The Chamberlain Coven Ch. 01-02

Andy Shephard was next up, and the rattled pitcher grooved a pitch. Andy smoked a base hit into left field. Running with the swing, John saw Coker come in for the ball as he tore towards third. His legs had never felt so swift. Rounding the bag he darted for home with the go-ahead run and scored with a beautiful slide, five feet ahead of the throw. Jumping to his feet, he roared with triumph as the bench rolled out to congratulate him.

"All right. All right. Nice hit, Chamberlain. Just remember we have two innings to go. Save your screaming for after the game."

Trust Coach to put things in perspective, John thought, as he trotted out to second base after the third out. He took a deep breath of clean night air. He had never felt so alive. It was as if he was connected to everything. The trees beyond the outfield fence, the smattering of fans in the stands, the faint stars he could make out beyond the lights, the fat, pregnant moon breaking through a break in the clouds to the east.

Everything.

Harris set Roosevelt down in order in the top of the sixth, and North could get nothing going in their half. So it was still 5-4 North as the game went into the last inning. Jim got the first batter on a foul pop, and the second on a deep fly to the outfield. But Coker dropped a bloop hit into short center, so there was a runner on first and two out when John Chamberlain's life changed forever.

On the third pitch, the batter hit a slow grounder to the right of second base. With crystal-clear foresight, John could see the play unfold. If he tried to get the runner at first, an awkward angle would make the play a difficult one. From his position at second base, John sprinted in and to his right, intending to flip to Andy at second for the force out. He was just bending over to field the ball when he was hit from the side with bruising force. Knocked off his feet, he skidded ten feet towards the outfield. When he got up, he saw two things. The umpire had his right hand up, signaling an out for interference. And Coker was standing on second base, smirking.

A deep bell rang in John's head and rage overtook him. This jerk had injured one of his teammates, and had tried to do the same to him. Dropping his glove, he charged at Coker and punched him in the face as hard as he could. Coker's nose broke with a wet smack of fracturing cartilage and he fell to his knees, wailing in pain. John was winding up for another savage blow when his right arm was grabbed from behind. Snarling, he turned on his new opponent.

"Whoa whoa whoa, dude!" said Andy, "Keep your cool. I'm on your side, man."

John blinked, dazed by the sudden turn. He turned to the rest of his teammates, who were looking at him with expressions that were, by turns, amused, stunned, and respectful. Some players from Roosevelt had come onto the field, but were being herded back to the bench by their coach.

"Holy crap, son, where did you learn to hit like that?" exclaimed Coach Markovitz. He looked at the still-whimpering Coker and spat in the dust. "Nasty little pig-turd. Get off the field," He turned to the umpire, who was standing by the Roosevelt coach.

"Gentlemen, that little snot hurt one of my players and tried to give John here the same treatment. I saw what you saw, but maybe we can agree he got what he deserved and none of us saw anything?"

The umpire glanced at the Roosevelt coach, who turned his eyes up in disgust, "I was hoping the first time was an accident. Seems it wasn't. I ain't gonna complain. He's off my team, effective immediately."

The umpire shrugged, "I didn't want to fill out an incident form anyway. If you gentlemen will excuse me, my wife has a pot roast in the oven. I'll see you later." he turned and walked off towards the parking lot.

Coach Markovitz turned to John, "Looks like you got away with one, son. Go inside and clean up. If you can manage to avoid punching anyone else over the weekend, you're starting against Hoover on Tuesday."

"Thanks, Coach," John looked around, still somewhat dazed. He went back to the bench and got his jacket and bat and equipment bag. The rest of his teammates filed past, picking up their own equipment, and straggled to the locker room to shower and change clothes.

Go home.

He looked around. Was that a voice?

Go home. It is time.

John decided he didn't want to take a shower with a bunch of people who he didn't particularly like and with whom he barely interacted. Why not go home and tell his mom and sisters about the game? Why worry about good clean sweat and the dirt and grass-stains of hard labor? He pulled his keys out of the pocket of the equipment bag and walked to his car, an old Pontiac Sunfire. He dropped the bag in the trunk.

"Goddess, why do they make these uniforms so uncomfortable?" He pulled his cup out of his pants. No longer constrained, his penis grew, stiffening into a jolly, happy erection. He got into the car and started it up, feeling the heat of his boner pressing against his belly.

No one's looking. Why not take it out?

Why not take it out? He unsnapped his pants and tugged down his athletic supporter. Pulling his jersey out of his pants, he made one token gesture to decency and covered his erection with his jersey. Humming happily, he put the car in gear and started the drive home, occasionally stroking his erection.

My, wouldn't his mother and sisters be surprised when he told them how he won the game?

******

Another exciting Friday night in downtown Des Moines, she smiled. Claire looked around as the rest of the family tidied up the store. She had bought a truckload of used material from a shop in Cedar Rapids that was going out of business, and Sybil and the girls were helping her sort the new merchandise. Most of it was junk, she admitted, but secondhand books on tarot and dreamcatchers were practically their stock in trade, there were some crystals that still had some life in them, and many of the dried herbs were good.

She staggered as a jolt of lust and need stronger than anything she had ever experienced struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her legs turned to water. She could feel her pussy flooding with moisture and her nether lips opening to receive a cock.

What is happening?

She spun slowly in place. Hilda had pulled the straps of her gym uniform off her shoulders, and with a dreamy look in her eye was caressing her breasts. Sybil was grinding her crotch against the side of a table piled high with occult books, while Agatha had hiked up her mother's dress and was planting soft, delicate kisses on the insides of her thighs and her ass. And Eleanor, sweet, gentle, Eleanor, was sitting in a chair with her thighs spread lewdly open, panties at her ankles, plunging her fingers into her hot wet cunt.

The little details that had escaped her all afternoon came back with sudden, terrible force.

Eleanor's short temper and complaints about the temperature. Agatha's possessiveness when John was mentioned. Hilda's unusual-even-for-her horniness. The squirming impatience that both she and Sybil had shown.

Oh Goddess. It is time. What happened?

"WHAT HAPPENED?! Sybil, Eleanor, Hilda? What do you see?"

"Victory," said Eleanor, red-faced and gasping with need.

"And violence," added Hilda, happily thumbing her nipples, fat and erect, "John is coming home. A full moon tonight. We should have guessed. The ritual will be closed. I am going there. I will be his first."

"You?" mocked Sybil, turning away from the desk and stripping off her soaked panties. "You are not worthy. Just because you have a set of tits that a Guernsey would envy does not make you a fit vessel."

"Oh, and you are?" said Agatha, as Hilda turned away in rage, "John doesn't want some old, worn out hag. And not some tramp who can't keep her hands off the flavor of the week in the gym. John wants me for my body and my mind. I will be his first."

"As if," sniffed Eleanor, and if the scene had not been so surreal, Claire would have laughed to hear that valley-girl pronouncement coming from Eleanor's mouth, "Some engineering nerd who hides her body because she is afraid of what might happen if someone sees it? Who was his big sister? Who was his confidante? Who has taken the time to know him when the rest of you are busy working or screwing or studying? Not you. Me. I will be the horny little slut he wants.

"If you are very, very, good," she said, with a little smile on her face, "I might be persuaded to share."

Claire swallowed, throat dry with need. This was madness. What was going on? Why were they turning against each other?

Suddenly, she knew.

Forcing down the want and lust and need, barring her mind to the roaring desire for sex within her, she raised her hands. Calling on her power, she drew a shining line of charms in the air, backed them with a spell that was old before Christ walked the earth, and slammed her hands down on the table.

"ENOUGH!" she roared. And the room grew still. Four sets of eyes locked on her, but the madness was beaten back for a moment.

"This is the Dark One's work. He wants us to fight each other. And while we bicker and argue about who fucks who, John is going home.

"Where Susanna is all alone. They are the same blood. And blood is great power."

Hilda and Agatha turned white.

"If he takes her without the ritual in place, takes her in violence and aggression, the covenant that we swore these many centuries past is broken and damned, and us with it. No more healing and fertility and wisdom. He will own us. Think of the damage we could do.

"I must stop him. Sybil," she said, turning to her sister, "Where is the emergency pack?"

"Here, Aunt Claire," said Agatha, pulling a backpack out from behind the store's front counter.

"Everything that I will need inside?"

"Of course. I check it every week. That's what we engineering nerds do," she said with a shaky smile. "We prepare."

"Good. I am leaving now. How far from the ballfield at the high school to our house, Eleanor?"

"Twenty minutes, Mom."

"And how long to home from here?"

"Twenty-five."

"Then I damned well better hurry. There will be four of you left. Face the prime directions, keep your lust under rein, and do whatever you can think of to beat back the Dark One. I will call when it is over."

She raced to the door, slapped the deadbolt open, and ran to her Tesla. Looking after her, Agatha wondered, "How will we know if she won?"

"Keep the link open, daughter," replied Sybil. "You will know. But if I know anything abut my sister," she said, watching the car tear off down Grand Avenue, "the Dark One is going to regret messing with Claire Chamberlain."