Copyright Oggbashan October 2004
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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You know how it is. If there is an event to be organised everyone wants to enjoy it. No one wants to do the work.
So it was with our Sports Club Halloween Dance with a 'Goth' theme. For the women the theme was fairly easy, flowing black dresses, white and black makeup, silver jewellery and so on. The men tried to be 'Gothic' warriors. I had a short blanket cloak, a fake fur waistcoat, sandals, a horned helmet and a sword. I looked and felt fake.
The sword was real, an antique claymore one of my distant Scots ancestors had carried in 1746 at Culloden. It had been antique even then but its edge was still dangerously sharp. Making the wooden sheath for it had been the hardest part of the costume. Carrying it was difficult. Forty-seven inches (1.2 metres) of steel is awkward to sling. Eventually I positioned it diagonally across my back. Drawing it from there was impossible without unslinging it first but so what? I didn't expect to use it or even to take it out of its sheath. I didn't want drunken friends cutting themselves.
The volunteers setting up the hall were the stupidest and least responsible members of the club. Anyone with any sense kept well away from doing the organisation. If only there had been just one person with even a modicum of common sense among them...
There wasn't and now I, and others, face a lifetime of paying the price for their stupidity.
The event itself might have been a moderate success. They designed the decoration of the hall reasonably well. The lights were dimmed by removing half the light bulbs and replacing those that were left with low wattage red ones. Once past the foyer and toilets three sets of heavy black curtains had to be wriggled through to get to the dance area.
We couldn't afford a disco so they had made up some CDs with suitable music that would play unattended. They had some light effects and a dry-ice machine to provide a suitably eerie atmosphere. It should have worked well. The bar was well stocked even after the so-called 'committee' had sampled everything. Willing mothers prepared the food with a black or lurid green theme provided by food colouring. No one could or would eat the pureed spinach. It looked gross.
It took some days before the 'committee' admitted what they had done. We knew the effects too well but how those idiots had achieved it?
The dance was due to start at nine o'clock. By six o'clock they had finished all they were going to do and had been drinking since lunchtime. One of them, and they can't remember who, suggested that since there were thirteen of them it would be a good idea to have a sabbat and call on Bacchus to grace the proceedings.
They didn't get Bacchus. He would have been bad enough. Bacchus is an uncontrollable God. What they got we don't know but whatever it was it was apparently female, dangerous and fortunately for us fairly stupid if powerful.
The thing, we have no name for it, materialised in their pentagram and instantly took over the minds and bodies of all seven women. Apparently it can't take over men directly. It has to use women as agents before it can control men. It didn't find that difficult. All of them were stark naked for their sabbat. The six men were grabbed and French Kissed. An exchange of body fluids enabled the men to be controlled as well.
All thirteen of them still had their individual personalities but were unable to resist the order that they should provide more acolytes for the thing. One of the men and one of the women manned the table in the foyer, checking tickets as they would be expected to do. The others waited between the second and third barrier of curtains to grab and kiss each person as they arrived. Until nine o'clock they sat round like zombies waiting to serve their master or mistress.
Celia and I were one of the first to arrive. I wanted to be sure that the idiots had done things at least halfway right. Tessa and Martin were checking the tickets.
"Hello Alan and Cell," Tessa said. She knows that being called 'Cell' irritates Celia but she always does it. Celia pushed through the first black curtain ahead of me to avoid making a retort. I deposited our coats and followed to be met by Celia after the second curtain. He arms wrapped round me tightly and her tongue slid seductively between my lips. After that it was too late for me. I was Celia's slave and she was enslaved by the thing.
She dragged me through into the dimness of the main hall. She lifted up the skirt of her long gown and in my mind her order for me to kneel and lick her pussy was irresistible. I sank to my knees, hitching my cloak out of the way and my lips and tongue began to explore her pussy. Celia's hands pressed hard behind my head, grinding my face deeper.
As I tasted Celia for the first time I sensed her control over me becoming stronger. If I hadn't been unprepared I might have been able to resist her command to eat her. Now I was eating her I surrendered the last vestiges of control. I had wanted to eat Celia ever since our first date. A direct invitation from an uncontrolled Celia would have been hard for me to refuse even when I was unconstrained.
As I licked she threw back her head and laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. It had overtones of evil glee.
"You're mine," She shouted. "All mine and you can't do a thing about it."
Unfortunately that was true. She could direct everything I did. Her first instructions were how to please her. My tongue moved to the exact place she wanted, applied the right pressure in the right sequence and rhythm to make her squeal in ecstasy. We were engrossed until an orgasmic shudder from Celia made my sword hilt dig hard into her stomach, causing her to jump back, taking her pussy away from my insistent lips.
She dropped the skirt of her gown and the compulsion in my brain switched off like turning of a light. The desire was still there. The overwhelming drive had gone. Her skirted leg lashed out knocking me to the floor.
"What are you doing, Alan?" she shouted.
I lay on the floor, the sword digging in my back, wondering the same thing. How had I suddenly wanted to eat her in front of the other people in the dance hall? I looked around. The organisers, except for the two in the foyer and the two between the entry curtains, were sitting like stuffed dummies. Their faces were blank and expressionless.
Two more people entered, entwined in a kiss. I had thought that Emily was rather prudish. What she was doing to her long-suffering boyfriend Lance was completely out of character. Her tongue was whipping in and out of his mouth and her hand was clutching his groin. Lance looked as if his dreams had come true.
I staggered to my feet. My sword slapped against my back as I stood. Celia and I looked at each other with a dawning realisation that something was wrong, very wrong. She pressed herself against me, her face white. My arms instinctively wrapped around her.
More people came through the curtains. Each couple was closely entwined and totally absorbed in each other. Celia and I started to edge towards the entrance hoping to escape before whatever compulsion it was affected us again.
The five zombie-like women seated around the room seemed to come alive. They stood up, leaving the men sitting unnaturally still, then rushed at us. Before we could react we were swamped in female bodies, clutching and pawing at us. Their mouths opened. Rosalie, our club's champion weightlifter, dragged Celia from my arms and held her tight while Selina's lips sought her mouth. Within seconds six women attacked me. Five of them forced me to my knees. Celia lifted her skirt again. Five pairs of hands impelled my face towards her pussy. My last sight of Celia's face showed her triumphant smile.
This time Celia held me in place fiercely until my consciousness was swamped by hers. When she released me the room was full of entwined couples, including the two who had been in the foyer and between the curtains. Each man was at his woman's pussy and eating frantically. The women were enjoying multiple orgasms and their cries drowned the music.
Celia's mind directed my attention to the entrance. I groaned inwardly as I recognised the four men who had just entered. They had been expelled from our club a couple of years ago for violence on the rugby field and each had a police record for assault. Two or three women disengaged from their worshipping partners and rushed the intruders. They were roughly thrown aside.
All the sexual activities stopped dead. I felt the order being passed to attack the intruders. This time the men as well as the women were forced to participate. I noticed that my order came from Celia, not directly to me.
The whole crowd of us advanced. Our bodies swamped the unwelcome visitors. The women made no attempt to kiss them or to force them to eat pussy. They were held by the men as the women tied them up with whatever was available, usually stockings or pantyhose, and roughly gagged them with panties stuffed in their mouths until all four were silent helpless bundles.
They were carried to the curtained stage. The curtains were opened and there it was – a mass of naked and pulsating pink flesh that was a caricature of a giant pregnant woman. It smiled as the bound men were placed on the stage. It shuffled forward and lowered its distended belly over one of our prisoners. His feet wriggled as he was swamped by folds of flesh that slowly slid across his body until he had disappeared from view.
The giantess moved backwards. Lying on the stage were the empty clothes and bonds. She shuffled over to the next prisoner who was struggling violently to escape his bonds. He disappeared, as did the other two. At the end the giantess seemed to have increased in size substantially. Those men might have been vicious thugs but they didn't deserve that. I felt anger and revulsion. I also felt Celia's mind trying to suppress those feelings.
Celia started walking towards the stage, her movements and face showing her futile attempts at resistance. Her control of me snapped as she fought the entity. My fury blazed. This thing was not going to have Celia.
I unslung my claymore and threw the sheath away. I rushed past Celia, sprang to the stage, took a double-handed hold on the hilt of the sword and swung with all my might. The sword seemed to glow as it whooshed in an arc. When it met the giantess's neck it cleaved through so easily that I continued to turn. When I had corrected my spin the giantess's head was bouncing across the stage. I slashed again across the distended belly. It split open, spewing the four naked men to the stage. They twitched feebly as they struggled to breathe.
Hands dragged the men away as I continued to furiously hack and cut the giantess's body into pieces. After I had removed all the limbs and reduced the torso to meaty chunks there was a flash like a bolt of lightning. When my eyes recovered the stage was empty except for the discarded bonds and clothing. There were no meaty chunks, no pools of blood, just an empty dusty stage with faint marks of the sabbat's chalk pentagram and trails in the dust where the men's bodies had been dragged.
The Halloween Dance was over. The four intruders were dressed and shoved out into the night. The couples were comforting each other. I particularly noticed Emily and Lance. She was sitting on his lap. Her hand was inside his trousers and his hand was inside her bodice, fondling a breast as they kissed each other passionately. Prudish Emily had found that sex could be fun.
I had found my sheath and replaced my sword. As I did I saw that the previously indecipherable runic inscription now shone as if the letters were in burnished gold. I couldn't read it. Much later I had a translation made. It read "Beware the anger of a man in love".
We thought that was the end. Whatever it was the committee of idiots had summoned instead of Bacchus had gone, banished back to its rightful place. We didn't talk about that Halloween Dance and tried to forget it.
However I noticed that the couples formed or reinforced that night were inseparable. Even the unlikely pairings seemed permanent. Celia and I became engaged. That might have happened anyway but I had only known her for a few weeks before the dance.
Now I know there is a permanent after-effect. Celia can control me with her mind even without kissing me or offering her pussy. She is revelling in it and exploring the possibilities. If she wants me to wash up I do it. She doesn't have to say a word. If that were all that wouldn't be too bad.
However we seem to have merged minds whenever she wants it. She has my abilities: I have hers. I couldn't play the piano. She could. Now I can play the piano and she makes me play to her. She knew nothing about car mechanics. When her car slid to a halt she identified a loose battery terminal connection and fixed it in a couple of minutes.
She knew German. I knew French. Now we can talk in either language. She wanted to widen her German vocabulary. She forced me to study and learn. Now she has that vocabulary without effort.
She could make her own clothes but found the work boring. So now I'm likely to be the one sitting at the sewing machine making her party dresses.
Celia finds housework and cooking boring. I do both, to her exacting standards.
Celia's sexual experimentation is the most difficult to endure. She can swap our separate consciousness so that I find myself underneath my body while she thrusts into my pussy. She can swap our bodies easily. Experiencing penetration is sometimes enjoyable. Being used as a mannequin while she is shopping for clothes is not.
'She' goes into the changing room and comes out to show me. Then she switches bodies so that she can see through my eyes the effect of the dress on her body as I twirl for her. She can easily waste a whole day shopping for clothes and I spend hours trussed up in a bra and pantyhose. She even left me to change back to her street clothes while she as 'me' wandered among the lingerie.
The worst thing so far is when she decides to take me to places where I can't go in my body. She took me to a hen party. She made me fit inside her body with her. I seemed to be seeing from her cleavage as the male strippers cavorted. It aroused her but not me. I enjoyed the female company and some of the hugs from her friends were really exciting. I'd never get pressed between Emily's breasts. Inside Celia my eyes were swamped as they hugged. Celia enjoys my embarrassment.
How can I regain my own life? I don't think I can and when we get married? Will I walk down the aisle as the bride or stand at the front as the groom? Knowing Celia's sense of humour I'll probably do both.
And afterwards as her husband? I won't be henpecked. I don't need to be. Celia is in complete control. That is the real horror that resulted from that Halloween Dance.