Malleable

Author's note:

I hope you enjoy this occult tale of the secret darknesses that live among us, often unseen. As a reader, please be aware that occult horror may well contain elements of mind-control, unnatural violence, and other taboo acts including a lack of consent. But don't be too alarmed: there is a more tale here than there is terror. All characters are fictional and over the age of consent (18 years old or more).

I have submitted this tale in the Halloween contest due to its haunting, supernatural theme though there is a small connection to the holiday. As always, votes and comments are appreciated more than most readers realize.

- Kethandra

Malleable

By Kethandra Wilde

Prologue

The young boy's eyes shot open when the goat stopped its frightened, insistent bleats after hours of non-stop complaints had rung out into the night. The grogginess of a night alone, struggling to fight off both sleep and fear, was gone.

His pulse pounded, hands shaking as he felt in the dark for the bow and the single, special arrow. He heard, almost felt, the low rumbling growl before he saw the shape of the beast, a darker form against the dim pre-dawn.

It was unmistakably a panther, but far too big.

Fingers, slick with nervous sweat, tried, failed, tried again, before nocking the arrow to the bowstring. He would only have one shot. Thin legs protested as he stood, both numb from their long wait and reluctant to leave their hiding spot behind the stacked sun-dried bricks.

The string whined as it was stretched, only the slightest of sounds but enough for pointed feral ears to hear, tilt his way. The boy tugged, harder, pulling string and arrow back to his cheek, too fast, too hard, too nervous. The beast growled again, turning its broad head toward him. Its eyes seemed to glow. The sound became sharper, a snarl.

The bowstring escaped, slipping through skittish fingers. Thrung!

No! Too soon. Too high.

The snarl ripped through the air as the beast heaved upright, onto its back paws, more like a bear than a jungle cat. It stood tall, enormous, at least the height of a grown man.

The arrow would have missed, sailing over the beast's head if it hadn't stood, if it had been a mere natural predator. As it was, the boy saw the briefest glint of color flashing through the gloom, of yellow-bright metal tipping the shaft's leading edge, before the snarl became an unholy scream.

The scream broke the spell of silence. The milk goat bleated renewed complaints, now almost shrieks. One human voice, unsure, then a second and third, sounded from the small huts surrounding the village's central clearing.

The scream rose, louder and higher, full of pain and rage. Claws scratched and dug at the beast's chest before the massive creature fell backward onto its back in the dirt. The scream ceased after a final deep shudder, leaving the goat to fill the air alone as silent villagers slipped out through newly unbarricaded doors, curious, hopeful, cautious.

No one spoke as they gathered in a circle around beast and goat, one still on the ground, the other finally quiet, but tugging on the rough rope tied to the stake that held her.

Adults moved aside to let the youngster draw near, showing him a respect, or maybe a fear, he had never before been granted. The bow was forgotten by the bricks. All that mattered was the arrow now. It's shaft, except for the black feathers that fletched its rear end, was invisible burrowed deep in the man's chest.

Man? No. Boy. Older than he, but still young, surely no more than 16 years. A thin trickle of blood, appearing almost black, leaked from slack lips. The beast had seemed so fearsome, so terrible. The dead, naked form on the ground in its place was terrible in a different way, so vulnerable, so small and wrong. Scrawny arms, barely any fuzz on a pale upper lip.

The body looked so vulnerable in death, so harmless, the child looking down at it began to doubt what he'd known he saw. The beast, huge and hairy, oversized and inhuman, impossibly beyond reason. The doubt vanished when he recalled the monster rearing up, exposing it's softer under side as the sweat-slick arrow escaped his grip, propelling the golden triangle, carefully shaped and sharpened, on its own improbable schedule.

———

Coco Bouvier drew in on her new vape pen, holding in the sweet water vapor and the THC it carried to her lungs and blood stream. Her mom did not approve of the pen.

But her mom, Lucinda, was at Sew What, the small shop where she had found work as a seamstress, so Coco had opened the door for the handsome landlord of their new little house. He needed to fix a small issue with the plumbing. Her mother hadn't mentioned calling him about the leak, and Coco had only noticed it this morning, but he knew about it, so she must have let him know.

They had only moved in a little over a week ago, and the place was crowded with Lucinda's many potted plants, mainly herbs, as well as woven baskets confining dried varieties. Coco's mom was an herbalist, a healer, a witch, or a variety of other inadequate labels, depending on who was describing her. Two weeks ago, Coco had come home to find all their belongings in a rental truck. Lucinda had been 'called', she'd said. They were moving from Santa Cruz, with its beaches and vibrant young tourist town vibe, too Chico, in the middle of the hot, dry Valley. Lucinda gave her lanky, beautiful young daughter plenty of freedom, but the one thing not to be questioned was a 'calling.'

Exploring the new town, Coco was starting to admit it wasn't that bad. The university brought in a diversity of young energy, even if the surrounding bleak land was mile after mile of unnaturally green farms, almond orchards and rice patties. Her smooth dark skin and the -- as she was so often told -- 'exotic' look acquired through her varied ancestry made her stand out.

The Caribbean had attracted wanderers and explorers from all over for centuries. Many of them were attracted to each other. European, African, Native American, more Asian than most might guess.

She liked the attention she seemed to attract. Or at least most of it. As she leaned back against the heavy, worn butcher block island in the center of the kitchen, watching the landlord work, she thought it might not be a bad town at all.

Mr. McAlister's forearms had her attention at the moment. As he wrestled with two wrenches, tightening a connection under the sink, she was fascinated watching the muscles clench and move under his skin. He wasn't all that old, she thought, much younger than her mom, but his eyes had a depth that demanded attention.

She had felt a small thrill in her belly when he had first fixed them on her as he'd showed them the small run-down rental, an in-law unit in the back yard of an older Victorian house, accessed off of an alley. The thrill had grown, causing her to actually catch her breath, when she had taken his offered hand.

Coco had planned to explore downtown this morning, before the summer heat had time to kick in, but Mr. McAlister's knock on the screen door had changed that. His eyes had caught hers again, looking up at her through the old metal mesh, a slight smile on his full lips.

"I had time this morning to help with your leak. It's Collette, right? May I come in?"

She had immediately felt that stirring in her belly again, stronger knowing she was alone in the house. He looked like a man that she wouldn't mind letting come in, 'maybe even cum inside' she thought, and she could tell the feeling in her belly was the kind that led to a different, slippery kind of leak. The heat was kicking in alright.

The way her mind had immediately twisted his words into a sexual context surprised her. Coco enjoyed being pursued and chased, effort and resources invested in any suitor's attempt. Something about the landlord made her want to just throw herself on him. Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded before holding opening the screen door for him to enter.

The action forced him to slip by, turning to face her as he did. He didn't have cologne on but smelled really good. Like lean in and take another whiff good. The slender girl was suddenly conscious of the loose shirt and pajama pants she still wore, wishing she had already dressed to go out.

As soon as he had opened his tool bag, kneeling in front of the sink, she had ducked into her small bedroom to change. Pulling off the loose sleep shirt, she noticed how hard, how sensitive her nipples had become. The one she had had pierced a couple months ago, for her eighteenth birthday, almost throbbed around the small stainless steel bar that ran through it.

She wanted to laugh at herself, getting all moist over this man. She was usually the cool, 'exotic' cucumber, making older guys stutter. Instead, her heart beat rapidly in her chest, matching her breath. Had he called her Collette?

No one called her by her given name without getting corrected, but she'd just wanted to sniff this guy's scent like a bitch in heat.

She pulled on short, high waisted jean cutoffs that showed off her long, slim brown legs, stopped a couple inches below the white spaghetti-strapped crop top she'd chosen. Men liked her flat, toned stomach and if would be right at Mr. McAlister's eye level with him kneeling on the floor. She pictured his eyes then rising, stopping on the small bumps her nipples made in the textured, stretchy white cloth of her top.

Leaning back on the wooden island, her small chest pushed out as she held in her second hit from the vape pen, she waited impatiently for him to turn. She knew how men responded to the sudden sight of her young body close and on display, and enjoyed the sense of power it gave her.

Nothing followed her plan. He did turn, but his attention went up, straight up at her face. "Look here."

He beckoned to her downward with a quick, casual wave of his hand. She obeyed, dropping to her knees beside him and he pointed to the pipes under the sink. "See? Here? I don't have the parts to change this out but it was installed wrong. I stopped the leak for now. If it starts to drip, call me right away. I'll give you my card."

Before Coco realized it, he had turned the situation around on her. He stood, fishing into a front pocket. The action stretched his jeans across a very visible bulge, directly before her eyes as she continued to kneel on the floor. She caught his scent again, muskier now, but still enticing her to lean closer, sniff more.

He was smiling, eyes twinkling when she looked up at him, away from his crotch. "How do you like it?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes dropping back to his jeans in reflex. He laughed. "This."

He was wiggling her vape pen between finger and thumb. The motion was smooth, almost hypnotic. Coco's mom had taken her to get a recommendation for medical marijuana after her birthday. It was easy to get in Santa Cruz and it supposedly protected the herbalist more from getting in trouble for having weed -- Ganja - around her school-age daughter. Lucinda didn't like the vape pen and its 'purified' extracts; pot itself she definitely approved of, able to rattle off myriad compounds found in the flower and their beneficial effects.

Coco took the hand the landlord offered her after setting her pen back down next to his slightly crumpled card. It guided her upright, close to him in the narrow space between the island and the kitchen sink. Still holding her hand, he looked down, not hiding his gaze as it roamed over her young body, pausing on one shadowy raised nipple, longer on the second, pierced one.

Releasing her hand, he allowed the back of his knuckles to drag across her exposed midriff. Coco shivered at the touch, like a spring suddenly slipping, unwinding a notch, after his calm, appraising look and intoxicating presence had wound it up.

"You're very beautiful." His eyes, darkly bright, caught and held hers.

"Thank you." It came out as an unsure whisper. He had her off balance, out of her usual position of making both boys and men uncomfortable when she chose to flaunt herself and flirt with them.

"I have a vaporizer," he went on, ignoring the vulnerable state the girl was in, "but I still like the taste, the feel, the whole ritual of the smoke. La mota."

She watched him reach into the chest pocket of his shirt, stretching it outward. She found herself leaning in, hoping he would brush against her sensitive pierced nipple as he did.

He pulled out a thin 'pinner' joint instead. His free hand reached past her to flip on the stove's nearest gas burner. It clicked twice, then lit. The action brought him close enough for another heady whiff to reach her. He stayed close, half behind her as she turned to watch him twist one end of the pinner in at the edge of the blue flames until it burned evenly.

Turning the burner back off, his hand come to rest on her hip, thumb and one finger contacting bare skin above her shorts. His chest expanded against her slim back as he sucked in a long slow hit from the joint in the other hand, his face behind and close to hers, hovering over her bare shoulder.

She leaned back against him with a sigh, his contact easing somewhat the nervousness and unease she felt. The pressure rising in her belly seemed less disturbing now, her growing arousal more acceptable. It didn't matter who pushed first when her small heart-shaped bottom found his hardness. The reciprocating pressure simply confirmed the rightness of the eager hunger she felt.

"Come here." She knew exactly what he meant and turned toward him, the hand on her hip becoming an arm tight around her tiny waist, her nipples tingling, almost burning, as they dragged across his chest.

Her lips were open as they found his. She was surprised when he exhaled, filling her mouth with the smoke instead of the tongue she was expecting, but the warm cloying invader was infused with a taste that matched his smell. Musky, powerful, overpowering. Delicious.

Held tight with the arm around her lower body, pulled hard against his groin, her lips felt his tongue follow the smoke past them at the same time his other hand clamped around the back of her neck. She was held fast, opened, entered in a way she had never experienced. She inhaled sharply, dragging the smoke and his scent deep inside herself. It almost felt like the smoke itself delved into depths of her lungs deeper yet, exploring, scouting her.

Coco's eyes went wide, wild. The eager turmoil in her belly erupted, fed by a flow of electric heat scorching down her spine from where his hand had seized her neck. The earthy, intoxicating essence in her lungs spread rapidly throughout her blood stream.

She had felt out of control, out of her element, before. Now he took her, made her his completely. Her moan into his open mouth was pitiful, despairing, forlorn.

Coco enjoyed sex. She reveled in the power and control, and delighted in the powerful release of the orgasms she could sometimes reach with the right prolonged stimulation directly on her sensitive hooded button. It took the proper set-up, mood, and a willing and cooperative partner.

Not this time. She had no control now. All the power was his. Her moan became a strangled scream as she arched against him, only his grip holding her upright. She was helpless as spasm after spasm rocked her body, a loud rushing filling her ears. Vaguely, she knew her tight shorts were now slick and wet with her own excitement.

When the spasms eased into a still violent quaking, he eased his arm's hold on her waist. Weak knees buckled and she slid down his body, slowed only by friction and his grip on her neck.

"That's my good girl." His voice was deeper, raspy, amused, when she ended up kneeling close in front of him. "Get me ready."

Freeing the snap and zipper of his beltless jeans, he fed himself into her open, gasping mouth. Already rigid, he filled her mouth and pushed deeper, her head pinned in place. Her body under his total control, even her throat did not protest the invasion.

She gasped loudly when he pulled back, shiny wet now with her saliva. Without apparent effort, he hauled her back to her feet with one hand, set her on the edge of the butcher block top of the island.

Coco had shimmied and tugged to work the tight shorts over her young hips. They were meant to be tight. McAlister stripped them down to her ankles with ease. He left them there, twisting the wet denim in one hand as he pulled her bound ankles high. Her eyes were wide and panicked when she felt his slick head push against her opening.

They clamped shut as he shoved himself inside. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Not in pain, exactly, and not simply in pleasure. More an overwhelming, unbearable compounding of sensations she couldn't begin to either resist or fathom.

It took several thrusts before he opened her young body fully, burying his entire length inside. Her jean shorts twisted tighter around her ankles, pushed her legs back close over her head. Her eyes popped open when the steel bar piercing her nipple was grabbed, twisted through the fabric of her top. His eyes held hers, forbidding them to close.

His grin was confident and sure. "Such a good little girl. Are you ready to cum for me? Really cum this time?"

Deep inside, Coco knew she wasn't ready. Not if the climax she had just experienced wasn't 'real' enough. She wanted desperately to shake her head in urgent denial. All she managed was to cry, silent tears running from the outside corners of both beautiful brown eyes.

The nipple twisted harder, her knees pushed closer to her chest. He pushed, pushed, paused, deep inside her. The command was a calm, quiet growl. "Cum now."

He exploded with her. His face and body still controlled, hers a helpless writhing jangle of firing nerves and spasming muscles. Her body betrayed her, contraction after contraction milking more of his pumping seed into her.

McAlister eased her limp body to the floor, ankles still bound in denim. He noticed a small, thick puddle on the butcher block. Two fingers swirled through it, scooping the mixture of their fluids up. He bent and pressed it between her slack lips, leaving only a damp, dark spot on the wooden surface. Her mouth sealed around his fingers as her tongue licked them clean. The damp spot dried, soaking into the smooth-worn wood even as he watched.

When Coco woke up on the floor, she felt weak and aching. She remembered the landlord fixing the plumbing and -- almost dreamlike, not quite real - a wonderful, incredible kiss. Other than that she only knew that she wanted very much to see him again, and that her mom would not appreciate the slick mess she had leaked on the linoleum. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have wondered why she was leaking so much, and how her tight shorts had ended up off and so tight around her ankles.

———

"It's like his breath invaded me and just took over. I've never been kissed anything close to like that. Ever."

Tosha Drexler was returning to the primary art room. She froze outside the open door. Coco's voice had an unmistakable throaty quality, easily identified even if there had been more than the two girls in the room. It and her weak attempt at whispering carried into the school's makeshift pottery studio.

Something in the vivacious new student's words stirred a recollection of deep, almost-forgotten ecstasy. Feelings and sensations barely remembered that she had long ignored as impossible, unbelievable or, at the very least, unreproducible. 'His breath invaded me...took over.'

Coco managed to lower her voice, but Tosha was actively listening now. "I came."

"Seriously?" Sara Mueller, a pale redhead, not yet comfortable with her own recently acquired curves, sounded doubtful. Tosha knew the girl almost always sounded doubtful, or exasperated. Being the daughter of one of the town's most powerful figures, the manner was ingrained from an early age. Sara had been particularly put out to discover that summer school would be held at the run-down continuation school building this year due to construction at Happy Valley High. Under normal circumstances, she and her overbearing mother would have no association with a school like that, or those who attended it.