Lucy's Changing Life Ch. 06

Lucy, by contrast, rarely missed her sister's stolen glances, even if she was sure that few others did the same, it was only her familiarity with every bit of Kate's body language that allowed her to do so.

As a tease, she shook her hand through her tresses and plumped up her bosom in her undergarments as the maid began laying out their dresses. The way in which Kate quickly averted her eyes told her she had hit a nerve and she allowed herself an amused smile.

It was some time before Lucy had an opportunity to corner the Duke, but she found him in the Drawing Room after lunch one afternoon, and took her chance.

"Uncle, I was wondering. Do you know anything about a man called Arthur Cordingley?" She saw him momentarily stiffen with his back to her before saying "Cordingley, no, no, never heard of him."

Undeterred, she continued her entreaties. "Oliver says that's not so, please Uncle." Pressed, the old man crossed the room and closed the door, not wishing to be disturbed, and motioned for Lucy to sit down, leaning forwards conspiratorially on the edge of his seat. He took a deep breath and pressed his hand to his forehead before he summoned the courage to tell her what he knew.

"Not something to be discussed with a woman really..." he began, before seeing from her expression that she was not to be put off. "Hellfire Club, they called it. Most of us saw it as a bit of fun you know. Dressing up as all kind of supernatural creatures, and, you know...romping. Just a bit of youthful fun, none of us took it seriously."

His face grew grimly set as he thought on the actual subject of her question. "But not Cordingley. He became obsessed, fixated with it, unhealthily so. The stuff at the parties was all a sort of parody, but there were rumours from the servants at Northcroft that Arthur was conducting much more serious occult practices after all the guests had gone home, and that Georgina was being badly influenced by him".

"I must know. Is Arthur Cordingley my Father?"

The Duke looked pained, closing his eyes, his bushy grey moustache bunching up under his nose. Finally he nodded "Yes. Yes he is -- was. Well you know the story, the house burned to the ground one night. There were those who said he had brought retribution on himself for his...unnatural beliefs."

He took a deep breath again. "Georgina was hysterical with grief, and we soon discovered why. A match was made for your mother -- one far beneath her station I might add -- but one which made things credible as time went on."

She finished the thought for him "When she had me". The Duke nodded in response.

"We were always told that the house was dangerous," she continued. "Now I wonder what is left of my real Father's legacy." The curiosity stirred in her breast -- secret societies, occult practices, her conception seemingly tied up in the most scandalous of circumstances.

She looked pensive for a moment, wondering what it all meant for her, for her sense of self and she felt a sting of terror mixed with a sudden realisation. Was this why she had such a voracious appetite in matters of the pillow? Why she rutted with stable hands like a common whore, why she had made a beeline for Oliver's room as soon as possible the night of her arrival? Why she had needed, craved pleasures of the flesh more and more over the last few years, and yet it never seemed to be enough?

The Duke's voice broke into her thoughts and brought her back to the moment. He seemed to sense at least a part of what she was thinking.

"I beg you Lucy, do not go there. It is a place better left undisturbed."

She patted his hand, doing her best to sound reassuring, though her thoughts were a jumble of doubts, theories, and above all, the image in her head of her Mother at the centre of some Demon-worshipping cult, the moment Arthur Cordingley had planted his seed in her belly.

"I promise. I just wanted to know the truth. Thank you for telling me."

"Ancient history me dear. Best left forgotten. You're a bright young thing with a good future in front of you. Make the most of it."

"Of course" she replied, as he rose to leave her. He was a kindly old gentleman, she thought, wanting what was best for her, and for his son, whom he no doubt thought could be a match for her.

He passed one of the maids on the way out, who asked her if she would like to take tea. She waved her away with a distracted hand, deep in thought and the conviction that on her return, she must go and see the remnants of Arthur Cordingley's house, despite its charred and blackened shell, she could not shake the idea that it held secrets she needed to uncover, secrets her Mother would never reveal willingly.

*

She dismounted, looping the reins over the gate of the long since abandoned and overgrown stable block and ventured forth through the archway toward the back of the house.

As she did so she noted how the other side of the dividing wall was charred black from the blaze that had previously engulfed the house. The thick foliage which crowded into the rest of the grounds still grew only patchily here, the ground remaining in cinders underneath her boots.

The house looked up ominously in front of her, roofless, and what window spaces that were left yawning rectangles of blackness. The heavy oak doors were still intact, but their surfaces were carbonised, and crumbled to dust as she pushed on them and walked through. She had only gone a few steps beyond when one of them crashed off it's rusted hinges to the floor with a loud bang that made her jump.

There was little enough left of the interior, just the long ranging exterior walls and what dividing structures had not been made of combustible materials and had survived the conflagration. The sight of the broken marble mosaic floor and the shadow of the once grand staircase against the far wall produced a profound sense of melancholy within her breast.

That lead her eyeline to what had once been below that staircase. A further, now exposed set of rotting stairs lead down to a wall which looked like it had been purposely bricked up, with stone not in keeping with the rest of the ruin around it. These bricks were not blackened with the soot of the fire. Whatever lay beyond them someone had taken deliberate pains to hide.

She gingerly stepped down towards the wall, the wooden steps disintegrating beneath her boots.

The wall, though recent, was of poor workmanship, and exposed to the elements, it was already beginning to show signs of weakness in some areas. Her curiosity piqued, she raised one foot and drove her heel into the mortar between what looked like two promising candidates.

There was a shower of dust and dirt but they did not immediately budge. A second and a third boot yielded more promising results, and eventually one whole side of the obstruction fell downwards into the cellar of the house.

Lucy squeezed her way through the whole with a girlish noise of effort before she skidded down what remained of the stairs on the other side, several of their broken stone pieces tumbling away into the room proper and she hissed as she landed awkwardly, seemingly undamaged but she had certainly scraped and grazed various knees and elbows.

She fished in her pocket for a box of matches briefly managed to illuminate the space around her, long enough to locate a mass of what appeared to be old candles, surrounding a stone plinth.

Deployment of a second match allowed her to attempt to light one of them, and only mildly singed her fingers as she got the descripit wick to take. It guttered and crackled in the damp environment, but it did not extinguish itself immediately. What she saw astonished her.

The stone before her was large, and roughly round, surrounded by the many candles. It was expertly made, and was covered in many strange markings she could not decipher, but the largest one she certainly did know -- a large pentagram, it's points touching the circumference of the plinth. This wasn't any random stone carving she realised. It was an altar.

She reached out to trace the marking with her fingers, and as she did so, a small cut on her arm, sustained in her tumble into the cellar, let the slightest rivulet of blood snake around her wrist and under her thumb.

There was a moment of hesitation, a few seconds when everything that was to come afterward could have been halted. Instead, a single drop of dark red bevelled away from her skin and dripped down to the pattern beneath.

The effect was almost instantaneous and the pentagram on the floor blazed into life, golden fire streaking along it and marking its pattern out, making Lucy jump backwards, and the rats screech and run for their holes. The stone dais cracked, and from it, a plume of black smoke began to rise, making her cough and cover her mouth.

From within it, a voice sounded, a voice unlike anything she had ever heard on earth. Deep and sonorous, it utterly dominated the enclosed space of what she now knew had been Arthur Cordingley's Demonic Temple. From within the smoke, something moved, something large and terrifying, red eyes glowing as it moved forwards.

"Who is it that summons Al'gamun? Come here, child, " it rumbled. "Let me look at you." She found herself unable to resist, and try as she might to prevent them, her feet stuttered forwards like a marionette, until she was close enough for the thing to leer at her from within the fire.

She coughed and spluttered a little at first as the inky black smoke poured from the fissure between dimensions, a red glow beneath the Demon's cloven feet. He rumbled a deep growl as her breasts heaved, causing her cleavage to bulge within her garments.

"What- who are you?" Lucy managed to ask, though her mind already was screaming the truth at her, she merely wanted to hear it from the creature's lips before she could admit it to herself.

"Look inside your heart child. You know the answer. Blood calls to blood." As he spoke he moved forwards, so she could see him more clearly. Lucy was considered tall for a woman, but even her near six foot frame was dominated by the creature, barrel-chested, almost grotesquely muscular, and completely covered in a thick, red hide.

From his back an enormous pair of thickly pinioned demonic wings hung the entire length of his torso and down below his knees, sharing the space with a thick, armoured tail, tipped by a cruel bony spike.

Atop the thing's head, completely hairless with its cruel features sprouted a pair of horns, black and polished, they curved upwards in an almost graceful arc.

He was entirely naked, and Lucy's eyes could not help but take in the massive penis he sported, commensurate with his size, and as blood red as the rest of him. It nestled on a scrotal sac containing a pair of testes that must have been at least the size of a grapefruit each she judged.

Lucy tried to keep her head tilted and her chin up to adopt an air of authority, despite being in the presence of such a creature, but the knowledge of what she surely knew now to be true emboldened her enough to maintain at least a modicum of courage.

"You're Arthur Cordingley. You're my Father." The creature laughed loud, and deep. "I was once. Now I am Al'gamun, servant of Asmodeus. But yes my dear, I am your Father, and you were conceived here, in this place. Now you have opened this gateway once more, I come to bring you into your inheritance."

"My inheritance?" she repeated with a quizzical expression. "What inheritance? The house above us is ashes, it burned to the ground the night you disappeared." This provoked another guttural laugh from the monstrous form of her Father.

"Such mortal material wealth no longer concerns me, I bring you life eternal, by my side. Do I not guess already that your appetites are unlike those of others? That they perceive you to be a lustful and unnatural creature? I say to you that your desires are entirely natural for a daughter of mine.

"I...I cannot deny it. It...is like a hunger I can only satisfy for the smallest interval," she confessed. "And as time passes, the satisfaction lessens, and the hunger returns more quickly. I can't stop, I need it. At first I thought it was a disorder of the mind, and that they would lock me up in a sanatorium or as a madwoman in an attic after the fashion of Currer Bell, but now I see -- it is my nature, is it not?"

The thing that was her Father nodded his head. "This human shell was not meant to contain you. You were not meant to be born into it, rather you should have been shaped in the images your Mother and I desired for ourselves."

He gave out a low grunt as his large, red-skinned penis swelled with arousal, not only at the memory of the passion he had shared with Georgina, but also the prospect of what he desired to transpire between his daughter and himself in the days ahead.

"Give yourself to Asmodeus, through me, and you will have your hunger sated for all eternity. But speak to none of my return...yet. Await my call. I shall make all ready for your return, and your ascension to your true form, one befitting my daughter".

Lucy's eyes widened "You mean, to make me like you?" Lucy replied, her breath shuddering in excitement.

"Like and yet unlike. You will be a Demoness of surpassing beauty, which men and women alike shall worship and crave for your touch. And touch them you shall, in all the ways of the flesh, and in all the acts of depravity that your mind can conceive. How many more you shall be capable of conjuring in your mind once you have become your true self you can only now begin to imagine!"

Lucy found that she was enraptured by the prospect; her hands were wandering over her own body, at her chest, between her legs, in her hair, down her neck. She ached and yearned for what he offered, knew that she was not meant to have been human, that she should have been born to the life he described.

"Good. Excellent" he observed. "Go now my daughter, and be ready when I summon you" he told her.

In a voice full of conviction and sultry longing, and sporting a lascivious grin Lucy replied. "Yes, Father".

Elizabeth

Lizzie rang the bell to the house and waited there, in her day dress and bonnet. Her visits were not out of the ordinary, and yet, of late, she had found a certain nervousness creeping into her as she approached the big house.

No matter how fervently she prayed before bed for any unnatural thoughts regarding her friend, whenever she came calling, or Katie did in reverse, they came into her mind, quite unbidden.

Unlike Kate however, she had not yet succumbed to the sin of properly touching herself, partly from a sense that it was considered sinful, but also because she was concerned that her Father or the one housemaid they kept employed would overhear any wanton noises she may make.

Presently, she was admitted by a footman, quite used to the visits of the Parson's daughter and they therefore exchanged the usual pleasantries as she was accompanied only part of the required distance to the drawing room until they mate Kate coming down the stairs.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting Lizzie, I was tending to Lucy, she is feeling unwell today." Oh she looked pretty thought Lizzie, once more feeling that little pang of guilt that she was considering at the door. A blue gown, with her dark brown hair tied up in twin braids behind her head and a wide smile upon her face.

The friends joined hands as Kate reached the bottom of the stairs and dismissed the footman, asking him to ensure one of the maids brought the pair of them tea.

"I am sorry to hear that" Lizzie said, as they entered the Drawing Room. "I hope she's going to be quite alright. Do you suppose we should call a physician?"

Kate shook her head. "No, I'm sure not, she merely seems to be suffering from some fatigue and a loss of appetite." The tea arrived and Kate pouted it out, the two of them sat quite close. Lizzie could feel the warmth of Kate's leg against hers, even through the layers of fabric.

"Come on" Kate said, setting down her tea, and taking Katie by the hand, "Let's go to the kitchen and see what cook can rustle up for us by way of a picnic."

Twenty minutes later the two of them were bounding across the lawn towards the river. On its edges they spread their tablecloth and their wares. Kate flopped down facing Lizzie, backlit by the sun.

Her modest bosom was pressed upwards by her folded arms and she could not help but steal a glance.

"Lizzie" Kate began, a quizzical tone in her voice. "What think you of men? As a species I mean, rather than any specific specimen?"

Lizzie lay back, her head in the grass. "I think of them as little as possible," she replied. "They are as dull to look at as they are to converse with. You?"

"I have always found them to be almost exclusively without merit. Unlike my present company." Lizzie felt her cheeks burning as the two of them leant closer over the picnic blanket until they were inches from one another. Until she was tilting her head in anticipation of Kate doing the same.

"Miss Katherine! Miss Katherine!" she could hear Katie's maid Emily calling as she made her way towards them "Miss Lucy is calling for you!"

The pair of them moved apart, Lizzie blinking and covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. "Oh well, yes, you, you should tend to poor Lucy, and I should get on home."

"Lizzie wait! You will come and see me tomorrow won't you?" Katie asked. Without saying a word, Lizzie nodded, and hurried away down the hill towards the parsonage.

Katherine

Kate's sleep was disturbed that night. In her dream she found herself wandering in the grounds, away from the house, beyond the tree-lined walkways of the formal gardens and out to where follies and grottos had been constructed on footpaths with viewpoints over the estate. The night air caused the flora to rattle noisily as the moonlight streamed down to illuminate the midnight blue blackness.

She was searching for her sister, fearful for her safety, ill as she was. She walked until her feet hurt, further and further away from the sanctuary of the house until she felt exposed, and trepidatious.

She walked through quadrangles of sunken gardens hemmed in by coniferous trees which swayed to and fro in the wind, calling Lucy's name again and again. Finally her path opened out into a large space, dominated at one end by a stone table.

"Lu..." she stopped mid-call, for the sight that met her eyes was too incredible to believe. A Demon, for that is what it was surely. Its gnarled, crimson skin, stretched over a bulky, muscle-bound frame was illuminated by the dim light.

Even if the encroaching dark robbed it of its vivid colour, its other features were unmistakable; a pair of huge, curled horns emerged almost seamlessly from its bald head, and its lower limbs ended in a pair of twisted, goat-like legs and cloven hooves.

From its shoulders a pair of leathery, barbed wings with thick pinions extended, and a thick, spiked tail extended from the base of its spine. A series of triangular horned protrusions showed where it's bestial vertebrae had erupted through its hide.

The thing was...defiling Lucy. She would have said "raping" except the naked body of her sister writhed in passion, groans of lust escaping her above the savage grunting of the demon as it fucked her. Her pale breasts splayed across her chest as the beast plunged again and again between her legs.

It's penis was enormous, stretching her sister's pink, sweating cunt, it's black precum staining the creases of her folds. Beneath, its bestial gonads swung heavily, bloated with its infernal seed.

Kate stood there dumbstruck as she took in the sight of the unholy union, which had a horrifying beauty in its own way, the raven hair of her sister spilling over the sides of the altar, the shadows of the flames licking over her porcelain skin.