"Only if you're sure."
Andrea Hooper laughed as she moved to the couch to sit beside her husband, placing her briefcase on the floor. She had been married to Jack for nearly ten years, and in that time she had found joy and desire beyond her wildest imagination. Married at seventeen, she was seduced by Jack Hooper throughout her senior year in High School, and by the time she was ready for college he had proposed. She loved him with everything that she had, and while he had roots that leaned toward a more vampiric heritage, she was able to ignore the natural instinct of flight and instead join him in holy matrimony.
She found it sweet and adorable that even after a decade he was still concerned with her feelings; most husbands would have dulled the edge of such burden years ago. "I'm positive, sweetie. You deserve this, and have been planning it for two weeks. You need to do it. Your last job was difficult and time consuming, and you and your friends deserve a night out."
"Why don't you come along?"
She laughed again as she dropped her hand into his. "I saw the email, love. And I'm pretty sure it said in bold, italic, underlined letters no wives!"
"I don't know." Jack replied with a small sigh, his pretty eyes searching for any sign of grievance as his hand enclosed around hers, enjoying the feel of those soft fingers lacing within his own.
There was none. No discord or disturbance in the violet jewels of her gaze. If anything, there was only elation at the sight of him, and perhaps a bit of concern that he was more distraught at the thought of going than she was at the thought of him missing out. "Jack. You're going."
From the small front pocket of his vest he pulled an antiquated time piece and flipped it open, searching the numeric face that lay within. "Alright, well, it is seven thirty-six. If I leave now I can get there by eight and be back by ten or eleven at the latest." He flipped it closed with a click and put it away. "Sound good?"
She pulled her hand out of his, but only to coil her slender arms around his neck as she leaned forward, drawing him into a tight hug. Lips met with a soft tenderness, and even after nearly ten years every kiss was still lovingly savored. "You're going." She whispered against his mouth. "Now get out of here."
Jack kissed her back, something he loved doing, and intensified the embrace with the velvet insurgence of his tongue. She echoed the soothing caress, and for a moment he considered abandoning the plans for the evening and simply enjoying the company of his wife right there on the couch. But she broke the seduction and whispered her insistence, to which he responded with a nervous laugh. "You still like the house, right?"
Andrea giggled and kissed him again, this one just as soft, just as cherished. "You bought me a castle, Jack. You made me a princess. It's every woman's dream."
*****************************************
Andrea watched through the kitchen window as the lavish carriage pulled around the crescent-moon drive and started away down the long path that lead toward Rhy'din. They had bought the castle near the Southern Glen just a few years back; Jack insisted on the expensive abode. Just months before the purchase she had mentioned to him that a couple of her friends were moving into luxurious homes and she wasn't surprised that Mr. Hooper suddenly sought to outdo them both by procuring such an affluent domain.
From the kitchen she made her way across the house and up the stairs toward her bedroom, nodding to one of the of servants who roamed the castle. Jack had wanted a full entourage of attendants to occupy the house and see to her every need, but Andrea was adamant that, at most, they only needed a handful. She could still see that disappointed look in his eyes, like a boy whose candy had been stolen, and found a soft smile at the memory.
The master bedroom of the manor was larger than some homes in Rhy'din, and decorated with gilded sconces and sterling candelabras. It was a massive chamber that could easily hold the entire staff of the house, and yet had never been occupied by more than she, Jack, and the cleaning staff...and never all at once. She bypassed the lush, four-post bed whose covers were immaculately settled, and instead headed for the cherry oak wardrobe that nestled into the corner of the south and east wall. It was taller than her, nearly ten feet in height, though still had plenty of room between it and the vaulted ceiling. On a trip through the Marketplace she had seen it sitting on a corner just outside a book store, and was instantly drawn to its ancient design. Petulantly she had demanded that Jack stop and get it for her, and being the solicitous man that he was, he had complied without any argument.
She coveted the wardrobe, though. Loved it with a strange affection, and allowed no other attire or garment beside her own to fill it.
She took the small silver knobs that protruded from the doors and pulled them open, instantly overwhelmed by the fresh aroma of her clean laundry along with the docile linger of a cinnamon scent. That smell had been there since day one, alighting her sense of smell, tingling her flesh.
Andrea took a moment to examine her reflection in the full length mirror riding inside the left door. She was taller than average, but not by much, and the lush fall of her blonde hair appeared pale and golden in the setting sunlight that lanced the western window behind her. The bank's requirement of a professional appearance resulted in a cream colored blouse and brown pencil skirt that hugged her curvaceous body, with shapely legs poured into silken hosiery and matching shoes sporting a small heel. Subtly sexy is what Jack called it, and she liked that. Not flamboyant. Not lurid. But the implication wafted around her like a cloud of cloaked desire.
She reached out and stroked the reflection with an intimate caress, the smile that blessed her beautiful lips parting to speak. "Deschis."
The harsh contradiction of such a lovely creature uttering that dark and powerful word was enough to send waves of energy reaching throughout the room, extinguishing half of the candles and sending the rest into a violent dance. The image in the mirror rippled fluidly as though a stone had been cast into calm waters, and with an elegant step Andrea Hooper crossed into the oscillating image, and disappeared from the chamber.
**************************************
She stepped into darkness. The click of her heels against the sturdy rock was odd and artificial, the hewn stairwell she descended sweeping gently into a spiral-like form. She kept her hand slightly extended so that fingertips could trail along the near wall. It wasn't complete darkness, but it was thick enough to greatly obscure her vision, and the touch against the wall gave her confidence in her balance. She had traveled those steps a dozen times, though each and every one had been with the aid of such precautionary measures.
A room opened up at the bottom of the stairs, extending outward in a circular shape with a domed ceiling that completed is oval appearance. It was a natural chamber, the floor and stone walls unattended by any sort of craftsmanship, with that lone entrance the only way in and the only way out. Tall candelabras cast a golden glimmer throughout the cavernous room, standing at the four 'corners' and housing five candles each, though only the outer four were lit. The central candle was unbothered, though that would all change shortly. While the candelabras held a certain magnificence to them, what was centered inside the four was the most fascinating aspect of the chamber. A thick slab of stone as black as the devil's soul was cut into the shape of a jagged looking shard, the sides dangerously edged though the top was as smooth as marble. Partially covering it was a silken cover of rich claret with tattered ends that spilled off the edges as if the sheet were dripping away.
A figured laid sprawled across the slab, naked.
He was an older man, his dark hair riddled with silver, whose lines of age had started to muddle the definition of once proud muscle. As she crossed the room her heels echoed upon the floor, stirring him from his assisted slumber, and as his lids parted with heavy labor she arrived and dropped her slender hand to his cheek, stroking his face lovingly.
"An...Andrea?" He asked through a cloud of dementia. "Is that you?"
"Yes." She replied softly. "It's me, father."
He wasn't truly her father, but her father-in-law. He was actually Jack's father. The distant thought of her husband drew a smile across her painted lips, and quickly she glanced over her shoulder to the archway that lead up the stairs to her wardrobe. How terribly she missed him. She looked back then, and stroked the man's face again. "Did you sleep well?"
"What the hell is going on?"
Andrea could tell by the way his eyes lolled that he wasn't exactly back to astute lucidity, but he was getting there. She brushed her fingers down his cheek and chin and dropped her tender touch to his chest, where beatific fingernails traced the outline of symbols that had been carved into his flesh.
His entire body snapped taut and he groaned with pain.
"Your destiny will soon be complete." She explained. There were six symbols total, all of them intricate and intense, forming a ring that swept down from his pectorals to his stomach. "It's been a long time in the making."
"I...I don't understand. Where am I? What is doing this? Are you doing this, Andrea?"
Her gaze lifted from the etchings to look into his eyes, where she smiled perhaps a bit too pretentiously. "I am doing this, father. Though I am but an instrument set upon a path." Her hand fell from the markings, descending along the indention of his abdominal muscles to just below the navel. "A small piece that makes up a greater power."
She watched as he strained his shoulders and arms, arching his back and grinding his heels into the smooth stone. He was trying to stand, though the effort was fruitless. "You are bound to the altar, father. There is no chain or rope, but the dark word that fastens you upon it."
"Altar?" He snapped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Listen here, girl. You let me up this instant or I will see to it that Jack finds out about this! I doubt he will be very understanding."
Andrea laughed something sweet and pure, even as her hand dropped again, this time to encompass the flaccid length of his manhood. "Perhaps you are right."
"Andrea!" He protested harshly, once more straining against the invisible binding.
With her delicate fingers encircling the limp organ, she gently began to arouse it with languid strokes that started at the base and moved clear to the tip. Her eyes fell to survey its growth, the sparkle that ignited within her a testament to her own growing excitement. " Creşte." She whispered passionately, though the word itself was carried upon a harsher arcana that bathed his hips with power.
The elder Hooper's body betrayed him as the dark energy infused within his loins, and though horrified by what was occurring, that terror was amplified as the lax shape of his endowment began to engorge. "What are you doing?" He gasped.
"Well this just won't do, father. In order to complete the ritual I'll need you a bit more stout than what you've naturally offered. No worries, I'm not offended." She bent at the waist then and very lovingly placed a gentle kiss upon the now-swollen head. "I can imagine the stress you are under."
"Stop!" He pleaded. "What is going on?"
She reveled in the feel of his heavy girth filling her small hand. The Carnal Prince had taught her about the magnificence of such a relic, had taught her to love it, worship it, and in return be worshipped by it. Another series of drawn out silken strokes were administered before hesitantly she pulled her hand away to join its twin at the buttons that enclosed her blouse. "I was told in a dream that you were once a star gazer, is that true?"
He wheezed through an arid throat as he watched her unfasten her top, the buttons splaying one-by-one all the way down. "What do you mean?"
She pulled the shirt apart to reveal the white lace bra beneath and dismissed it from her shoulders with a shrug. The garment poured down her arms and puddled upon the floor behind her. "Your mother, I believe. She was able to see things in the stars, wasn't she?"
He tried to look away, tried to fight the primordial fascination that was guiding his eyes, but couldn't. Whatever it was that she had done to him, it kept his head still and his gaze fixated upon her naked flesh. "She was. She could see things. Emotions. Thoughts. But I don't see why that matters!"
Andrea reached back and unzipped the skirt at the small of her back. With slack at the hips, the garment slipped downward to pool around her feet, revealing the lingerie she wore beneath. The lace garter was fashioned to be paired with her bra, suspending her creamy stockings tightly up her legs with a matching pair of panties sheathing her most sacred treasure. "It has everything to do with everything." She laughed. "That is why you are here." She let her eyes fall to his, even as her hand dropped to the dagger that lay beside him on the altar, the same one that had etched those markings into his body. "That is why we are here."
He shuddered through a heavy inhale, the fight to regain his composure lost to the seething arousal that burned inside of him. Whatever sinful imbuement she had cast upon him, it was irresistible. "Please, Andrea." He begged. "Don't do this."
Andrea moaned softly as she slipped the blade beneath her bra, the cold steel sliding smoothly upward between the valley of her breasts. With a flick of the wrist it sliced through the lacy material, cutting it away to let her bosom bouncing free. "That's touching." She said softly as her eyes glossed with a liquid lust. She sucked in a breath, making her already narrow waist no larger than a hand span, and dipped the keen dagger blade into her panties. Another snap of the wrist, another elated moan, and the lingerie was torn away, falling to the ground in shreds.
It was time.
****************************************
"?njosi această fată fără valoare, Aukai! Ia-mă! Ia-mă!" Andrea cried as she harshly ground herself downward onto his hips. Straddling him upon the altar, she tucked his saluting girth within the velvet well of her core, and forced it deep inside with a drop of her svelte body. The empty tome lay open upon the Hooper sire's marked chest, and she stared down upon the blank pages, desperate to fill them with their conjoined power. The dagger was held tightly in her left hand.
She let the invasion settle, let her body mold around the foreign insurgence, until nerve endings no longer tingled, and flesh no longer strained. She gasped at the bulky possession, equating it to the same fulfillment Jack gave her, and smiled at that thought. "Your son carries on your endowment." She whispered.
Mortified, the man laid back and could only gasp. The dark energy that infected him kept his eyes focused upon her naked nipples, on her rolling hips, and disallowed any notion to conceal her from view. Yearning burned in his stomach, sinful craving, and though horrified to be prone beneath her, he had never felt a sensations as darkly appealing as what she offered.
She undulated, stirring his embedded root with a limber circuit of her hips and a husky, pleading moan. How she loved the swollen incursion, how she reveled in the firm strain of her small cleft. She began to build a rhythm using only her hips and knees, his glazed phallus easily navigating through the slick tightness of her core. She stared down at the handsome visage that so incredibly foretold of what her husband would look like in the years to come, and whimpered a plea that matched his own. "Umple acest vas fără valoare."
The center candle of the northern candelabra ignited.
"I don't know what you are saying." He begged through a stifled groan. The passion of his loins had already began to stir, and her seductive mastery of his engorged member called for it with a quickened demand. He clenched his teeth together and tried to do the same with his eyes, but they would not avert from the sight of her bouncing atop him.
"Revendicaţi-l ca fiind a ta." The harsh impact of her sensual gyration began to resonate, though the sound was no competition for the desperate cries that tore from her lips.
The center candle of the western candelabra ignited.
Terror had become a distant memory as the dark magic that she conjured possessed him. All that he knew was passion, comingled pain and pleasure, that ruptured from within to surge through his numb limbs.
The center candle of the eastern candelabra ignited.
Pace quickened and passionate ardor surged between conjoined hips, racing each of them toward the dark apogee; both ritualistic and carnally. Cries, groans, whimpers and growls sang out in lascivious symphony, with scurrilous dialogue echoing across the circular chamber as sweat soaked bodies hammered together.
The center candle of the southern candelabra ignited.
"Luaţi acest om si da-mi puterea lui!" Andrea cried out as she felt the powerful release claim her body, and drew the dagger held within her hand high above her head.
In perfect time with the climax of the woman who rode him, the Hooper sire clenched his teeth together to stifle the unattested moan that sought to breach his dry lips, and loosed within her creamy jets of his aroused nectar. At the crest of his brilliant spans he forced his eyes open, just in time to catch the downward plunge of the dagger.
It pierced the book, driving through the inner hinge and out the back of the spine, where it punctured naked flesh and buried deep into Mr. Hooper's chest. He lurched forward, and the gasp he exuded was laced with a thin spew of blood. He looked up at her, pleading, begging, and found her staring back down at him. Though her eyes were not her own, they were not beautiful jewels of amethyst...
...but empty wells of creamy white.
The grin that crossed Andrea's beautiful and sweet face was something wicked and vile, which only grew wider as she drove the dagger to its hilt. She quivered with the final apex of Mr. Hooper's release, and clenched her tight core to keep him trapped deep inside. She parted her quivering, grinning, lips, and spoke into the silent room with a whisper. "Scrie această putere asupra acestor pagini goale, maestru Aukai!"
There was a flare of magic between them, something red and potent, that was invisible yet felt. The Hooper elder felt this energy sapping strength and life from him, and though he tried to fight the effects of the incantation he could do nothing but lay beneath the splayed thighs of his daughter-in-law and watch as she killed him.
The power that was drained from the man poured directly into the book, and those once empty pages were quickly scribed with an ancient text the color of blood.
************************************************** ***********
Andrea Hooper made her way into the Teas'N Tomes, the chime of the bell above her head drawing an elegant smile that was a welcomed sight by the man behind the counter.
He returned it. "Anything I can do for you, ma'am?"
She smiled at him and shook her head. "No thank you, sir. I'm only looking." She answered him in midstride before disappearing between a long hall of bookshelves. That wasn't exactly true. She wasn't looking as much as she was being guided. She moved through the categorized albums and compendiums, with the sightless, though very tangible, touch of the Carnal Prince guiding her along the way. Finally she felt that pull tighten and stopped.
After a quick look around she reached into the deep bag she carried on her shoulder and pulled from it the book that she and Mr. Hooper crafted. She brought it to her face and placed the most gentle of kisses upon its cover before wedging it between a pair of volumes. She pushed it all the way in and turned to begin away, unconsciously reaching out to brush a small glaze of dust from the heading that marked that particular genre.
Astrology.
Andrea Hooper laughed as she moved to the couch to sit beside her husband, placing her briefcase on the floor. She had been married to Jack for nearly ten years, and in that time she had found joy and desire beyond her wildest imagination. Married at seventeen, she was seduced by Jack Hooper throughout her senior year in High School, and by the time she was ready for college he had proposed. She loved him with everything that she had, and while he had roots that leaned toward a more vampiric heritage, she was able to ignore the natural instinct of flight and instead join him in holy matrimony.
She found it sweet and adorable that even after a decade he was still concerned with her feelings; most husbands would have dulled the edge of such burden years ago. "I'm positive, sweetie. You deserve this, and have been planning it for two weeks. You need to do it. Your last job was difficult and time consuming, and you and your friends deserve a night out."
"Why don't you come along?"
She laughed again as she dropped her hand into his. "I saw the email, love. And I'm pretty sure it said in bold, italic, underlined letters no wives!"
"I don't know." Jack replied with a small sigh, his pretty eyes searching for any sign of grievance as his hand enclosed around hers, enjoying the feel of those soft fingers lacing within his own.
There was none. No discord or disturbance in the violet jewels of her gaze. If anything, there was only elation at the sight of him, and perhaps a bit of concern that he was more distraught at the thought of going than she was at the thought of him missing out. "Jack. You're going."
From the small front pocket of his vest he pulled an antiquated time piece and flipped it open, searching the numeric face that lay within. "Alright, well, it is seven thirty-six. If I leave now I can get there by eight and be back by ten or eleven at the latest." He flipped it closed with a click and put it away. "Sound good?"
She pulled her hand out of his, but only to coil her slender arms around his neck as she leaned forward, drawing him into a tight hug. Lips met with a soft tenderness, and even after nearly ten years every kiss was still lovingly savored. "You're going." She whispered against his mouth. "Now get out of here."
Jack kissed her back, something he loved doing, and intensified the embrace with the velvet insurgence of his tongue. She echoed the soothing caress, and for a moment he considered abandoning the plans for the evening and simply enjoying the company of his wife right there on the couch. But she broke the seduction and whispered her insistence, to which he responded with a nervous laugh. "You still like the house, right?"
Andrea giggled and kissed him again, this one just as soft, just as cherished. "You bought me a castle, Jack. You made me a princess. It's every woman's dream."
*****************************************
Andrea watched through the kitchen window as the lavish carriage pulled around the crescent-moon drive and started away down the long path that lead toward Rhy'din. They had bought the castle near the Southern Glen just a few years back; Jack insisted on the expensive abode. Just months before the purchase she had mentioned to him that a couple of her friends were moving into luxurious homes and she wasn't surprised that Mr. Hooper suddenly sought to outdo them both by procuring such an affluent domain.
From the kitchen she made her way across the house and up the stairs toward her bedroom, nodding to one of the of servants who roamed the castle. Jack had wanted a full entourage of attendants to occupy the house and see to her every need, but Andrea was adamant that, at most, they only needed a handful. She could still see that disappointed look in his eyes, like a boy whose candy had been stolen, and found a soft smile at the memory.
The master bedroom of the manor was larger than some homes in Rhy'din, and decorated with gilded sconces and sterling candelabras. It was a massive chamber that could easily hold the entire staff of the house, and yet had never been occupied by more than she, Jack, and the cleaning staff...and never all at once. She bypassed the lush, four-post bed whose covers were immaculately settled, and instead headed for the cherry oak wardrobe that nestled into the corner of the south and east wall. It was taller than her, nearly ten feet in height, though still had plenty of room between it and the vaulted ceiling. On a trip through the Marketplace she had seen it sitting on a corner just outside a book store, and was instantly drawn to its ancient design. Petulantly she had demanded that Jack stop and get it for her, and being the solicitous man that he was, he had complied without any argument.
She coveted the wardrobe, though. Loved it with a strange affection, and allowed no other attire or garment beside her own to fill it.
She took the small silver knobs that protruded from the doors and pulled them open, instantly overwhelmed by the fresh aroma of her clean laundry along with the docile linger of a cinnamon scent. That smell had been there since day one, alighting her sense of smell, tingling her flesh.
Andrea took a moment to examine her reflection in the full length mirror riding inside the left door. She was taller than average, but not by much, and the lush fall of her blonde hair appeared pale and golden in the setting sunlight that lanced the western window behind her. The bank's requirement of a professional appearance resulted in a cream colored blouse and brown pencil skirt that hugged her curvaceous body, with shapely legs poured into silken hosiery and matching shoes sporting a small heel. Subtly sexy is what Jack called it, and she liked that. Not flamboyant. Not lurid. But the implication wafted around her like a cloud of cloaked desire.
She reached out and stroked the reflection with an intimate caress, the smile that blessed her beautiful lips parting to speak. "Deschis."
The harsh contradiction of such a lovely creature uttering that dark and powerful word was enough to send waves of energy reaching throughout the room, extinguishing half of the candles and sending the rest into a violent dance. The image in the mirror rippled fluidly as though a stone had been cast into calm waters, and with an elegant step Andrea Hooper crossed into the oscillating image, and disappeared from the chamber.
**************************************
She stepped into darkness. The click of her heels against the sturdy rock was odd and artificial, the hewn stairwell she descended sweeping gently into a spiral-like form. She kept her hand slightly extended so that fingertips could trail along the near wall. It wasn't complete darkness, but it was thick enough to greatly obscure her vision, and the touch against the wall gave her confidence in her balance. She had traveled those steps a dozen times, though each and every one had been with the aid of such precautionary measures.
A room opened up at the bottom of the stairs, extending outward in a circular shape with a domed ceiling that completed is oval appearance. It was a natural chamber, the floor and stone walls unattended by any sort of craftsmanship, with that lone entrance the only way in and the only way out. Tall candelabras cast a golden glimmer throughout the cavernous room, standing at the four 'corners' and housing five candles each, though only the outer four were lit. The central candle was unbothered, though that would all change shortly. While the candelabras held a certain magnificence to them, what was centered inside the four was the most fascinating aspect of the chamber. A thick slab of stone as black as the devil's soul was cut into the shape of a jagged looking shard, the sides dangerously edged though the top was as smooth as marble. Partially covering it was a silken cover of rich claret with tattered ends that spilled off the edges as if the sheet were dripping away.
A figured laid sprawled across the slab, naked.
He was an older man, his dark hair riddled with silver, whose lines of age had started to muddle the definition of once proud muscle. As she crossed the room her heels echoed upon the floor, stirring him from his assisted slumber, and as his lids parted with heavy labor she arrived and dropped her slender hand to his cheek, stroking his face lovingly.
"An...Andrea?" He asked through a cloud of dementia. "Is that you?"
"Yes." She replied softly. "It's me, father."
He wasn't truly her father, but her father-in-law. He was actually Jack's father. The distant thought of her husband drew a smile across her painted lips, and quickly she glanced over her shoulder to the archway that lead up the stairs to her wardrobe. How terribly she missed him. She looked back then, and stroked the man's face again. "Did you sleep well?"
"What the hell is going on?"
Andrea could tell by the way his eyes lolled that he wasn't exactly back to astute lucidity, but he was getting there. She brushed her fingers down his cheek and chin and dropped her tender touch to his chest, where beatific fingernails traced the outline of symbols that had been carved into his flesh.
His entire body snapped taut and he groaned with pain.
"Your destiny will soon be complete." She explained. There were six symbols total, all of them intricate and intense, forming a ring that swept down from his pectorals to his stomach. "It's been a long time in the making."
"I...I don't understand. Where am I? What is doing this? Are you doing this, Andrea?"
Her gaze lifted from the etchings to look into his eyes, where she smiled perhaps a bit too pretentiously. "I am doing this, father. Though I am but an instrument set upon a path." Her hand fell from the markings, descending along the indention of his abdominal muscles to just below the navel. "A small piece that makes up a greater power."
She watched as he strained his shoulders and arms, arching his back and grinding his heels into the smooth stone. He was trying to stand, though the effort was fruitless. "You are bound to the altar, father. There is no chain or rope, but the dark word that fastens you upon it."
"Altar?" He snapped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Listen here, girl. You let me up this instant or I will see to it that Jack finds out about this! I doubt he will be very understanding."
Andrea laughed something sweet and pure, even as her hand dropped again, this time to encompass the flaccid length of his manhood. "Perhaps you are right."
"Andrea!" He protested harshly, once more straining against the invisible binding.
With her delicate fingers encircling the limp organ, she gently began to arouse it with languid strokes that started at the base and moved clear to the tip. Her eyes fell to survey its growth, the sparkle that ignited within her a testament to her own growing excitement. " Creşte." She whispered passionately, though the word itself was carried upon a harsher arcana that bathed his hips with power.
The elder Hooper's body betrayed him as the dark energy infused within his loins, and though horrified by what was occurring, that terror was amplified as the lax shape of his endowment began to engorge. "What are you doing?" He gasped.
"Well this just won't do, father. In order to complete the ritual I'll need you a bit more stout than what you've naturally offered. No worries, I'm not offended." She bent at the waist then and very lovingly placed a gentle kiss upon the now-swollen head. "I can imagine the stress you are under."
"Stop!" He pleaded. "What is going on?"
She reveled in the feel of his heavy girth filling her small hand. The Carnal Prince had taught her about the magnificence of such a relic, had taught her to love it, worship it, and in return be worshipped by it. Another series of drawn out silken strokes were administered before hesitantly she pulled her hand away to join its twin at the buttons that enclosed her blouse. "I was told in a dream that you were once a star gazer, is that true?"
He wheezed through an arid throat as he watched her unfasten her top, the buttons splaying one-by-one all the way down. "What do you mean?"
She pulled the shirt apart to reveal the white lace bra beneath and dismissed it from her shoulders with a shrug. The garment poured down her arms and puddled upon the floor behind her. "Your mother, I believe. She was able to see things in the stars, wasn't she?"
He tried to look away, tried to fight the primordial fascination that was guiding his eyes, but couldn't. Whatever it was that she had done to him, it kept his head still and his gaze fixated upon her naked flesh. "She was. She could see things. Emotions. Thoughts. But I don't see why that matters!"
Andrea reached back and unzipped the skirt at the small of her back. With slack at the hips, the garment slipped downward to pool around her feet, revealing the lingerie she wore beneath. The lace garter was fashioned to be paired with her bra, suspending her creamy stockings tightly up her legs with a matching pair of panties sheathing her most sacred treasure. "It has everything to do with everything." She laughed. "That is why you are here." She let her eyes fall to his, even as her hand dropped to the dagger that lay beside him on the altar, the same one that had etched those markings into his body. "That is why we are here."
He shuddered through a heavy inhale, the fight to regain his composure lost to the seething arousal that burned inside of him. Whatever sinful imbuement she had cast upon him, it was irresistible. "Please, Andrea." He begged. "Don't do this."
Andrea moaned softly as she slipped the blade beneath her bra, the cold steel sliding smoothly upward between the valley of her breasts. With a flick of the wrist it sliced through the lacy material, cutting it away to let her bosom bouncing free. "That's touching." She said softly as her eyes glossed with a liquid lust. She sucked in a breath, making her already narrow waist no larger than a hand span, and dipped the keen dagger blade into her panties. Another snap of the wrist, another elated moan, and the lingerie was torn away, falling to the ground in shreds.
It was time.
****************************************
"?njosi această fată fără valoare, Aukai! Ia-mă! Ia-mă!" Andrea cried as she harshly ground herself downward onto his hips. Straddling him upon the altar, she tucked his saluting girth within the velvet well of her core, and forced it deep inside with a drop of her svelte body. The empty tome lay open upon the Hooper sire's marked chest, and she stared down upon the blank pages, desperate to fill them with their conjoined power. The dagger was held tightly in her left hand.
She let the invasion settle, let her body mold around the foreign insurgence, until nerve endings no longer tingled, and flesh no longer strained. She gasped at the bulky possession, equating it to the same fulfillment Jack gave her, and smiled at that thought. "Your son carries on your endowment." She whispered.
Mortified, the man laid back and could only gasp. The dark energy that infected him kept his eyes focused upon her naked nipples, on her rolling hips, and disallowed any notion to conceal her from view. Yearning burned in his stomach, sinful craving, and though horrified to be prone beneath her, he had never felt a sensations as darkly appealing as what she offered.
She undulated, stirring his embedded root with a limber circuit of her hips and a husky, pleading moan. How she loved the swollen incursion, how she reveled in the firm strain of her small cleft. She began to build a rhythm using only her hips and knees, his glazed phallus easily navigating through the slick tightness of her core. She stared down at the handsome visage that so incredibly foretold of what her husband would look like in the years to come, and whimpered a plea that matched his own. "Umple acest vas fără valoare."
The center candle of the northern candelabra ignited.
"I don't know what you are saying." He begged through a stifled groan. The passion of his loins had already began to stir, and her seductive mastery of his engorged member called for it with a quickened demand. He clenched his teeth together and tried to do the same with his eyes, but they would not avert from the sight of her bouncing atop him.
"Revendicaţi-l ca fiind a ta." The harsh impact of her sensual gyration began to resonate, though the sound was no competition for the desperate cries that tore from her lips.
The center candle of the western candelabra ignited.
Terror had become a distant memory as the dark magic that she conjured possessed him. All that he knew was passion, comingled pain and pleasure, that ruptured from within to surge through his numb limbs.
The center candle of the eastern candelabra ignited.
Pace quickened and passionate ardor surged between conjoined hips, racing each of them toward the dark apogee; both ritualistic and carnally. Cries, groans, whimpers and growls sang out in lascivious symphony, with scurrilous dialogue echoing across the circular chamber as sweat soaked bodies hammered together.
The center candle of the southern candelabra ignited.
"Luaţi acest om si da-mi puterea lui!" Andrea cried out as she felt the powerful release claim her body, and drew the dagger held within her hand high above her head.
In perfect time with the climax of the woman who rode him, the Hooper sire clenched his teeth together to stifle the unattested moan that sought to breach his dry lips, and loosed within her creamy jets of his aroused nectar. At the crest of his brilliant spans he forced his eyes open, just in time to catch the downward plunge of the dagger.
It pierced the book, driving through the inner hinge and out the back of the spine, where it punctured naked flesh and buried deep into Mr. Hooper's chest. He lurched forward, and the gasp he exuded was laced with a thin spew of blood. He looked up at her, pleading, begging, and found her staring back down at him. Though her eyes were not her own, they were not beautiful jewels of amethyst...
...but empty wells of creamy white.
The grin that crossed Andrea's beautiful and sweet face was something wicked and vile, which only grew wider as she drove the dagger to its hilt. She quivered with the final apex of Mr. Hooper's release, and clenched her tight core to keep him trapped deep inside. She parted her quivering, grinning, lips, and spoke into the silent room with a whisper. "Scrie această putere asupra acestor pagini goale, maestru Aukai!"
There was a flare of magic between them, something red and potent, that was invisible yet felt. The Hooper elder felt this energy sapping strength and life from him, and though he tried to fight the effects of the incantation he could do nothing but lay beneath the splayed thighs of his daughter-in-law and watch as she killed him.
The power that was drained from the man poured directly into the book, and those once empty pages were quickly scribed with an ancient text the color of blood.
************************************************** ***********
Andrea Hooper made her way into the Teas'N Tomes, the chime of the bell above her head drawing an elegant smile that was a welcomed sight by the man behind the counter.
He returned it. "Anything I can do for you, ma'am?"
She smiled at him and shook her head. "No thank you, sir. I'm only looking." She answered him in midstride before disappearing between a long hall of bookshelves. That wasn't exactly true. She wasn't looking as much as she was being guided. She moved through the categorized albums and compendiums, with the sightless, though very tangible, touch of the Carnal Prince guiding her along the way. Finally she felt that pull tighten and stopped.
After a quick look around she reached into the deep bag she carried on her shoulder and pulled from it the book that she and Mr. Hooper crafted. She brought it to her face and placed the most gentle of kisses upon its cover before wedging it between a pair of volumes. She pushed it all the way in and turned to begin away, unconsciously reaching out to brush a small glaze of dust from the heading that marked that particular genre.
Astrology.