Goldenrod - The Manticore

The bar was located in an industrial part of town. Denise would have stood out like a sore thumb in her business suit, but at two in the morning the streets were totally empty. That made her find the activity in the place all the more off-putting, after walking from her car through a tiny alley, and down the steps to the basement level establishment. It wasn't packed, but the crowd was lively, the music was loud, and the smells of different types of smoke were thick in the sweaty air. She had a seat and took a look at the patrons.

Most of the girls were wearing t-shirts and jeans, and many of them had bulging crotches. More than a few were leaning aggressively into flirtation with the young men, a number of whom were wearing dresses. Only three or four of the boys wore masculine clothing. No matter how they were attired it seemed they were all at various stages of being felt up and pawed by the females.

The bartender walked over to Denise, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

"What'll it be?"

"Scorpion and a Lowenbrau," she recited. The heavy man became still, and then leaned slightly to the right to look at the hallway that led to the bathrooms. The lightbulb dangling from its ceiling went out. He turned to Denise.

"Through there," he said, and went to the janitor's closet. She got up and walked in the direction he'd indicated, a bullet camera on the wall tracking her every movement.

She paused to watch three girls surrounding a young man who was bent over the jukebox. One of them had her strapped-on dick in him with her hands on his waist, and was thrusting slowly in ecstasy with her head raised. She froze and her mouth opened.

"Oh-hoho, fuck!" she yelled, and her friends laughed. The liquid pouring from his loaded ass to the floor was tinted green, and appeared gelatinous. The girl staggered backward, freeing her long latex member from his body, and his unplugged butt dumped a half gallon more of the substance onto the floor. Smiling at the first girl, another lowered her zipper and moved into position behind the male. A latex dick slid out of her vagina and through the fly. She took a tight hold of his hips with both hands and he groaned in agony as her massive cock filled him. The bartender wheeled a mop and bucket over to them, and Denise continued down the small passage.

At the end of the corridor was the office. She opened the door and entered.

"Lock it," said the girl sitting behind the desk. "Sit down. You're being covered." A downward glance confirmed the girl's dildo was out under the middle drawer, and pointed squarely at Denise. She obeyed the orders she'd been given.

"You're the Manticore." In reply the girl struck a wooden match on the chair arm and lit the cigar stub in her mouth. She had a shaven head but wore a thick knitted cap, and over her blue bra was a white sleeveless hoody. Under her tattered jean shorts were black spandex shorts, and she had on calf-high biker boots.

"The one and only," she said, discarding the match.

"So there really are none left, beside you?" The girl leaned forward. Physically she wasn't imposing, with the spare build of a lightly muscled boy. Her tan skin looked soft, and her breasts and thighs were invitingly supple.

"How many do you need?" the mercenary asked, with a devilish smile. Denise laughed.

"You'll do," she said, and lit a cigarette of her own. "What do you know about alchemy?" The Manticore sat back again.

"Just what they teach in twelfth grade math."

"There was an attempt made last month to create the Philosopher's Stone. Contrary to popular belief, the goal is not to turn base lead into gold. It's a psychologically transformative process enacted upon a subject whose eligibility is confirmed through divination. At certain astrologically determined hours, a male is taken by a witch wearing a strap-on, and every time she has him she wears a different mask, each mask corresponding to one of the ten spheres of the Tree of Life."

"That's the diagram of the universe composed of orbs of light."

"Correct. Each of the orbs has its own respective symbol, and taken together they represent every level of Creation. The first sphere is called Crown. In honor of that one, the witch wears the mask of a crowned king when she penetrates the man. The second sphere is the embodiment of Wisdom. When she channels that power, she wears the face of a crone. There are others; Intelligence, Justice, Mercy, and so on. The whole process is based on another alchemical idea, that the microcosm and macrocosm are reflections of each other. They're also called microprosopus and macroprosopus, the small and great faces. By channeling divine energies with the masks, the practitioner hopes to tune the subject's body to certain psychic frequencies. The desired outcome is that his seed will become the Elixir of Immortality."

The Manticore drew on her cigar.

"From what I've heard, it's extremely risky to try controlling forces of that magnitude. Some people have wound up vegetables doing it. Others have tried to chew off their own faces." Denise's eyes darkened.

"We're living in dangerous times."

"You're talking about the new management at the Golden Lotus Order?"

"Perhaps more than that. It's no secret that witches all over the world have been having disturbed dreams. Something important is happening, or going to happen. Ambient magical energy has increased dramatically over the last year. Just a few minutes ago I watched a girl come inside a man. Her dildo wasn't shooting some artificial semen. It was producing actual ectoplasm."

"It plays hell with the linoleum," the Manticore said, and blew a smoke ring.

"You can understand why some people view our situation as a sorcerous arms race. Since your army was crushed by the Order..."

"Let's leave off of that."

"Of course. Excuse me." Denise shifted her weight. "To resume, last month's attempt to create the Stone was interrupted. Before the final sphere could be imprinted on the test body, he was abducted. It appears the women who have him are Renegades."

"You want me to get him back; preferably before the stars stop being right, and all the effort made so far proves to be a waste."

"Yes."

"And you know I'm the girl for the job, because being a Manticore I'll keep clear of the Order and I'm a dyke who believes in women dominating men."

"It's... a sensitive situation." Denise took an envelope from her pocket, and slid it across the desk. "Your fee, as well as everything I have on his abductors." The cigar end glowed red in the dark haze around them.

The deal was struck.

She followed the tip Denise had given her to a midtown auto garage. The two who had the man were known to her, low level players who'd scented something big happening at the laboratory where the Stone was being made, and took the chance when they saw it. They probably knew enough to recognize what they had, and would be trying to fuck as much cum out of the poor dope as they could, thinking the alchemical process had been completed. It was fool's gold, of course. Denise said the robe and mask for the final ritual were on the vanity beside the man's bed. The two crooks likely assumed the items had just been used when they broke in and found them there. Denise also told her that the man's name was Michael.

A peek through the window confirmed her suspicions.

The one who was taking him was a big girl named Steph. Her dark hair was parted on the left and fell past her eyes. She wore a heavy hooded sweatshirt, long cargo shorts, and sneakers. On the lowered car lift was an inflatable mattress, and on that Michael was on all fours. Steph had one foot on the ground and one beside his calf. She poised a fist on her raised thigh and kept her other hand on his ass, swaying her entire body to and fro with grinds of her pelvis accentuating the completion of each insertion. The Manticore scanned the room. There was no sign of the other one, a tall thin girl with a stringy red ponytail, named Lena. Scattered about were small tupperware vats filled with sputum. There were also empty jars of peanut butter they'd no doubt been force-feeding the man, to refill his scrotum.

The long, flesh-colored phallus slid slowly in and out.

"You're not holding out on me, are you boy?" Steph taunted. "Don't tell me you don't love this cock." The rod ground to a halt within him, again and again. Michael started moaning and the witch increased the speed of her thrusting. "There it is! That's the right attitude! Ready to come again for Stephy?" She smiled deviously and energized the dildo with orgasmic vibration.

"Oh! Oh, God, please! Not again!"

"Let's have it." Her knee took the place of her foot on the mattress and she began digging into him furiously. With both hands clutching his hips she stroked in and out powerfully using only her pelvis. Her foot twirled in the air as she enjoyed her own climax. The man collapsed and she dragged his thighs to her so she could keep fucking him with both feet on the floor, straddling the corner of the bed. The left hand came free of him and returned to its hold, and then the right did the same, as the motion became a hard banging. "Come for me."

The man tried to scream but no sound escaped him. His body shook wretchedly under her power, and he ejaculated a huge volume of his essence. Then he passed out. Shit, the Manticore thought, how do I get him out of there now? Steph took a crusty turkey baster from her shirt pocket and walked around the unconscious donor to collect his seed. She transferred it into one of the jars on the work bench, drew her dick back into her pants with a silent spell, and left the room.

The Manticore opened the window as quietly as she could, and spun herself inside. She crept to the sleeping hostage and turned to the door Steph had used. The woman wasn't nearby. After hooking down the front of her pants with her thumb, she let her own dildo emerge, and pressed it carefully into Michael's mouth. She closed her eyes as her energy was fed into the exhausted man.

Signs of life quickly returned to him and he began to suck greedily at the rejuvenating fetish. His cheeks tugged and tugged as though he were really taking nutritive liquid from it. Her hand seized the mattress and she was convulsed by pleasure.

"That's enough!" she stage whispered, and pulled it out of his face. He stared up at her.

"Who... are you?"

"I'm, uh, Mandy. I've been hired to get you out of here. Can you walk?" He nodded. "Get some clothes on." Suddenly Steph walked into the room. The drain from her transfer had left Mandy unaware of her surroundings.

"You! Here! You're not gonna take him." Her dick popped out of her fly, charged with a menacingly violet glow. Mandy pulled a lever and an engine suspended by a chain crashed down upon Steph, knocking her out.

"Where's the other one?" Michael was in shock. "Hey! The redhead! Where is she?" She slapped him in the face with her cock.

"She went out."

"We're going, now."

Steph's shoes didn't fit Michael, but he wore her shorts and sweatshirt on the bitch seat of Mandy's Harley. Before she could leave the city for Denise's mansion in the hills, she started blacking out.

"Why, what's wrong?" Michael asked.

"What?" she roared back at him.

"You said we aren't going to make it."

"I didn't say anything."

"I heard you."

"Damn," Mandy said, realizing her trick in the garage had opened a mental link between them. She conveyed the gist of the situation to him telepathically, and turned south to ride back to the bar.

The sun was rising and the only people left in the place were a girl vigorously pegging a boy in one of the booths. I'm sure I can get enough sleep and bring him to Denise by midnight, Mandy thought.

"I'll wake you up, if you need me to," Michael offered.

"Shut up!"

They walked into her office. She immediately began arranging scant bedding on a couch.

"You can sleep on the floor, or wherever. Just don't wander off."

"Can I sleep with you?"

"You're not my type," she said, and threw her boots in the corner. She got under the ratty blanket and turned her back to him.

When she awoke, Lena's cock was pointing at her dry eyes.

"You're so predictable," the beanpole announced. Mandy groaned, and sat up slowly. "You're lucky Steph had a defensive aura on, and that she's built like a rhino, or I might kill you right now."

"Go ahead," Mandy said, lighting her cigar. "Do me a favor." Michael sat pouting in the desk chair.

"Drop your shorts, and take off your dick. No sudden moves, or you're fricasseed."

When my pants hit the floor, yell this...

Mandy rose and grudgingly unbuckled her belt.

"You two need a job? I could use a pair of garden gnomes."

"If you play your cards right, you'll be working for us. We have the Philosopher's Stone." Mandy smirked.

"Never happen." Her garments dropped to cover her mismatched tube socks, leaving only an old leather harness on her pelvis, the tip of her dildo visible between her labia.

"Dildos everywhere!" Michael screamed, and when Lena turned reflexively, Mandy deployed her dick and fired a stun beam from it. The redhead dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Still the fastest gun. Good work, seedbag!" Mandy retracted the dildo and pulled up her pants. The intruder was hoisted onto the couch, and stripped of her artillery. "Get me some rope from the bottom drawer." When Lena was bound, Mandy picked up her cigar and dusted the end of it.

"What now?" Michael asked. Lena groaned, returning to consciousness.

"I get you to Denise as promised, so she can complete the rituals."

"What?" Lena muttered.

"That's right," Mandy sang, crouching to face her. "You've been giving boy-o here a good time for nothing. The bitch you boosted him from never finished the Stone."

"But she told us..." Lena mumbled, and passed back out.

"What? They're in cahoots? Did you know about this?" She stood up. Michael shrugged. A quick scan of his mind revealed he was unaware of what Lena had meant. "Why did she go to the trouble of hiring me if they're working for her? Unless she wanted them to sell fake magic to her competitors, while she kept the real thing... These morons would only have been able to convince buyers it was genuine if they believed it. Oooo, I hate being a sap!" She glowered at the befuddled man. "Get naked!"

In a few minutes, Michael's back was on the couch, his thighs pressed down with Mandy's hands behind his knees. Lena had been removed to the floor. Always having been more of a soldier than a witch, the Manticore knew a few basic spells for survival, but what she was attempting now was dangerously complex for her. Feet far apart on the floor and her back perfectly straight, she fell slowly forward again and again to drive her heavy length through him, a slight bend appearing in her spine as she leaned back after each insertion. She continued with slow, painstaking authority, until their wavelengths began to synch up. When she felt that happening the motion quickened so the dick rubbed like a wooden stick being set aflame with friction. Michael fell into throes of bliss and began clutching her firm midsection as he moaned. Rather than pulling out again after a full thrust, she held it inside and bounced on her tip toes to create a churning within him. Making her body more fluid, she incoporated smooth pelvic grinding into the pattern. The man lost his mind to pleasure and dug his heels into the tops of her ass cheeks as she bucked him, rocking his hips to enter a spiritual sympathy with her.

The Manticore's mind moved through the occult registry etched in his consciousness by Denise's penetrations, as though she were a server administrator checking around an operating system's file tree. When she'd navigated to the appropriate sphere, she found the word MORAL floating in psychospace. A deft flick of her dick added a letter, making it read MORTAL. She sighed, and calmly withdrew from him.

It was nine o'clock that night when she finally delivered her prize to the client. After buzzing the two in, Denise met them in the wide foyer wearing a flowing, white ceremonial robe.

"You cut it close, Manticore. Yet, you have lived up to your reputation. You're finished here, now. Leave." With a mock bow and the cigar stub punctuating her grin, Mandy left them alone in the great house. "And, at last," Denise said, running her hand through Michael's hair, "immortality. And soon, supremacy over my enemies, and yet more wealth, to make it even sweeter."

In the alchemical lab, Denise had him assume the position over her altar. She took a cat o' nine tails from a table bearing assorted flasks and beakers, and passed it through the long vertical side slit of her robe, to fix its handle's end to her strap-on harness. From the same table she took the final mask, a likeness of an octopus. She put it on and saw through its eyes, her mouth then hidden by its tentacles. The peculiar radiations of the important stars saturated the room through the skylight. Beneath the white fabric covering her crotch, the whip ends stirred sharply into a wild slithering.

"The tenth sphere," she proclaimed. "Kingdom."

The priestess advanced on the man. Grown supernaturally to hideous lengths, and flailing with demented hunger, the whips from her pubis tore through the fabric of her dress and shot with ruthless intent to bind the limbs of the waiting participant. Raised up into the air by these new appendages in a perverse mockery of gravity, Michael found his mouth and ass violated by the quivering tube ends, as they doused him with ectoplasmic sperm from without and thoroughly filled up his insides through both ends of his body. Denise screamed in orgasmic delight at the power she had summoned.

In a moment the lights shattered, the glass above the two figures rained down around them, and in no discernible order the myriad tools on the work table began to explode. Furniture slid haphazardly about the floor without any perceptible source of momentum. The suckered protrusions at her throat came alive and wrapped around it to slowly strangle the masked woman, and the whip popped off of her groin with a small, sparking bang. Michael was dropped to the floor as it split and lurched with seismic force, dust pouring into the room from the fracturing walls and cracking rafters. Denise fell to her knees as the tentacles on her mask snapped her neck, and she keeled over, dead. The naked man found the wit to scramble away from the cataclysmic explosions taking place, and he ran out of the manor as it withered in the magic cloud like black and clutching claws that sank pathetically into the earth.

On her bike, Mandy was smoking her cigar, and watching the police cars gradually wind their way up the hillside to them. Michael tentatively approached her.

"How'd it go?" she asked him.