Latin

byColleen Thomas©

Authors note: this story was inspired by the writings of Cheerful Deviant. It's my first stab at this genre, I hope you all enjoy it. The action is F/F, if you aren't into that, this one probably isn't for you.

CET


* * * * *

Lightning flashed and the booming retort of thunder split the night, shaking the ancient farm house to its crumbling foundation. Dust and tiny pieces of rotting wood fell from the ceiling, mimicking the rain pelting down on the obscenely twisted oaks in the yard.

Mandy Richardson blinked hard and clutched the worm-eaten, leather bound tome in her hand. Murder had been done in this house back before Croswell had even been a town. Everyone knew the story; old man Yokam's eldest boy had always been touched. One night during a storm he took an axe and did his whole family in, eight folks altogether. The property had been considered bad luck since then, and with the exception of out of town folks, it had remained abandoned. The occasional people who did buy it, not knowing its grisly past always sold out and left soon. Vague rumors of a nameless fear and strange happenings scared most off within a month.

Mandy felt the fear, felt the clawing of unseen hands at her body and heard the restless whispers. She didn't care. Her eyes were still stinging from the 'in' clique's latest practical joke at her expense and while she could hear the whispers, they were drowned out by the echoes of laughter.

She could see them now, jeering, pointing, and enjoying her torment. She hated them, hated them all, especially Stewart, who had convinced his sister to play up to her. However, her hatred for Stewart paled in comparison to her hatred for Mrs. Moran because she sat there, sat there watching them and enjoying Mandy's torment. And when she had finally snapped and said shut up, the bitch had sent her to detention, given her three demerits, and ruined her Saturday. Nothing for them though, not even a reprimand. Mandy almost thought the bitch had dreamed the stunt up herself, so maniacal was her glee.

She couldn't help being gay, and the constant harassment, whispers and mean spirited practical jokes had finally taken their toll. Something inside the rail thin butch had finally snapped. The suppressed rage had welled up into an all consuming fire that burned out reason and her better instincts. It burned so brightly that it allowed her to overcome the crushing fear and mount the stairs to the second floor.

The book in her hand came from her father's library. He was a professor of languages at the local university, and had imparted his love to his only daughter. He had never showed her this book though. What sane man would expose his child to the Libro de Malo, the book of evil? How many times had she snuck into her father's library, intent on trying the spell she had found within its crumbling pages? Too many to count, but tonight her rage was such that she would try anything.

The upstairs room was just a flat loft. Floor boards creaked ominously, flexing under her weight. The old place would probably fall in on itself someday soon. From her bag she brought out the eight special candles. Her parents found her sudden fascination with candle making cute. They might have been more concerned if they had ever connected the break in at the college's nursing school with her interest. She had risked a lot there. She was sure she could have played it off as a prank and it was the only way to get human tallow candles in this day and age.

Mandy placed the candles in a circle, using her little brother's Boy Scout compass to align them with the eight cardinal points. She lit a small battery powered lamp, rummaged in the bag until she found her little sister's sidewalk chalk, and using various colors, painstakingly sketched the complicated pattern of lines and circles on the floor. She consulted the diagram in the book often and twice had to use her shirt to fully erase misdrawn lines.

From her bag she pulled out the small sterling silver creamer she had lifted from her mom's serving set. She hoped it would fit the bill, but was unsure as the book called for a solid silver ewer. She also drew out her brother's pen knife and finally the little white box that held the mouse she had taken from the sticky trap in their basement. She looked inside and saw it was barely breathing. She had to move quickly. A last pang of doubt passed over her, but she hardened her heart and thought of her English teacher, Mrs. Moran.

Hate overcoming fear she quickly stripped, lit the candles, and seated herself in the circle. She began with the first incantation, reading from the book rather than trusting her memory. She took the knife and slit the nearly dead mouse's throat, watching its blood drain into the creamer. The next incantation was more complicated and required her to pull out a strand of hair, an eyelash, and some of her soft blonde pubes. These items went into the creamer and she finished the incantation by spitting into it as well.

She took up the knife again and bit her lower lip, before beginning to speak. As the words flowed haltingly from her mouth she pricked each of her wrists and each of her breasts, allowing a drop of blood from each wound to fall into the creamer. Sweating now, she felt the fear almost as strongly as the hate. The storm was howling with unimaginable fury and the thunder came so loud and often the whole building shook.

With shaking hands she lit the small sterno she had swiped from the camping goods store. She put the creamer over the flame and called out the last few words in Latin as a crashing bolt of lightening rent the heavens, knocking out power in a three county area. Her camp light dimmed to almost nothing and she wondered if the battery was dying. It was then that she realized the room had grown dark. Not your ordinary dark, but an impenetrable blackness that slowly coalesced into a dark figure in the corner. Creeping tendrils of darkness oozed around the room, and for several minutes Mandy sat there in abject horror as the inky psuedopods tested the symbol she sat within. She felt malice, deathless, ageless and implacable, like a living thing. Sweat poured from her body and terror clutched at her heart.

At last the tendrils withdrew and the dark figure took on the shape of a tall man with flaming eyes and gleaming teeth. Mandy was petrified, but inwardly exulted.

"Thou has summoned me. My time on this plane is short, what is it thou desires?"

"Revenge," Mandy said, her voice cracking.

The creature laughed, a hideous sound that raised gooseflesh on her body. The sound actually caused pain, it was so malevolent.

"Thy are afraid, as well thy should be. If thou had failed to complete the summoning or failed to protect thyself I would drag thee screaming into the void. An eternity of torment for mine amusement would be thy lot. But thy need have no fear. While the candles burn, I cannot harm thee. I may grant thee revenge, but thou must specify what thy wants."

"Don't you know?" Mandy asked in a tiny voice.

"All things that come to pass in this pitiful world are known to me, but it is not within my mandate to act upon thy wishes in the way I would find most pleasing. Thy must specify what thy wish, and thou must do so quickly,"

"Why quickly?"

"If thy summon me without specific cause, then thy protection is forfeit," he answered with a leering smile.

"Then kill them. Kill them all, starting with Mrs. Moran," Mandy said, her voice quavering.

"As you wish," the figure said, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice as he turned.

"Wait!" She cried.

"You try my patience girl!" The creature snarled, his accent changing from old English to something more modern as his form shifted to that of a bent old man.

"I command you! Until the candles burn away," she asserted.

Before she could think the creature sprang upon her. She cowered instinctively, but when he reached the plane of the outermost circle a blinding flash and unearthly howl of pain nearly knocked her out. For a few moments she was blinded, but as her sight returned, she saw the creature standing before her. Now he was a fat man with open wounds, that dripped black ichor.

"What will you have of me?"

"You sounded disappointed. Why?"

"I was not put here to answer your questions!" He snapped.

"Dolor!" She cried. The creature writhed in agony, falling to the floor and thrashing until the house shook.

"Satis," she said more calmly.

The creature stood then. She expected to see anger on his face, but instead a sardonic grin was there.

"Very well, perhaps I underestimated you and you are indeed my mistress. What would you know?'

"Why did you seem disappointed?"

"Your tormentors are all believers in one faith or another, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess so. They all go to church anyway," she replied in confusion.

"Then if I should simply cause them to die, they shall go unto their heavenly reward. It seems a weak punishment; even should I see fit to torment them before they die."

"There is a heaven?"

"That is beyond my power to tell. Suffice it to say, if they believe, they will not suffer."

"Then what should I do?" She asked. The creature laughed again.

"I cannot tell you little mistress, if mistress you be. I can only fulfill, not suggest. If you choose, I can slay them all, but if you are truly my mistress you will think of something more fitting."

Mandy thought. If killing them only gave them release, then she would have to find something better, some way to inflict upon them the kind of emotional pain she had suffered at their hands. What could she do to a bitch like Mrs. Moran that would devastate her? What could make up for her letting her snotty religious principals make her into the protector of Mandy's tormentors and instigator of much of it? Inspiration came and when she voiced her command, the demon, for demon it was, looked at her with a mixture of amusement and respect.

"Perhaps you will be my mistress after all. It shall be so. Release me now, this form burns me," he said.

"Recedo quod perturbo mihi haud diutius," she intoned. With a mock salute the creature turned and Mandy suddenly found herself alone again.

The overriding malice she had felt was gone, as well as the hideous fear, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon the protection of the symbol on the floor.

The candles had burned down to nothing, the storm had passed, and dawn tinged the sky before she could bring herself to abandon the protection of her small circle.

* * *


Cynthia Moran called her class to order and surveyed them with a baleful eye. She looked disapprovingly at the girls in short skirts and tight jeans. Strumpets one and all on a one way trip to hell. She tried to reach them, show them Christian love and the correct path, but they were all too deep in sin and too weak willed to follow the dictates of the one true church. The boys were worse, fornicators and drunkards, but at least they had a reason to be in school, she thought.

The strictures about witnessing to them placed on her by the Board of Education always rankled and after her last warning she had been reassigned to teach the senior English section. Instead of the fifth and sixth graders, who were still savable she now had to deal with eighteen and nineteen year olds who were already well down the devil's path. Her husband had tried to keep her where her witness could do some good, to no avail,. In the face of an ACLU suit, brought by three families, even his influence had not been enough.

Whenever Cynthia was cross her eyes lit on her favorite target. Mandy sat in the back of the room as usual, wearing jeans and a Tee shirt. Not only was the little sinner gay, but she had the audacity to dress as a man, the teacher thought to herself. Her husband, Pastor Robert Moran had preached against such people just yesterday in response to the Massachusetts Supreme Court ruling.

She scowled at the young woman, but the girl smiled back at her blandly. Cynthia felt vaguely discomforted by that smile. It held satisfaction of some kind and she decided to hold Mandy after class and send her to detention. She turned to the black board and began writing, trying to decide what to accuse her of this time. A few more demerits and she would have a case for having the girl expelled.

Mandy smiled as she watched the slightly overweight and frumpy woman writing on the board. She was dying to test her new power but also wanted to be cautious. She had formulated a plan while waiting for the sun to rise and while she hadn't been able to sleep, she didn't feel tired at all. It would have to be something small, something minor, but what?

Cynthia stopped writing in mid word, turned around and placed the piece of chalk she was using on the tray at the bottom of the black board. She then opened the box in her desk, extracted a fresh stick of chalk from it and returned to the board. She was nearly done when she stopped again and wondered why she had done that.

She shook it off and finished up, then turned to the class and began to lecture. Milton was one of her favorite subjects and before she knew it the bell rang, ending the period. As was her habit, she gave a lengthy homework assignment to make sure the students had plenty to keep them off the streets and dismissed them.

"Miss Richardson, I'll see you after class," was the last thing she said before turning her back on the stampede and erasing the chalk board. When she finished she turned to find Mandy sitting casually on the corner of her desk, in a semi provocative pose.

"Just what do you think you're doing young lady?" The dumpy teacher cried in indignation. Mandy seemed tense with a near visible aura of anticipation surrounding her, and it only served to make Cynthia angrier.

"Sit down," Mandy ordered.

To Cynthia's utter amazement, she collapsed into her chair. Her legs simply refused to obey her orders and she found it impossible to stand back up. Mandy was staring at her with an immensely satisfied grin.

"Now see here young lady..."

"Shut up!" Mandy commanded.

Cynthia's tongue seemed cloven to her palate and even her attempts to scream produced no sound. She watched in growing fear as Mandy walked across the room to the door and locked it, before letting the shades down in both the windows. The thin blonde then returned to the corner of Cynthia's desk.

"There, now we have a little privacy," she said with obvious relish.

Cynthia tried to speak, tried desperately to rise, but her body simply ignored her commands. She felt a deep dread well up inside as Mandy examined her. The girl looked like a starving dog suddenly thrown some meat and it scared Cynthia.

"You look so stiff. Why don't you relax a little? Put your legs up on the desk," she said at length.

Cynthia complied, fighting against her body the whole time. She put her legs up on her desk and crossed them at the ankles.

"No, you still look tense, spread your legs," Mandy prompted. "That's a good girl, now lean back."

Cynthia blushed scarlet as she spread her legs wide, each foot resting about shoulder width from the other.

"Hmmmm, you still don't look comfy. I know, it's that hideous skirt covering your legs. Why don't you pull it up?" Mandy said. Cynthia leaned forward mechanically and grasped the hem of her ankle length skirt. She leaned back and to her utter shame pulled the long skirt into her lap, bunching it at her waist. Tears began to pour from her eyes as she fought desperately to control her rebelling body.

Cynthia wore white cotton 'granny' panties and heavy support hose. Mandy wrinkled her nose and opened the teacher's desk drawer. She took out the heavy black handled scissors, opening and closing them several times while watching Cynthia's eyes. She smiled wickedly when the implication dawned on Cynthia and the mortified teacher shook her head.

"Fucking ugly underwear, teach. We'll have to change that," Mandy said as she caught the crotch of the panty hose and pulled them away from Cynthia's body. The older woman cringed as Mandy used the shears to cut the crotch out of the hose. She groaned in horror as she felt the cold metal on her most private parts followed by cool air. Mandy grinned as she made the final cut and pulled Cynthia's now useless panties away from her body.

"Damn teach, don't you ever shave?" Mandy exclaimed as she caught sight of Cynthia's extremely hairy pussy. The thick black curls not only covered her pubis, but wandered up her tummy and onto her thighs. Her stomach was plump as were her thighs and her skin was the color of cottage cheese.

"Ugh, no wonder you're such a hard up mean spirited bitch, no one in their right mind would want to eat that shit," Mandy said, wrinkling her nose.

More tears fell and Cynthia tried vainly to make her hands move and cover her nakedness. The futility and embarrassment were so acute she actually felt faint. Mandy glanced at the clock and then at the door of the classroom.

"Take your blouse off, quickly, unless you want someone to catch us like this," Mandy said.

Cynthia mechanically removed her blouse, revealing a plain white bra.

"Ugly fucking bra too. You need a makeover teach. Get it off, now!" The girl demanded.

Cynthia's hands slipped behind her back obediently and undid the clasps. She shrugged out of the bra and let it fall to her lap. Her breasts were large, but not firm, and the dark brown aureoles looked huge. Her nipples were thick and prominent, causing Mandy to smile.

"Well, at least you got nice tits, how many kids?" Mandy asked as she reached out to heft one of the heavy orbs. Cynthia recoiled in horror as she felt the girl's soft fingers begin to knead her breast.

"Three," she said with difficulty. Her mind was now rebelling, fighting with super human will to break whatever hold this demon spawn had over her.

"Not a bad rack for three kids," Mandy said, smiling triumphantly as Cynthia's body betrayed her yet again and her nipple stiffened.

"Well, I'd love to sit here and feel you up some more, but activity period is almost over, so I guess I'll have to leave you frustrated. A few things before I split. First, you are not to talk bout this to anyone. Second, at lunch time call your hubby and tell him you are going to be late tonight. Make up whatever excuse you have to. Third, when school lets out, do your normal little routine, but instead of the faculty parking lot, come out the side door at 5:25 sharp. I'll be waiting."

Mandy plucked Cynthia's bra from her lap and stuffed it into her book bag along with the tattered remains of her panties. The thin girl smiled, blew the teacher a kiss and breezed out of the classroom. The moment she was gone Cynthia found her body responding to her commands again. She hastily put her top back on and was just barely dressed before her fourth period class started coming in.

She wanted to leave, but knew she had to carry on. Without her bra, her breasts didn't look as firm and she was acutely embarrassed. She turned her back on the class and began to write on the board. Cynthia stifled a gasp when she reached up and felt the rough linen of her blouse scraped over her bare nipples. She knew it was only her imagination, but every time she moved she could feel a draft on her bare pussy. Fearing to turn and face her charges, she lectured as she wrote, keeping her back to the classroom the entire hour.

When the bell rang she dismissed her class and headed toward the cafeteria. The internal debate she was having with herself over whether or not to tell Principal Watley about the lurid affair came to an abrupt end when she found herself dropping a quarter into the pay phone outside the cafeteria.

"No!" Her mind screamed, as she desperately tried to slam the receiver down, walk away, do anything other than call her husband. It was all for naught, and she was relieved that she got his voice mail.

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byColleen Thomas© 21 comments/ 262872 views/ 57 favorites

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