Bless and Keep Us All Hallow's Eve

I glanced around in panic, but the reanimated pale bodies set off without a glance at me. Only Miss Clovis approached, her gaze on me, but as in a trance. She stood before me a moment as though uncertain. Then, she drew back her hand and slapped my rigid prick, setting it to briefly wagging, like a dog's tail.

But that touch, more playful than painful, sent a thrill up its whole length and deep into my belly, so I groaned with aroused desire. And then she had turned, hips in motion, back arched to thrust out her breasts, joining the dance.

Her back turned, my body's excrescence seemed to lengthen after her and my arousal was unbearable. I did not hear as much as sense the slow approach of Barbara, moving now as though drugged, eyes unfocused. Her perfectly spaced breasts with the little thumbs upraised moved not at all as she walked. My eyes sought hers, but the wide blue irises seemed to see nothing. And then her small hand went back, I gasped, and it slapped me like an electric kiss, then swept back, setting the poor dumb mast of flesh wagging again, and the forward—each time with an engulfing pleasure so that my eyes rolled back.

And she was gone, leaving me to stare aghast at her pale buttocks, swaying, and to know this was to be my "torment."

It went on as they came one by one, the shocking sensual fullness of Miss Lester, the little librarian, then Jane's egregious exposure of rounded breasts and belly, and others I did not know, but each with a deliberate slap that was enough to grip tight my balls in a striving for release—but no release could come. At last, I hung like one dead, dangling all my weight like a carcass, eyes glazed, and wept in mere despair.

Once, feeling myself at the trigger point, which one more touch might release and end my agony, I saw the parson rise from his rude throne and approached me. The goat head looked down at my condition. The parson stepped closer, his arrant hard-on touching me. Utterly without warning, his knee swept up into my fork, not with vicious force, but a controlled blow that drove my big dangling balls up into my body with a spasm of pain. My knees jerked up to protect myself, like some creature curling upon its vulnerable underside. I yelped, then wept, again. The hope for release into pleasure was gone. My hanging helpless manhood seemed an alien thing of pain. What did not change was that no choice of mine, no need, was relevant; what I had hung there utterly at the whim of others.

"It is time!" echoed the voice over the autumn forest. "He has given himself unto us for he lusts! His shall be the mark of the Master and you shall be his servants!"

And then: "Prepare him."

I cried out in fear. It was Barbara who approached me. She held a knife, its long silver blade waving as the flames wavered.

"Barbara, no!" I whined. "No, no..."

But she knelt before me. Again, the fragile shoulders, the golden helmet of straight hair, the intent small face were all I saw.

Now would be the end. Paul had led through the night of the dark powers and delivered me, here, to manhood's end. And had laughed his soulless laugh as he left me. Nothing I had said, not one word, had deterred my captors. Now, this alien thing that hung from me would be excised from my body, and with it all my desire and my torment. In a moment of pain I could not imagine, I would cease to be a man. I wondered, in my swirl of despair, when my naked, mutilated body would be found—if ever it was...

She raised her slender hands, the knife lifted above my penis, her gaze intent. I felt the blade on belly skin and chafing as it scraped my skin. But what fell away was the curling brown hair, with each stroke, less of it, until the knife blade reached the very root of my penis. But then it lifted away and Barbara's slender hand brushed me, so that the shaved patch just above my penis was clean.

I had lost, now, all arousal. Certain that I would be unmanned, desire had fled down the path of terror. It hung limp, still egregiously long and thick, that ridiculous prank of Nature between my legs.

Barbara rose, bowed low to me, and backed away.

Now our pastor, the ludicrous goat head atop the naked body, his prick still miraculously erect, came toward me. What had he in his hand? I never had seen such a thing.

He knelt before me. "Come," he commanded. "Hold his legs very tight, he will need help to bear his pain."

Miss Clovis, Miss Lester, came forward, kneeling, wrapping their arms around me thighs, parting them, their breasts brushing me.

"The sign of the Master be upon him."

And I felt the touch of the tip of the instrument that the parson held as it came in contact with my newly bared skin, close to where my prick emerged out of my belly.

And then I shrieked. If the two women had not held me, I would be jerked my legs to my very chest in a desperate response to the electric sizzling that fiercely searing my belly. So close was it to the root of my penis that I cried out in terror as well as pain.

There was no mercy. The arms on either side held me fast. The parson's studious face was inches from my limp prick, the fiery point made my belly a cauldron of unbearable torment.

"Stop!" I squealed into the deaf night. "I can't stand it!"

Held the by two women, I could only jerk my belly, again and again, so what I had wagged uselessly, banging my legs. I don't think that I fainted. Sometimes sensation overloads the senses, so that no coherent sum reaches the mind. What reached my mind were only unanswerable signals of the unbearable.

Later, and I do no recall, to this day, how much later, I became aware again, first of the mere ground I saw beneath me, then my agonized shoulders, then of the length of my naked body below me.

Seeing I had awakened, Miss Clovis came to me. Her eyes seemed not unkind. I took in her naked body almost without feeling. Silently, she reached around my hanging body with her arm, and pulled forward, so that my pubis was pushed out. Holding me, she reached down and her finger lightly traced along the root of belly. "Here," she said.

I bent my head, frowning. Again, her fingernail tickled across me and I focused my eyes. There, on the newly shaved, pale skin I saw the string of purple figures. I read, slowly, "Nine, nine, nine."

Her voice was soft, even gentle as she looked into my face. She said, "It is not what we see, standing before you, Walter." She added, "This is the sign of the Master and no human hand can removed it, now."

Her slender hand took my heavy prick, gently now, holding it as one holds a dove, and she gently stroked it. "Do you see?" she asked.

I focused again on the bare pale flesh at the root of the penis that was awakening to her touch. "What is the sign?" I asked.

"Here, at your manhood's root. It is 666."

"The Devil?"

"Our Master."

Her slim white hand continued to stroke the whole length of my prick. "What will happen?" I asked, bewildered.

She answered with the humility of a child: "Now, I am yours, Walter, yours to take, to use as you wish." She stepped back from me. Her hands slid down to her own blond patch of fur, and her fingers parted it. Then, she thrust forward her loins, so I saw, dark on her pale belly: 666.

She half turned to where the women, no longer dancing, subdued now, had gathered to watch me. "All these before you, and all womankind marked by the Master on their sex, are yours. When you wish, for whatever you wish."

She looked up into my eyes. "What do you wish, now, Walter?

As though involuntarily, I looked down at my belly where the burning of the tattoo still pricked like needle.

She asked: "To take it in my mouth?"

I nodded, mute, and she dropped to her knees. I felt her long fingers take me, the whole weight of me, gently, and her lovely face came forward and lips parted widely to take the huge swollen head of my cock, and a slyly tickling tongue darted here and there and each touch was almost more than I could bear.

As I began to moan softly and jerked my hips to move in her mouth, she withdrew. "No..." I murmured. "No, please."

She rose and stepped aside. "Bring her," she commanded.

They came forward, big naked Jane and Miss Lester, carrying the slim form of Barbara. She rode toward me as in a chair, each woman holding her beneath one thigh, another arm around her back, so she advanced as though seated, with her long thighs spread—served wide open to me.

But I never had had a woman. But how was I to take this one, offered, now, as I hung from the frame? Still, I began to tremble.

Then I understood. The two women carried Barbara till her thighs forked my hips, her breasts pressed me, and her face was inches from mine. I peered the narrow space between our bodies and saw her golden mound pressed against me."

"I will insert it," said Miss Clovis. I saw her reach beneath our two bodies and felt her fingers take my upright, achingly arched prick and move it. Then, its big swollen head brushed something indescribably soft, wet, that sent a shock up and down my body, a thrill I never had known or imagined.

"Impale her, now," said Miss Clovis.

Barbara's blue eyes, inches from mine, never flickered, but seemed to open impossibly wide. I felt my length slip into the warm clutch of flesh and Barbara caught her breath. Her lips moved. "Your prick is deep in my body," she whispered. "I lust for you, Walter." And then: "Say it, now. Say it."

"I lust for you," I said, and then gasped. On either side, the women were lifting and lowering Barbara's slim body, up almost off my impaling prick, then down, down till I felt myself stopped, filling her cunt to the end, and she exclaimed, "Oh!"

Her pink perfect lips passed the inch or two between us and pressed mine, softly at first, nibbling, and then I felt her entering tongue, and her lips harder, pressed frantically, and her hands behind my head drew my own lips against hers.

Now, her little body seemed almost to bounce, again and again, jolting desperate little breaths from her.

I had begun to heave my own lips, jacking up on my toes to meet her downward impalement with my brutal reply that jolted her, and I was crying out brokenly, but in no words I knew. My whole frame stiffened against pleasure I could not bear and Barbara dragged my face tight against her little breasts, pressing it there.

And then they lifted her away. I scarcely could stand, I hung from my aching arms, my head fallen forward, night air slightly chill along my limp wet prick. I heard: "See her."

I raised my head. They still held Barbara, but had wrenched wide her legs and lifted her body higher, so now I stared at what the modest blond lips, stretched aside, exposed. Her inmost pink seemed swollen, streaked with red as though inflamed, and from her soft, jagged gap dripped my cloudy cum.

Then they carried her, still on display, around the circle of women and, at last, to the dark-eyed goat head. The head nodded and they lowered her to the ground so she lay, legs forked, as firelight flickered over her white body.

Chapter 5

I thought I was blacking out. Yet, I felt ground at my feet, the fiery ache in my shoulders blades, a breeze touch my back. But the world had gone dark. Then I remembered, just a moment ago, the bonfire snuffed as though by a huge breath, the bright ball of moon passing behind clouds... But everything was so still! As my eyes adjusted to the night, I saw no one!

I hung there, alone, naked, darkness and woods all around me. They had left me! Like this! I almost cried out for them, in terror; but it was no use; they were gone.

"You got to hurry, now."

"Paul?"

"Yeah." And I saw him, dimly, coming toward me.

"You came?" I felt relief a like sob. But in a moment: "You left me! You ran! You laughed!"

"I laughed my ass off," the voice was off-hand, no attempt to explain, no apology. He said, "We got to get out of here, fast."

But he reached out and his big hand enclosed my balls, my cock, like package and lifted them. A ray of light sprung from his hand as he clicked on a flashlight directed right at my belly. He said, "They tattooed you, huh? They've got you, buddy. How was it?"

But already his hands were at my wrists, working the knots. When my arms collapsed, freed, I fell to my knees. Paul stepped away in the darkness and suddenly something smacked into my face, my chest.

"Put'em on, fast. It's almost midnight. They're coming. We can't be here."

"Who?" I asked in panic. "Coming back?"

"Shut up, Walter, and get'em on. Or I leave you."

"No!" I staggered uncertainly to my feet, almost fell again, so Paul caught my arm. I swayed, unbalanced, as I pulled on my trousers. I jerked my shirt down over my head. Inside out didn't matter. I bent for my shoes.

"Take'em! And run!"

I stumbled after him, my legs gimpy, so that I ran like a drunk, my shoes clutched to my chest. Into the woods, keeping Paul's back in sight, catching lashing limbs that whipped at my face. The leaves soft underfoot, but every once in a while a sharp stick that made me gasp in pain. At last, I saw the openings between the tree trunks and the shimmer of moonlight streaking black water.

"I got the boat in close," said Paul ahead of me, breathing hard. "Climb in!"

I fell more than climbed, crawled toward the stern, flopped over the middle seat, continuing to the back. In a moment, Paul was on the center seat, oars in the locks, and we were moving.

I dared to whisper. "Who, Paul?"

"The real ones. Hallow's Eve, midnight."

"Midnight!" It all had happened in an hour! Impossible!

"They had you one hour. Seemed longer." It was not a question.

"Witches coming?" I asked, my voice low. "Real witches?"

"Salem. The dead ones. Drowned, hung, pressed to death under stones. Some of 'em raped in the lock-up the night before by the Puritan divines. Gang raped. Didn't matter. They were witches. Next day they'd be dead."

"Here! Tonight?"

"Some, yeah. Goody Clovis and all them, they're just confessors of lust. Like you."

"But you...?"

"Yeah. What, you gotta see it stamped above my dick? I was 18, like you. Lucky. I'm real thick and black, down there. But who sees anyway. You're pretty well hung. I saw that."

Now, Paul! I never escaped it!

"Take a while to grow back the hair back around your dick. Who'd they give you?"

I hated to say it. It sounded dirty, a betrayal. "Barbara," I answered.

Paul gave a snort of laughter. "Crazy. No one in school even dare's ask her out."

"She beautiful," I said quietly. Then I was silent. The oars squeaked in their oarlocks, the water barely splashed at our passage. I busied myself putting on my shoes.

"But what will happen now?" I asked, after a while, as though of myself.

Perhaps Paul only shrugged in the dark. Or said nothing.

I spoke a little louder. "What will it mean?"

"Nothin'," he said. "You'll be home when you said. Any trouble from your folks, tell'em Clovis was at the Halloween party over Linda's. Tell'em call Clovis, if they want."

"But what do I have to do?"

"You do nothin'—for now. Later, I couldn't tell you. You ever want one of those women, any time, you just lay a hand on her, touch her just natural. Look in her eyes. She does the rest. She's got to."

Did you ever wake (usually in the middle of night) from a vicious evening of drinking, panicked at what you had done, hung over, asking yourself WHY the Christ you had done it? I had not drunk, but when I awoke, in my own bed, just at dawn, it was as though from a nightmare. The pillow was soaked with sweat, cold; I flipped it over. If only it all had been a sweaty dream!

I flung over the covers and looked down. The irregular shaved patch at my crotch, the damning numbers just over the root of my cock. Fuck! I dragged the covers over me, slammed my head on the pillow, and ordered myself: Sleep!

I had done it. Done it all. And the tattoo still stinging at my belly could not be wished away. Thank...dare I still call upon him? Perhaps not. I didn't want to find out. So, let us say, thank heaven it was Saturday. What if I had to rise, now, go to school, sit in Miss Clovis's class? I jammed my head into the pillow and commanded, "More sleep!"

Had I forfeited my soul last night? Become a confessor of lust?

What crap!

I had been lured by Paul, that slack-jawed, over-sized class dummy into the clutches of crazy people. It meant nothing! Our town's sex maniacs. And even Pastor Thibault! That goat!

I would not hide under the covers. Beneath the spitting warm water shower, I soaped myself. Yes, the sign was there on my bare belly, 666, just where my prick protruded. Nothing deniable about that.

What had drawn them to this wanton life: Miss Clovis, Jane, Miss Lester, aloof Barbara, even the pastor hiding beneath his absurd goat head? Yet, even as recalled the wild night, I felt myself aroused, and my hand soaping my penis lingered there, teased it.

Disgusted, I shoved open the door of the shower stall. I would not slip into masturbation fantasies! Was I a confessor lust? Let us see what that meant!

An interlude in the kitchen. My mother, never turning from the stove, said: "You were late. Was it fun?"

"Sure."

"Girls?"

"Why do you ask that, Mom?"

"I know what you think about." It was a matter-of-fact statement, but it irritated me.

"Not that much," I muttered.

"All right, Walter. But I actually had hope you might get interested in someone."

My defense was to parse words. I said, ""Interested,' Mom? What does that mean?"

"Nothing, I guess." And then, "Did you kiss?"

My face must have gone scarlet. I raged inside. Yeah, Mom! Barbara Anderson was carried to me, naked, and jounced up and down on stiff dick, okay? But all I said was "no spin the bottle."

The stolid back refused to acknowledge my irritation. She never turned. At last, she said, "Can I fry you bacon and an egg easy-over? That's what you like."

"Sure," I said, subdued. "Thanks, Mom."

For what seemed an eternity, I watched the busy back and heard the sizzle of bacon, the abrupt hiss of the dropped eggs. And then: "So was it good?"

"What! Was WHAT good?"

"I'll have your breakfast in just a moment, dear."

I ate in silence, greedily, the perfect eggs, crisp bacon, soft buttered whole-wheat toast." And Mom waited on me.

"Could she tell something? How?"

I finished and had the graciousness to say, "Thanks, Mom. That hit the spot." I pushed back from the table, slowly, thinking—trying to think. Then, I knew what I would do. "Gorgeous day, I'm getting out."

Did I get enough last night? My first-ever sex? And with the one girl I thought truly unattainable-even in fantasy? Time to give it a rest?

Come on!

I thought I knew where she might be on a beautiful Saturday morning. Willowy, energetic, athletic, always looking as fresh in mornings as I looked shagged. That was Barbara. I was walking down the long hill to the elementary school. Behind it, in a corner of the playground, were a couple rundown tennis courts.

Before I rounded the corner of the school building, I heard monotonous thwacking. Across the sunny playground, I saw the straight blond hair, almost white in the sun, skimpy tennis shorts, and pale perfect-shaped athletic legs with ankle-high white socks. She was moving! Darting, swinging, and then twisting for a backhand.

I approached slowly. She seemed almost to radiate her own sunlight, a virginal spotless white. I never had known her to date and neither had anyone else. She was unattainable.

At the high wire fence enclosing the court, I stopped, watching. I had a sudden, panicked thought that if all this was just Paul's stupid storytelling, then what would I look like, standing here watching Barbara? I already had seen that her partner on the court was Jane, her heavy body stretching her baggy red shorts and jumbo loose-fitting sweatshirt—both tending to minimize her jumbo hourglass figure. Even a heavy sports bra could not prevent her boobs from banging back and forth like a swinging sack as she dived to return Barbara's serves. Jane was trying hard; her clothes were pasted to her, soaked in sweat, and her big pretty face was shiny.