug harder and deeper into her steamy snatch that hummed with every thrust of her delicate wrist. In and out. In and out. In and out. Faster and faster. She imagined the White Witch … more accurately, she imagined herself as the White Witch, enjoying a hard fuck in her delicate ass … thrusting backward as a long black cock penetrated her, filling her poop tube with gungo-hardened nigger meat …

“Ohhhhhhhh. Yes. Yes. Yes. Fuck yes …”

She was so close to cumming. She could feel the impending rise and the speedy advance of the oncoming tidal wave of perverted sexual pleasure. She was so ready to cum. To succumb to her drug-fueled corruption. She was the chimera. She could almost smell the malodor of sexual depravity … and in her mind’s eye, she saw herself as the White Witch … she commanded Takoo to bring the baby and place it between her legs while the young father of the child was deep in her ass-cunt … Yes … bring the child … she imagined it placed between her legs as she thrust back and forth against the reluctant nigger slave.

“Yes, cum. Cum. Cum …”

She bit her lower lip hard and tasted blood …. She imagined she was urinating over the small black newborn … drenching the child, as its frantic mother looked on helplessly; and the hapless father continued her bidding at knifepoint … Hail Erzulie … Rachel saw herself, smothering the newborn … pissing and frotting harder and harder against it’s small upturned face …

“Yes … Do it. Kill it … Kill it … Drown it in urine!”

Bucking noisily against the wooden bedhead, she quickened to the first crest of what would be undoubtedly a succession of powerful orgasms — on and on, one after the other, taking her to oblivion. She momentarily gazed upwards at her own reflection in the dressing mirror that had been tilted to face her bed. She saw a naked woman, masturbating and engorged in her own perverseness … she no longer saw herself, but instead only the White Witch … it was Annie Palmer, reflected back at her. Annie was sensual, beautiful, and her evil doppelganger (her dark and evil guide, who was never to far from her thoughts).

“Break the hex!”

Rachel saw herself, no longer in her small bed chamber, not in the temple … but now, she was laid out, like a sacred offering, under the moonlight in the ritual over the White Witch’s tomb… The heat of flagstone pressed against her back … she looked upwards and saw the naked form of the scrawny black housekeeper, Chemzira, who stood immediately after her. Her bony hips gyrated. Urine dripped from a gaping pink hole. Chemzira bent over her. She pressed her piss-wet cunt harder against Rachel’s face … grinding and groaning as she pissed in Rachel’s face. In her hand, the nigger held tightly to the wriggling black serpent — its diamond-shaped head hissing between the lips of Rachel’s open cunt-hole.

Rachel felt the tingling of the creature’s forked tongue as it tantalized her. Hissing, the snake lapped at Rachel’s overheated cunt hole.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

The illicit pleasure was sending her crazy … Rachel heard the nigger chanting obscenities to her demon goddess, Erzulie, as she began to defecate over Rachel’s naked prone body … The pungent smell of feces was overwhelming. The stench of piss and shit …

“Fuck! Fuck! Break the hex! Break the hex! Break the hex!”

Her mind was an explosion of debauched delights. Sick and debauched … dark and evil … it was a flow of disjointed perversities, each trying to outdo the other.

The firmness of the stone beneath her seemed to move. She heard a disturbing loud cracking sound. At the same time, she felt something bump her, as it thrusted upwards from behind the heavy flagstone. Everything began to tremble like an earthquake.

“Out! Out! Out!”

Rachel was back in her bed chamber.

She was drenched in her own sweat. Her pungency met the stench of the evil desires she now embraced. Her climax only intensified. She groaned loudly and uncontrollably. Orgasm unfolded upon orgasm … suddenly without warning, something from within her pushed her fingers out of her fiery cunt hole – but the pleasure never stopped – it only intensified … Rachel bucked uncontrollably, trembling in seizure. She looked downward towards her saturated cunt and recoiled in abject horror as a thick black snake began to emerge!

Rachel woke abruptly. A dream? A nightmare? A prediction?



It was another inveigle Caribbean day of endless sunshine, and blue skies, and at the beach bar, the ambient sound of the waves on the beach made the serenity truly blissful. Peter Baxter was a thirty-six-year-old bachelor said to be worth billions. His so-called legitimate empire had always been a very effective front for his more lucrative dealings in the black market that stretched between the continents of the Americas.

Business was usually at the forefront of his mind, but today was somewhat different, as he lustily eyed the petite body of the young woman he had met a few weeks earlier. Rachel Johnson was a perky twenty-five-year-old from the East End of London. Her cheekiness and rough cockney accent intrigued him. She had told him that she had not been in Montego Bay very long, but she seemed to be at ease with the place, and the culture and seemed to understand the subtle nuisances of its complex history. Maybe her explanation about the historical research program that she was involved in, explained her exceptional knowledge and insights about local Vodou.

Besides the obvious physical attraction he felt for this tiny 4’ 11” tall girl, there was something else about her that enthralled Peter. Was this just pure lust or love finally? She made him feel so virile. Yes, he wanted to possess her. To make her his whore. What had started off as a fling at a private party had the possibility of a new relationship? Her insatiable sexual appetite had exceeded his own and had been punctuated by what he could only describe as beyond kink.

Even as he sat slightly lightheaded in the heat of the day, sipping his screwdriver behind today’s copy of the Wall Street Journal, his concealed erection ached from his recent adventure with Rachel and another woman. Peter could not help but rub himself, as he thought about their threesome that had been very animated with Rachel orchestrating their sex orgy. The other woman had been an attractive and lithe Negro woman, who seemed to do whatever Rachel demanded without hesitation. Rachel had been like a white mistress, commanding her own sexual satisfaction. Peter groaned to himself, thinking about Rachel riding the pretty nigger’s face, urinating into her mouth and all over her, while he fucked her hot black cunt and sucked hungrily on Rachel’s tiny boyish tits. The pernicious aroma of their sex, sweat, and piquant piss had been such a turn-on; he had never experienced a lover like her. Never!

She made it no secret that she liked black cock. She had inspired him to try sex with what she called batty-bwoys or chi-chi. She had told him that these gracile young black boys would please him in ways that no woman could. Thinking about it, he couldn’t believe that she would even make such a suggestion … without any hint of jealousy. Fuck she was hot! He thought.

Even now, she seemed to have established a strange but wonderful hold over him. He could feel it deep inside his being. He just wanted her more and more. His erection felt a little sore from their very recent coupling. Five times the night before, even now, she emerged from the swimming pool; she looked over at him lustily as she towel-dried her naked body.

They would smoke some Jamaican Pearl. It always gave him a slightly dry mouth and eyes, but it cut the stress of business, leaving him with a feeling of euphoria and high sexual energy. Rachel liked to mix it up. Taking the Ganja and heavily lacing it with something she called ‘Gungo’ that seemed to have the effect of delaying his ejaculation, so they could fuck for hours. And they did.


Only the raw light of a single candle dimly lit Rachel’s small bedroom. Her new lover lay face down, fast asleep in lassitude, or more aptly passed out from sexual exhaustion. Rachel stood in front of the dressing mirror. She looked at herself while she fingered the human bone necklace that hung around her neckline — an obscene thing created from evil deeds and abject horror. Its Obeah origin seemed to give her a perverted thrill as she lazily masturbated and sucked her necklace.

“Ayi bobo (hallelujah) …”

She had met him a few weeks earlier at a party. There had been very little courtship – just sex, raw lust. Now, it seemed that his obvious prosperity made her feel envious of his money and what it could buy.

“He is stinking rich. Ayi bobo (hallelujah) … A wealthy white overlord — if we played our cards right, he would fall for us. We must ensnare him. We must! Do it my sweetness. Do it for us! It’s all part of our union. Ayi bobo (hallelujah) … It’s part of the theater of sin!”

Rachel shook her head. She never thought about others in that kind of transactional way. What was wrong with her? She was not the envious type. She did not care for material wealth like that?

She had come to Jamaica in search of a story, for her research, not a remunerative relationship. She did not seek a meal ticket or even a boyfriend for that matter. Besides, he was far too old for her. She must admit to herself that she liked his willingness to do the things that her desires demanded … and strangely, her wishes had become increasingly erratic and extreme … her desires more and more unpredictable, perverted … even wicked or actually bordering on the insane.

“His tiny cock could not satisfy us, but that does not matter for now. You need to act the part of his satisfied lover … use him … he doesn’t need to know that what we need is nigger slave cock … lots of hot nigger cock to fill our every hole. He is weak … we will cuckold him … touch yourself and pray to Erzulie, the dark goddess of sex will provide. Nothing for us will be forbidden! Ayi bobo (hallelujah)!”

Ever since Rachel had started her involvement in the history of this bizarre witch that she had researched, reading her damnable diary, she had felt a strange duality between their personalities – as if they had become slowly entwined together in a spiritual dance. She had knowingly got off on it in the beginning, but now it worried her. There had been that bizarre ritual performed upon the witch’s grave site; her memory of which was only sketchy, but after which the feeling had intensified one hundredfold. It seemed to be getting stronger every day since.

She was not sure about the unexplained death of the black housekeeper at the old Rose Hall … it all seemed somehow to be connected, but too incredulous to actually contemplate seriously. Something evil had transpired and things had changed dramatically for her. She felt it deep inside. Even the locals she knew had begun to suspect something and had even become afraid of her for some unexplained reason. Possession? Reincarnation? Vodou was a bizarre cocktail of Roman Catholicism and African Tribalism.

She had heard some of the locals refer to her as the Béké (a Creole term for European settler). That was not anything surprising, but coupled with their superstitions, saying that the White Witch had returned, troubled her. Usually, it would have made her laugh, if it were not for the eerie feelings that gripped her from time to time … or the strange motivations, compulsions, and voices inside her head that stirred the desires she was now experiencing.

Was it her subconscious playing tricks? She needed to relax and forget it. She needed some ‘Gungo’ to take the edge off of it all. Her fingers stroked her sensitized neb of fleshiness, bringing it to an itchy hardness. As the pleasure built again, the voice welled upwards through the vortex of her sub-consciousness.

“Touch yourself. Mmmmmmm! Oh, Erzulie. Ayi bobo (hallelujah) … Time to play my sweetness! Touch yourself. Time to play! Touch yourself.”

She felt a fire in her stomach reaching down with a heat that burned in her perineum… what started off as horniness, now manifested itself as lust incarnate as her busy fingers moved with a momentum of their own, rhythmically massaged her engorged clitoral appendage.

Her historical research gained her rich insight into the life and motivations of this outlandish eighteenth-century woman, Annie Palmer, the infamous “White Witch of Rose Hall”. Feared for her black magic and unquenchable lust for her black slaves. Thoughts of this strange journey — from innocent ten-year-old girl to murderous predator, made Rachel tingle all over.

She should have been revolted by the thought, but somehow it did not feel that way. Her black nanny had initiated Annie. The exotic Efik tribal mother goddess, called Sadiah, had murdered her parents with the aid of her powerful black magic. The nanny had seduced her and drew her into a debauched world that saw her married off to a rich plantation owner. Though it was not clear to Rachel where Annie’s taste for extreme cruelty and perversion had been cultivated, in an estate with more than two thousand slaves under her control, and sexually unsatisfied by her husband, she had begun a reign of sexual debauchery, torture, and murder.

“That’s it. Mmmmmmmm. Faster. Faster. Faster … Mmmmmm … Press harder. Finger yourself my sweetness. Dance my little puppet! Dance! Dance and play your part … wet yourself … let our story unfold … Oh! The wet delights! The moist pleasures! Moooooooooore!”

What of her relationship with this man? What was it that Rachel wanted? Could it be true at some level that she was motivated to want his wealth, surely not. It was not like her. She also knew he was no angel, but had only snippets about his illegal activities – his business interests embedded in the unsavory world of human trafficking. She should have nothing to do with him. He was a monster that traded in the misery of others.

“Our plot my sweetness … the exotic theater … Yes my sweetness, to be wealthy and free to explore our newfound wickedness, the sadism … and devil worship, especially our beloved demon, Erzulie. Hail Erzulie! Goddess of perverted sex! We will become Mrs. Rachel Baxter, his lover, his wife, and the sole heir to his billions. He will be our mannequin to manipulate. We must know more about his aberrant empire. We must gain his confidence. He must be ours to control. A cuckold! We can do it … you and I … We can enslave him …”

Her clitoris felt larger … thicker … longer … than it had felt ever before. As she pleasured herself she reflected on the witch’s strange ascent to wealth and power. The combination of powerful black magic and lust was, for the first time in her mind, so exciting and compelling. The witch had used it to lure and snag several husbands and in the process amass the fortune for herself … who would ever suspect the slight and vulnerable white woman of these atrocities, in the furthest flings of the British Empire? She felt a pinch inside of her … thrilling her … reassuring her that anything was possible.

“We can do it together my sweetness … don’t be afraid. Ayi bobo (hallelujah) … The possibilities are endless. See it for yourself. Know what I know, feel what I feel … See what I have seen … Rachel … Annie … Rachel … Annie … Rachel … Annie … give into our collective being … we will be as one together!”

Gazing into the mirror in the darkened room, beyond her reflection, the shadows of the candlelight flickering created dark figures moving against the bedroom wall, blurring and merging, sinisterly animated. Images and sounds filled her mind. They seemed to dance in a wanton frenzy to the persistent thumping of a Pedro beat … she knew them as the drums of death … dark silhouettes now gyrated in the forbidden dance, thrusting their sexual organs back and forth to the primal beat accompanied by screaming blasphemous prayers in name of the evil demon, Erzulie, as the unalloyed dark rape ritual dedicated to her was about to erupt. Her fingers no longer presses against her cock clitoris but wrapped around its abnormal length, stroking herself … thrusting her narrow hips back and forth … her orgasm gained rapid momentum … stroking like a man … stroking her witch’s clit …

She could make out the figure of an unfortunate young and timid boy, no older than eleven years, being stretched painfully between the twin poles of the unholy snake temple by shadowy figures. There was a cauldron boiling over a fire in the center of a clearing. Live ceremonial offerings; chickens, cats, worms, and birds were thrown into the bubbling cauldron. In all the frenzy some of the crowd of worshipers fell to the ground wriggling in wantonness and evil possession. It was as though the entire gathering were as one frenzied whole.

Two nigger boys of similar age, their naked bodies painted as skeletons danced around the bound child, pounding their fists and jerking their shoulders back and forth rapidly. They rubbed their aroused genitals against him, one at the front and one at the rear and despite his obvious anxiety and panic, they teased the restrained boy to a full erection.

The gathering of worshipers, men, women, and batty-bwoys, all dressed in nothing but head masks of goats, bats, cats, and other animals worn to conceal their identities, applauded loudly, letting out blood-curdling cries for ‘goat without horns’ … the human sacrifice to appease their aficionado, the malevolent Zombi God.

“L’Appe’ vini le Grand Zombi (He is coming, the Great Zombi),” hissed the masked crowd.

Rachel recognized the hypnotic character, a witch doctor with his distinctive top hat, grass skirt, and smeared chalked skull face, as he stepped forth from the crowd. The part was well played by an endowed male dancer assuming the role of the Zombie God that they called “Papa Legba”. Above his head, his swaying arms holding aloft the shiny coils of a black snake.

The erotic dance between Papa Legba and his reptile offering began. The snake’s head moved rhythmically to the usurping and cacophonous Pedro beat, it hissed as its forked tongue flickered in and out. As he approached the phallic effigy of Danbahlah, their evil serpent god, he held the snake’s hissing head close to his groin. As he gyrated his hips back and forth, he allowed the snake’s forked tongue to flick across the sensitized tip of his erection as he performed his coitus dance before the Serpent God. He groaned in orgasmic bliss, imbuing his sexual powers with that of the serpent’s animalistic sexual urges. The worshipers formed a semi-circle around him, dancing and swaying in the same dark hypnotic state.

The small skeletal boys joined their necromancer in front of the effigy openly fondling his enormous cock, as it poked upwards through the mesh of grassed shirt, fully erect and glistening with their saliva. The worshipers all screamed with eager wickedness for Papa Legba to make the offering of the “Goat with no horns.”

The boys lead their Zombie God towards the chosen young one held between the poles, eagerly positioning his engorged cock against the rear of the struggling boy. The boy’s panic was palpable. Papa Legba grabbed the struggling child by the hips and began to thrust into him. The sacrificial boy screamed in excruciating pain and the animal audience went wild in a frenzy of sexual abandonment.

Soon the boy dangled limply against the firm bindings holding him as Papa Legba continued the full force of his rape dance, thrusting himself back and forth, in and out of the boy’s ruined arse, his enormous penis tearing its delicate flesh. Bloody fluids poured forth from the boy’s rectum as he was now fully impaled upon the length of Legba’s dark fleshy sword. All eyes turned as the phallic effigy of Danbahlah – awaiting a signal, a sign of the serpent’s approval … Ayi bobo! Rachel could swear she heard the idol speak …

Rachel bucked in the throws of multiple orgasms.



“Smoke darling,” purred Rachel, “While we pay homage to Erzulie?”

Rachel stroked her hairless pussy lips with her left hand and massaged her lover’s bulge with the right.

“My sweetness, you are learning so quickly. Yes, Erzulie the Dark Mother, is stirred by our union. The demons are all envious of the pleasures we make. Get him to talk, to tell us what we need to know.”

“Aghhhh!” he groaned in response to her expert fondling.

Rachel re-lit up the fat joint and drew in a long breath. She handed it to Peter who did the same as his hips bucked in her expert caress.

“Tell me, Peter. Tell more about the real Peter Baxter. The one who deals in the flesh trade? My white master slaver!” she asked as her hand continued its seduction of his craving cock.

Peter laughed nervously, reeling in sexual excitement.

“I told you before babe … the less you know the better …”

“I know you said that, but I want to know the real man … it turns me on you know.”

Rachel dragged on the joint. She was not so easily deterred from her quest.

“Tell me … could we have a slave lover, a young one to play with? To do anything I wanted with? Could I? Please?” pouted Rachel as her hand glided relentlessly up and down Peter’s urgent erection.

She knelt down between his legs, first kissing and then sucking the head of his dripping cock. Her hands now cradled his sensitive scrotum and one of her fingers rubbed lightly against his anal opening. Peter continued to smoke the fat joint. The pleasure intensified. He felt his orgasm building.

“Oh fuck babe … oh yer! Fuck yer! Fuccccck ….”

“So … babe?”

“So?” asked Peter, easily distracted by his enjoyment of Rachel’s masturbatory and oral technique.

“I want a sex slave! I want a very young one!”

“Anything babe … Arghhhhhhhhhh!” groaned Peter.

“So tell me, how does it work? Where do they come from? What happens to them?”

Rachel stopped touching him and looked at him in mock anger.

“What?” bleated Peter.

Rachel stood up and took the joint from his lips. She took a long suck of the fat cock-like joint while playing with herself and ignoring him completely.

“Okay, Babe. If you insist.”

Rachel smiled evilly and re-engaged in her masturbation of Peter’s pulsating cock … pumping it slower and more drawn out as he told her about how he became embroiled in the human trafficking business – more specifically in the procurement of underage girls and boys for sexual gratification, forced labor, servitude, sex tourism, prostitution, and pornography. After so many years in the game, he had been able to secure his secretive underground network of both supply and demand across the islands of the Caribbean, where most of the local law enforcement were either too inept or on his payroll. This is where the government laws were too lax or insufficient to present any issues to his highly organized and sophisticated set-up.

He had been diligent and had profited from his endeavors; in fact, he had made billions. There was a place downtown called “The Factory”. This is where they broke in on all the slaves. There the young ones must learn the rudiments of the pleasure trade, especially those destined for the pedophile brothels. Others were deliberately left completely untrained as they were destined for occult groups that demanded virgin meat for satanic sacrifice. He spoke in a matter of fact between high-pitched gasps of enjoyment at Rachel’s movements and as the Jamaican Pearl began to take full effect. He was now very close to orgasm.

“Oh! Baby …” cooed Rachel as she rubbed her wet cunt excitedly against his bare thigh. Up and down — wetting and re-wetting his skin, “It turns me on to think about what I could do with a nice pair, maybe a pre-teen brother and sister, maybe even twins … mmmmm … how delicious it would be to force them to perform lewd ritual sex acts together for Erzulie in front of us … to punish them if they did not do exactly as we commanded them to do … watch you rape them both for days on end … deprive them of food and water … force them to drink only our hot piss and eat our shit … Yes! Yes! Oh so depraved. Debase them. Torture their emancipated bodies … mmmmmm … and when we are done with them … ARGH … sacrifice them to the demon queen … Hail Erzulie! Hail Erzulie! Ayi bobo!”

Despite the ‘Gungo’, Peter bucked uncontrollably against Rachel’s small but articulate hands. He shot his hot creamy load across her feminine young face.

“Hail Erzulie! Hail Erzulie!” Rachel repeated over and over as she lapped up his sticky discharge.

Yes, she would get her way. Get a slave or maybe two. After all, she was so bored of his little white cock.


Peter awake. He was naked and lying across a bed. He was not at home, nor was he in some unfamiliar hotel room. No, it was Rachel’s place. Her little dingy apartment stunk of her vagina, of sexual secretions, of his spent semen. Where was she? What time was it? She must be out to get them breakfast. Maybe she had to go to work … what day was it? That Gungo was powerful stuff. His cock was still semi-stiff back to full erect. So horny. He rubbed it for a moment, enjoying the solo masturbatory pleasure.

He had begun to wonder how long she would be. He needed to fuck her again. She was so hot, weird but hot. How she had gone on and on about slavery … wanting to have a sex slave that they could abuse together. He was to take her to see Hekate.

Yes. Hekate would sort her out.

His curious eyes scanned the small dim room and settled on the pile of documents and objects laid on her desk. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the bed clothing and stood up. He still felt lightheaded. When the room stopped spinning, he carefully made his way to Rachel’s desk.

The damnable diary. Yes, it must be the blasted old diary of the fucking stupid white witch. Rachel’s pride and joy! Peter picked the old document up and turned it around as he examined it like something very unpleasant. It even smelt awful. Rachel was really special, but her fondness for this weird shit had him confounded. She was always going on about black magic, evil spirits, and shit like that. He absentmindedly opened the page that had been marked with a bookmark and gazed at its weird symbolism and faded hand-written text.

“Twas the twelfth day of June 1826 on the eve of a Great Ritual. Takoo and I boarded the Guerrero to meet its Spanish Captain, the most uncouth Joze Gomez. The Guerrero was an infamous Spanish Slaver (slave ship) of the Atlantic slave trade. It was heavily armed, carrying four long brass twelve-pounder guns and ten iron twelve-pounders, and carried a crew of ninety or more men. I had heard that such large, well-armed slave ships often engaged in piracy, robbing smaller ships of their cargoes, including their slaves.

“Captain Gomez had been in the slave trade for a long while and was obviously very successful at it. To prevent the slaves from running away, the Captain, who was overtly sadistic, would cut off the arms and legs of some of his slaves to terrify the rest into obedience. He had told us that the Guerrero had arrived in Ouidah, a West African port, and purchased some 692 slaves, about one-third of them women. Upon boarding the ship the slaves were always handcuffed to one another in pairs by their wrists and legs, and branded with a capital “G” to claim them for the Guerrero.

“Unfortunately the voyage reached Jamaica with only three-hundred-and-seventy-two slaves remaining. That meant that three hundred and twenty slaves had died or he been dumped overboard during the crossing to claim the insurance.

“Even from the topside, I could smell the vile stench of deprivation below. The concoction was caused by hundreds of slave bodies chained closely together in damp, dark, and cramped conditions, lying in their own vomit, blood, and human waste. On top of which, that distinctive nigger odor filled my nostrils – it was hard to curtail my sexual excitement.

“Takoo had struck an accord with the greedy Captain. A dozen young and virile male slaves were paraded before me. The Petro-Loa are demons, invoked for the sole purpose of black magick. To invoke them, blood sacrifices would be required, commonly used was a black chicken or a black goat – but tonight we needed the flesh and blood of ‘The goat without horn,’ … the offering of human sacrifice.

“Takoo had requested that they all be stripped naked for my lewd inspection in the privacy of the Captain’s cabin. My cunt moistened as I observed them. As I walked down the line, I examined each and every one of them, paying close attention to their flaccid genitals. All were to my approval, however, the second boy in the line-up caught my attention. I signaled to Takoo, and he dismissed the others, leaving the single slave boy naked, his hands chained behind his back. His bright eyes shone out from his coal-black face

“Takoo had secured the slave to the heavy beams in the roof of the cabin, and by pulling the chains, the slave boy’s arms raised until they were stretched above his head. Takoo stripped naked and was already fully aroused by the time my hand reached out to fondle the boy’s flaccid cock. The slave boy remained still, his eye glaring back at me in complete surprise at my actions. He flinched slightly at the unwelcome caress. By this time Takoo stood behind him stroking his erection against the groove of the boy’s rear – his intention made the boy whimper in resistance. His revulsion only spurred the both of on.

“I reached into the bag that I had brought on board and carefully retrieved the small-stripped adder – thought small; this snake’s venom had a powerful effect upon males if used upon their sexual organs. The snake wrapped itself around my wrist as I chanted my black magick spell. The boy’s eyes looked hypnotically as I moved the snake before him. I pressed the snake’s neck to extend its fangs and brought them down upon the soft black skin of the boy’s flaccid genitals. The venom took almost instantaneous effect. The boy’s mouth formed to scream in protest, but no sound came forth. His eyes looked wild and savage as the spirit of the serpent overcame him. His cock swelled immediately to its fullest erection. His hips pressed forward, as Takoo sank his cock into the boy’s rectum and I guided the boy’s venom-induced erection into my steamy cunt.”

The lock on Rachel’s apartment door turned.

Peter closed quickly the diary and looked up to see Rachel standing in the doorway. He felt embarrassed to be caught looking at her private things … his cock throbbingly hard as hell in his right hand.

“Sorry, to leave yer like that … was out gettin’ us some breakfast,” she announced holding up the brown paper bag as evidence, “Lookin’ at the diary, I see?”

“Errrr … Sorry, hope you don’t mind – was a little curious,” Peter lied, “Yes, it’s a rather strange thing. Rather bizarre.”

Rachel wasted no time. She dropped the bag on the side table, slipped her t-shirt dress over her head, and crossed the small room. As she gave him a kiss on the lips, she pressed her hairless cunt against the wet head of his urgent erection.

“Mmmmmmmmmm ….” Peter moaned.

He felt her hands wrap around his cock as she knelt before him, taking it into her hot, wet mouth, sucking it, and making animalistic grunts as she labored in his pleasure.

“Drink him dry and pray to Erzulie! He will bring us what we seek. We shall have our sacrifice. The goat with no horns … Hail Erzulie! Hail Erzulie! Hail Erzulie! …”

Peter’s mind slipped back to the strange story of the slaver ship … of the Captain who brutally chopped off the arms of his slaves, of the pedophilic Takoo sodomizing the screaming young slave boy; the evilness of witchcraft, serpent worship, and the White Witch orchestrating her evil pleasures … how perverted this character was that narrated the story.

Yes, he was not sure where this was all going, but if Rachel wanted a sex slave … he was giving her what she asked. He wanted to please her more than anything else. Even contemplating his actions to appease her brought even stronger waves of pleasure from her delicious mouth.



“I can’t wait. I can’t wait!” squealed the eager Rachel with all the excitement of a young child just before opening her gifts on Christmas Day.

Rachel was almost dancing on the spot as they both stood outside the secluded warehouse. It was located in an old and unfashionable part of Kingston deep within its industrial docklands.

It was nearly evening and the insufficient street lights, in this part of town, were in poor repair.

Peter escorted Rachel to a metal door set back under the archway that served as the entrance to “The Factory”. He knocked against the cold metal and a small sliding section opened to reveal the bright eyes of a nigger face.

As quickly as it opened, the slider slammed closed. Rachel could hear locks turn. Then the heavy door gives. Inside a large black man stood inside. Cigarette smoke rose from his down-turned mouth and he flicked the ash from what remained of the cigarette stub.

Wordlessly they both entered. Peter indicated for Rachel to follow him downwards into the bowels of the building, leaving the docklands behind.

“The wharf is the perfect location. The police that know about this place stay away. They are all afraid of ‘The Factory’ and they are all afraid of her.”

“Her?” asked Rachel touching her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her top.

“She calls herself Hekate. Others call her the ‘Underworld Goddess’ and some say the ‘Evil Queen of the Night’.”

Peter continued to explain that it was Hekate who presided over the breaking-in of all the slaves. Hekate was vicious. Hekate was a complete sadist. It was rumored that Hekate even thrilled over the eating of human flesh.

At the bottom of the stairwell was a rusty gate. It squeaked loudly as it opened into a dark corridor of metal doors with one open at the end. The basement was humid and smelled of dampness, dilapidation, and stale urine. Peter stopped and pointed ahead.

“You are not joining me?” asked Rachel.

“No. She is the reason I brought you here. Hekate will give you what you seek.”

Rachel looked down the long dark corridor. Peter patted her backside and she smiled thinly. The passageway was illuminated by only a few flickering fluorescent light bulbs that crackled and complained as she walked towards the door at the end that was ajar with a warm glow.

The room inside was dully lit and as she entered she did not notice the woman sitting waiting for her in the shadows of one of many bare brick alcoves. Incense burned with sickly sweetness masking the more iron-smell of ritually spilt blood. Upon the pe’ (altar) were tributes to the Vodou Goddess Erzulie, to the Vodou God Legbos, and to the serpent-god Danbhalah-Waldo, adorned with the omens of evil and other Vodou paraphernalia.


Rachel was a little surprised and looked around to see the source of the voice. From the alcove behind the altar emerged the Dark Queen. Hekate.

“Hekate?” Rachel asked tentatively.


Rachel complied, stripping completely naked. Her cunt throbbed immediately. Hekate was a beautiful dark Ashanti woman. Her naked black skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat. In the semi-darkness of the room, she was like an emancipated shadow.

“You know me name. But du you know who I truly am?”

“You train his slaves …”

“So that’s what the Obroni (white man) told you?”

As Rachel spoke she was aware of other smaller shadows emerging from the darkness of the alcoves. There must have been a dozen or more, dark-skinned boys and girls, no older than ten years – all naked. The girls’ bare chests were as flat as the boys. The boys were all visibly aroused.

“Tis is true. I take care of the new slaves for the Obroni. But this is only one of my many roles. I am the black mamba (priestess) and here in our oum’phor (Vodou temple) we evoke the evil ones and ‘mount the horse’ … possessed by the spirits of the Loa of the Guedes accompanied by the houn’torguiers (drummers).”

The young naked children had formed a loose circle around her. Their ranks parted to allow their goddess, Hekate, to step between them. Hekate’s bulbous breasts stood firm and erect, adorned with necklaces of human bone and horsehair, not so unlike the one that had belonged to the White Witch. Her long thin legs moved with a dancer’s gracile movements.

“The Obroni says that you are very curious about the ‘White Witch of Rose Hall’ … He says you are cajoled with this evil demon … He says that your interest in her has brought you to me … He says that you desire the flesh of the innocent. Like the White Witch, your wish is for Obeah (poisonous) and harmful sex magick?”

“Pay homage to her. Yes. Yes … Kneel down before her,” said the voice in her head, “Honor her. She is our spiritual guide to the cannibalistic and demonic underworld. The Guedes all are various spirits of death and dying … of debauchery and lewdness … of graveyards and sexual spirits … they govern the renewal of life and all worship the snake-god, Danbhalah-Waldo … who demands the blood sacrifice of the ‘goat without horns’ – these are their secret words for a human sacrifice.”

“You know my heart’s desire, great Hekate,” replied Rachel. “The ‘White Witch’ says that you are our spirit guide … that Guedes spirits worship the snake god, Danbhalah-Waldo?”

Rachel did not wait for an answer to her rhetorical questions; she followed her inner voice and knelt before the Hekate. Hekate smiled at Rachel’s efforts to honor her.

“The Obroni does not know, does he?” asked Hekate, “He has no idea that you are already possessed … that the demon resides inside you. I feel her presence.”

The circle of children closed around her. The bereft drumming began. The boys rubbed their hard cocks as they began to dance in salute to their evil queen. Hekate stood with her legs wide so that her steaming hot cunt was parallel to Rachel’s face. The copious black oily hair covering her mons pubis and the pitch-black skin of her outer labia contrasted against the cerise pink of her inner flesh. Hekate’s cunt dripped with her sexual secretions.

“Lick her. Suck her. Devour her! Fuck her with your tongue,” screamed the inner voice.

Rachel’s hands reached forward. They grasped her hips and pulled Hekate’s groin towards her as she lent forward, craning her neck as she began lapping enthusiastically at Hekate’s juicy nigger cunt. The putrid nigger smell of sweat, human waste, and sexual juices filled her nostrils. The drumming became louder. Its din was now unbearably loud – and as the Pedro beat pounded, the children began to frot, masturbate and chant Creole obscenities to appease their demons.

Hekate’s clit pressed against Rachel’s upper lip, swelling beyond the dimensions of any normal woman. Rachel felt it too. She sucked upon it, taking it into her mouth as Hekate continued to buck against Rachel’s little white face. The gracile black woman held the back of Rachel’s head firmly against her, grinding her smelly snatch as her penis-sized clitoris became harder and harder filling Rachel’s willing mouth. Hekate’s orgasm was very close.

“URGHHHHHHHHHHH … ” Hekate groaned loudly.

Rachel went wild, possessed by this black devil, as Hekate urinated into the open mouth of her kneeling accomplice. Rachel swallowed mouth after mouth as the piss deluge of salty sour liquid continued unabated. Hekate pushed Rachel away from her but continued to piss, her thick yellow stream drenched Rachel from head to foot as she lay back upon the filth-matted floor of Hakate’s evil temple.

“Your baptism!” moaned Hekate as she began rubbing her engorged fleshy clit.

The circle of young nigger children descended upon Rachel from all directions, lapping at her child-sized body. A young black boy fell between her open legs desperately trying to penetrate her. His copulation was fast and ferocious. Rachel did not resist. On the contrary, she rutted against him drawing his stiff black member into her dripping wet cunt hole. His semen pumped inside her and he was quickly replaced with another boy, equally eager to fill her cunt. They all seemed depraved, sex-crazed. Other mouths sucked upon her piss-wet nipples as she reached to touch their eager and aroused genitals.

The pedophilic corruption ensued around her.

One young girl knelt across Rachel’s face, settling down and allowing Rachel to sink her eager tongue into the girl’s hot little cunt. The hot oily floor was a mass of black limbs and sexual entanglements. It was hard to tell where one child began and another ended. Hard cocks and hungry cunt surrounded Rachel — who squealed in delight as yet another thick dark cock pressed urgently against her puckered little anal bud.


Rachel found Peter waiting in the car outside ‘The Factory’. The driver had the engine running. Rachel slipped inside and slid across the plush white leather of the back seat, to sit next to him. The door closed and the car began to leave the curb.

“Your baptism!” said the inner voice, “You are truly one of us now. Can you felt us … Inside of you?”

Rachel looked out of the one-way windows at the world outside. It all seemed so surreal. Neither Rachel nor Peter said a word to each other for the longest time. Finally, Rachel went to break the silence. Maybe she wanted to explain the strangeness that she felt. Maybe to share the perverseness of her baptism? Maybe, she wanted to say something about Hekate’s promise, and of a boy child and a girl child — to be delivered anon? Maybe Rachel wanted to explain the length of time she spent there. Maybe she wanted to say thank you to him? But as she started to speak, Peter stopped her.

“Whatever happened between you and Hekate … it’s not of my concern.”

He doesn’t know. He has no idea of the extent of how deep the rabbit hole goes. He can only think of the commerce and his profit share … But he is in self-denial. He thinks he controls a thing that he doesn’t truly understand. He is out of his depth. Our evil is pervasive. Hekate be praised. He can be manipulated so easily. Hail the great serpent Snake-God. The time to act is here. Ayi bobo (hallelujah) Danbhalah-Waldo.


Ayi bobo. The time to act is here.

It had been only a few days from their ‘gunshot’ wedding at the local registry. Nothing fancy — just functional. Hekate be praised. He was so gullible. How did he ever make it so far in the underworld? After they had ‘consummated the marriage in a two-day sexual marathon fueled by ‘Gungo’ … she no longer cared for his pathetic white cock.

They were irresistible.

They… Rachel mussed … Her and her evil thoughts kept Rachel companion day and night. They urging her. They compel her. Peter had voiced his dislike for what he called the ‘damnable diary’ — but to Rachel, the ‘Diary of the White Witch’ had undoubtedly illuminated many things beyond the words of the bedeviled harlot, Annie Palmer. She felt kindred to the historical figure. As she read her penned words, the arousal grew to the point of an egregious fervor. Increasingly, Rachel felt almost one with Annie.

“It was the time of the great offering on the thirteenth day of June 1826. The ‘goat without horns’ would be sacrificed before the effigy of great Loa at the secretive ‘Temples des Pythons’. The Python Temple had been built around an ancient tree, where goats and birds are usually sacrificed to the serpent spirit. The inner courtyard contained a purification altar before which the priest/ priestesses performed profane rites to entice the interests of the evil sexual spirits. The priestesses and priests were said to become possessed with the wickedness of the Loa, transforming them both mentally and physically. No longer human … they were enabled with strange Julu supernatural and sexual powers.

“I wanted these powers.

“Obscene murals had been pre-painted in human blood and feces upon all the surrounding walls of the snake ‘shrine’ pit, illustrating the perverted sexual ritual of phallic ophiolatreia and great offering to come. It would be a human sacrifice made to celebrate the conjoining of Serpent Loa, Danbhalah-Waldo, and its Houedah Priestess. Sexual penetration with these animals would be assisted by a concoction of the devotees’ semen, menstrual blood, body parts, and blood from sacrificed babies.

“The animal nature would be evoked.

“My late husband, John Palmer, sort to control and frighten our slaves – many of which were recent arrivals, straight from their homeland of Africa. Some carried with them various ‘fetishes’. These were mostly dolls or carved images; some were stones, animal hair, claws, or even bones. They were meant to protect them and to ward off evil spirits. John would have them confiscated and sought to have many baptized into Catholicism to curb their so-called ‘animal nature’. But still, they would persist and secretly pray to their beloved snake-god Danbhalah-Waldo, in the guise of the Catholic Saint, St. Patrick. His answer to this was imprisonment, sometimes hanging, or the occasional flaying to keep these Obeah practices in check.

“Before his death. I would support him as I enjoyed the unnecessary cruelty that it manifested. But after I killed him – I discontinued such practice. The new Mistress openly encouraged their worship of their pseudo-sexual gods and goddesses. With the help of Takoo, we incorporated much of the black magick that I had been inoculated in during my early years under my pedophilic African nanny, the exotic Efik tribal goddess, whom I knew only as Sadiah. Sadiah taught many sadistic and perverted sexual practices that I was only too happy to unleash on my slave population.

“They soon realized that under the rule of ‘White Witch’ things had become exponentially worse. Violence and sexual abuse of their children became commonplace as I used them in my personal rituals, frequently killing them once I grew tired of them. I had a ferocious taste of nigger cock and nigger cunt. I indulged myself in every perverted act I had ever dreamt about.



Peter grunted as the thick root of the effeminate batty-bwoy’s cock thrust deeply in and out of his tight white asshole. He grunted perversely as he felt his anal passage invaded and stretched impossibly around the nigger queer’s meat. Peter’s grimaced face poured with sweat and was flushed with a shade of crimson red.

Peter had been drinking for most of the day and now all of them, with the exception of Rachel, were high on a concoction of Jamaican Pearl and Gungo.

Luxuriating at the moment, she fingered the human bone necklace that hung around her pretty white neck. The sight of her newly acquired husband’s discomfort, stuffed with nigger cock battering his tight virgin rectum, brought such evil delight. Rachel furiously masturbated herself. This was a delight that had an ancient feeling of deja vu …

Was his suffering not exquisite? (Asked an inner voice that welled upwards within her psyche) … It urged her to pleasure herself harder and faster.

Now the second naked batty-bwoy mounted Peter’s face. Peter’s eyes bulged wildly as the emaciated shemale pressed her oily black cock further into his over-stuffed mouth. Peter’s jaw looked tautened. He began gagging as the faggot pissed down his throat and fucked his face harder and harder. The overflow of urine poured from the corners of his mouth as the black cock pressed further with increasing urgency.

The smell of nigger sweat, spilled semen, and piss filled Rachel’s nostrils. She bucked against her fingers as they thrust in and out of her eager cunt in a mirroring of the rhythm of her husband’s rape fuck.

Peter’s lack of confidence and wailing enthusiasm for this arrangement was very telling. His small flaccid penis and balls looked shrunken beneath his protruding belly. The combination of drugs and alcohol was affecting his ability to fight back. He struggled aimlessly. In his insufficiency, his pale arms just flapped like the broken wings of a damaged bird, as he tried to desperately disengage from being screwed from both ends. But alas – the youthful batty-bwoys were hell-bent on reaching their own profane climaxes. Peter’s lack of active participation only seemed to excite them more.

His pleading eyes met Rachel’s look of pure rapture at his predicament. He looked pathetic. Weak. The Obroni skewered meat in a fucking sandwich that seemed to overwhelm him and consume him in its urgency of demonic lust.

From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Hekate enter. Her naked black body shone like polished ebony. In one hand she carried a curved sheathed knife – a sacrificial blade used for the gutting of goats and the other a chalice (for collecting the spilled blood).

Rachel grinned at the brink of another orgasm as she watched Hekate draw the razor-sharp dagger from its bejeweled hilt. So, her new husband was to be “the goat without horns” … Yes … And his death, when they found his bloodied body with its slit throat and bloating from semen, would be blamed on the rising issues of drug-related gang violence and ritual murder.

“Hail Erzulie!” she professed.




If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author, who is always hungry for encouragement and affirmation, please email xpanther2019@protonmail.com