The Chamberlain Coven Ch. 09-13

"So we lubed up and he put a condom on and he tried to put it in. He was smaller than you, John, but it hurt. I made him stop right away and ripped off the condom and gave him a blow job to thank him for stopping.

"Thirty minutes later Mom came blowing through my room like a tornado. That's the last time I was really able to connect with my sexuality. Until today."

She reached down between them and eased his cock into her pussy. She groaned with delight. She had always liked this position the best, so easy and relaxed. She stretched lazily under his hands, pressing her breasts into his palms, her arms high over her head. She reached back with one of her legs, hooked it behind his knee, and used it to guide him into the rhythm she wanted. She let him keep his left hand on her breast, but pulled his right down, down, down her belly to her cunt. Her lips were spread wide by his beautiful shaft, spearing into her pussy, and she guided his fingers onto her clit, pressing the heel of his hand into her pubis.

Sweat pooled in the small of her back as his fingers worked happily in her folds, making soft sounds as their bodies danced. The muscles of her belly rippled, gathering strength. Her breath grew shorter. Behind her, she heard John groan softly as he neared his own peak.

Inevitable as the tides, sweet as a soft rain on sun-parched ground, their orgasm swept over them both and dropped them both over the edge into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 12

As her sister screwed her cousin, Hilda pounded down the street, getting in the roadwork that she needed to keep her body fit. Acclimated to exercise by years of practice, her legs kept up a steady, ceaseless rhythm, while her mind was free to explore other avenues of thought.

Damn him anyway, she scowled fiercely as she turned off Grand and onto McKinley. The young day was already warm and humid, and sweat ran down her shoulders and into the small of her back and from there into the crack of her ass, dampening her spandex jogging shorts. The rubbing of her sports bra against her breasts, usually a sensation that she enjoyed, only served to heighten her frustration. Who does he think he is, to suggest that we move in just so it could make his sex life easier?

She put on a burst of speed to beat a yellow light. She was nearly halfway done with her five mile run, and would soon have to turn back to Aunt Claire's house. With any luck, she could avoid being invited inside to be subjected to her sister's and cousin's happy, self-satisfied faces after they got done fucking. Ordinarily, her morning run typically amped up her already overactive sex drive, which the daily potion did little to restrain. Today, she knew she needed something to take the edge off her hunger. She ran through a mental index of men she could call on, but rejected them all. They paled compared to John's siren call.

By the Goddess, she moaned silently, Is this is what is going to happen to us? Is Johnny's crossing going to ruin all other men in our eyes? I can't get by with one day out of six, no matter how good the sex is on that day!

And Hilda had no doubt that the sex had been fucking fantastic. She had seen enough well-fucked women to recognize that Susanna and Claire had been well and truly pounded the night before. And if that hadn't been enough of a clue, the sight of her goody-two-shoes sister all but raping her cousin in front of them all at the kitchen table would have served as ample proof of just how strong the attraction was once she had been chosen.

One more block, she decided, then I'll turn around. A few houses in front of her, she could see a tall young man, hands full of pamphlets, walk dejectedly down the porch steps and into the sidewalk. He was dressed in a button-up white shirt and tie, heavy black slacks, and a suit jacket. As she drew near, she could see that his brown hair was spiked with sweat, laying damply over his forehead.

Poor bastard, she thought. I wonder what brand of fundamentalist bullshit he is peddling today? She moved into the grass, passing him with a vacant nod.

And nearly fell sprawling, as she was hit with a sense of power as strong as anyone in their coven.

Gasping, she turned around, thinking that she must have been mistaken. Opening her inner sight, she cast about for another, any other possible source of the electric pulse of power she had felt.

There was nothing. The only sources of mystical energy on this heat-baked street were herself and the man climbing yet another set of steps to stick another pamphlet into a door handle. A pamphlet, Hilda was sure, which would be tossed into the recycling bin as soon as the owner saw it.

Jogging slowly after him, drawn by the insatiable need that all Chamberlain women felt for men of power, she checked out his body from behind.

Decent ass, she decided grudgingly. Tall. That's nice. Even a decent set of shoulders on him. But way too skinny. She moved up to where he stood, waiting patiently for the streetlight to change. She jogged in place, enjoying his widening eyes as he took in her skimpy clothes and lush body.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, hoping to draw him into conversation.

"Morning," he nodded back. His eyes, she noted, were a pale blue, set in a face that would have been pleasant were it not for an incipient sunburn. His hair was straight and short, and could not decide weather it was very light brown or very dark blond. He took a deep breath, as if he was launching into a speech he had long-ago memorized, but still hated. "My name is Steven Johnson," he mumbled. "I am a member of the Tabernacle of the Eternal Savior. May I give you my testimony?" he concluded hopelessly, holding out another of the wretched pamphlets.

"Why, you can give me anything you want, honey," Hilda purred. She took a pamphlet, sparing it a venomous glance as she flipped through it rapidly. It was just as bad as she thought, with lurid warnings of the dangers of homosexuality, birth control, minorities, the equal right's movement, the women's rights movement, the teaching of evolution, and pretty much every government program aside from the armed forces.

"I'm not really free to consider a new faith at present, but thanks for your time," she said, using a phrase she had learned at her mother's knee years ago.

"Oh, thank God," said Steven. "Then I won't have to try to covert you. It's bad enough wandering around out here," he continued, "shoving these stupid things in people's mailboxes and doors and getting sunstroke on a Saturday morning, but if I had to actually talk about this garbage today I think I would lose my mind." Behind them the light changed to green, but neither noticed.

Hilda blinked in confusion and stopped even pretending to jog. Standing in place, she regarded Steven thoughtfully. "Then you really don't believe this stuff?"

"Oh, hell no," he exclaimed, looking as if he had bitten into something nasty.

"Then why, in the name of the Goddess, are you doing it?" she exclaimed, completely baffled.

A car pulled up to the curb next to them. A tall, stooped man unfolded himself from the driver's seat and stood, glaring at them both. He was dressed identically to Steven, and Hilda wondered if he believed that discomfort was a sign of god's favor.

"Because of him," Steven muttered.

The man walked around the front of the car and onto the curb. Pausing to give Hilda and her outfit one withering glare, he barked at Steven, "I didn't send you out here to pass the time with some strumpet! You have six more blocks to go. Your mother was finished half an hour ago!"

"She's not my mother, Calvin." Steven said. His voice was quiet, but there was a angry light in his eyes.

"The State of West Virginia says she is," spat the tall man, Calvin, in a vicious cornbelt rasp. Kansas, Hilda thought. Or Nebraska. "And if you don't start doing the Lord's work, there'll be a strap waiting for you at home tonight, and no supper!"

"The State of West Virginia can be damned," retorted Steven. As he grew angrier, the Appalachian twang in his voice grew more pronounced. Calvin's fists bunched and he looked ready to lunge at the young man. "She isn't my mother, you're not my father, and..."

"Excuse me?" said Hilda, trying to defuse the confrontation between the two. She smiled winsomely at Calvin, hiding her disgust at the way he was treating the young man. Father, stepfather, guardian, or whatever, there was no excuse to be so abusive, in public or in private. She wished that she knew where this poor kid was living so she could report his situation to the police, or the Iowa Department of Family Services. "Steven really was telling me about his church. It sounded fascinating," she gushed, trying to keep her voice happy and perky, like some of the dimmer cheerleaders from when she was in high school.

Calvin looked down his nose at her. "We have no use for your kind. The Tabernacle of the Eternal Savior is for the godly. No one who goes out in public dressed as a whore would be welcome there." Hilda heard Steven take an outraged breath, but kept calm, showing Calvin a dumb, vapid face.

"So you adhere to a strict biblical interpretation of God's law?" she asked.

Calvin blinked in confusion, obviously unprepared for a doctrinal question from a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a fitness magazine. His face thawed slightly.

"Yes," he said.

"Well, then, I am a little bit confused, Reverend..."

"Grant," he snapped.

"Reverend Grant," Hilda nodded, with a smile. "I see you are wearing clothes of two different fabrics. Cotton shirt and polyester slacks. Or are those rayon? I believe that is a stoning offense. When do you propose to be put to death? Leviticus 19:19."

Grant drew a breath, but Hilda continued. "What about your eating habits? Do your parishioners eat pork? I know that is forbidden. Do you follow the Jewish dietary laws? What about seafood? I would hate to think that the members of your church are unclean.

"And it looks like you shave. That's a big no-no. Leviticus again." She smiled sweetly at him. Perhaps this quote from the New Testament will apply, sir. 'Before you remove the mote from your neighbor's eye, remove the beam from thy own'."

Behind her came a strangled noise. She did not look at Steven, but kept her eyes, hard and unyielding, on Reverend Grant.

"I would consider it a personal favor if you left, sir. I have a few more questions about your church, but I will address them to Steven, here, rather than yourself."

She turned her back to him and counted to ten. When that time had passed without the explosion of violent anger she half-expected would occur, she dared to look up at Steven and whisper, "Is he gone?"

In answer the car's motor started. Grant pulled away form the curb with a jarring shriek of tires, merged into traffic, and disappeared down the block.

Steven whooped with glee. Turning to Hilda, he exclaimed, "That was fanastic! Where did you learn all that stuff about the bible?"

"Here. In Iowa," she said shortly. "My family is a group of pagans in a city of two hundred thousand Methodists and Baptists. If we didn't learn to speak the language, we'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Pagans?" he mused. "That's...interesting." Suddenly he shook himself. "Listen. I don't have much time. That prick is going to be back in a few minutes, just to make sure we haven't gone to the No-tell Motel for a quickie. He's obsessed with sex."

"I've always said that no one could be completely bad," observed Hilda.

Steven looked blank for a moment, then grunted a laugh, "Ha. Funny. You'd know better if you had to spend more than five minutes with him. That's why I want to talk to you.

"Do you know anyone," he said desperately, "who might have a room to rent? Furnished if possible. I don't have enough money for an apartment, since everyone I've talked to wants the first and last month in advance, but I've got a good job working road repair with IDOT this summer and I'll be able to pay for a room.

"I've got to get away from that guy," he continued, his voice strained. "You don't know what it is like. I had a happy life once. But my folks died and I was given to him and..."

"Stop," Hilda said. Her mind raced furiously. What to do, what to do? she thought. She had sensed Steven's power. Having seen Reverend Grant, she knew she couldn't abandon the boy to his untender mercies. None of her friends had rooms to spare, and she was not about to invite this boy to stay with her when she and John would be mating soon.

Of course. She grinned. This would serve John right for proposing that they move in with him. Shoe's on the other foot, now, Johnny. She unfolded the pamphlet, which she still had clutched in one hand, and using a pen she picked nimbly from Steven's shirt pocket, jotted down Aunt Claire's number.

"Do you have a phone?" she asked. "One that is private?"

Steven patted his trouser pocket. "I bought a burner a couple months ago, when I made up my mind to leave. But we just moved up here from Oklahoma, so I had to re-do all my plans."

"This is my aunt's number," said Hilda, handing him the pamphlet. "Her name is Claire Chamberlain. She has a big house on the north side. My cousin Eleanor has moved out, so it is just her and my cousins John and Susanna. She has a couple of spare rooms. One upstairs, and a finished basement. I can't guarantee anything, but she has a soft spot for strays, so I think your chances are pretty good. I'll call her when I am done with my run and tell her to expect a call from you. Give her a ring later this afternoon."

Steven's eyes misted over and his throat worked. "Oh, God, thank you. A finished basement? That would be awesome."

Hilda nodded and did a few squats to loosen up her legs. In front of them the light changed. On sudden impulse, she leaned up and kissed the corner of Steven's mouth. He tasted, not unpleasantly, of male sweat. She turned and crossed the street, rapidly picking up speed.

Behind her, she heard a shout. "Wait! I don't know your name!"

Turning, she ran backward for a moment. Filling her lungs, she shouted back, "Hilda! Hilda Chamberlain!"

@@@

Reverend Calvin Grant turned the corner, looking for Steven and the whore he had been talking to. His lips were peeled back in a snarl, and as the wheezing motor of the old Dodge coughed, he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The Aries gave one last gasp of protest, then caught again. He rolled slowly down the street, eyes alert in a hungry face.

There! There was Steven, walking up a sidewalk, head high, looking happier than he had in months. What was the boy up to? Had he made arrangements to meet that tramp later? He would have to chastise the boy, he thought, fingering his thick leather belt fondly. He didn't mind. It was his duty. Spare the rod and spoil the child. And Steven had been plenty spoiled when Grant plucked him out of the orphanage. Steven didn't realize how good he had it, here among the godly. That was all right, though. Calvin Grant was best with slow learners.

But where was the whore? Waiting nearby, ready to rut with her new friend? No. Grant saw her a block or two ahead, on the other side of the street, jogging along the sidewalk. His cock swelled with hate as he drew near her. The sheer gall of that strumpet, to quote scripture at him, as if a woman was equal to a man!

She must pay.

The girl must pay, he decided. As he neared her, his palms sweated. His eyes were glued to her perfect form. He imagined her in his bed, wrists and ankles tied to the posts, while he flogged her mercilessly. His hand ground down on his rigid phallus.

No. End it now. She must pay.

Grant grinned mirthlessly. The whore was about to cross a street. A left hand turn, a burst of speed, and it would all be over. Oh, he would weep, weep for the police, but he would rejoice inwardly, knowing he had done the Lord's duty. His foot pressed the accelerator. The Aries slowly lunged forward, a loyal old dog.

A horn, blaring stridently, cut through the fog. Grant saw that he had drifted over the center line and a city bus was rapidly approaching. With a shriek of fear he jerked the steering wheel back to center, barely getting back into his own lane before the bus caved in the front end of his car like an old soda can. With a shake of his head, he came back to his senses. What had he been thinking? He wasn't a murderer! He was a man of God!

And when he circled back around to check, just in case, the whore was nowhere to be seen.

@@@

Hilda opened the door to her apartment. She had decided not to go into Aunt Claire's house, half-fearing to see John and Agatha acting all sappy together.

Or John and Susanna, she grumbled to herself. Or even John and Aunt Claire. Then she recalled that her mother had still been at the house when she left. Oh, sweet Goddess, not John and Mom. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.

She peeled off her sweaty clothes and relaxed in the cool breeze from the air conditioner. Her nipples peaked in the cold air, and she admired herself in the bedroom mirror. She cupped a breast thoughtfully as she thought about Steven. Her fingers idly toyed with her erect nipple.

Goddess, I need a man, she thought, as she caught the scent of her own arousal. Meeting Steven had made the run back to her car a torture, and she could not tell if the moisture on her thighs was sweat, or another, more intimate fluid. One of two men, actually. She picked up the phone.

"Aunt Claire? Hi. It's Hildy.

"No, I don't want to hear about how it went between Aggie and John. I'm not that much of a voyeur, believe it or not.

"Ho ho ho. Very funny. Listen, the reason I called is that I was on my morning run earlier, and you will not believe what happened..."

Chapter 13

When John awoke, Agatha was gone. He could smell her scent on the sheets, but that was all that was left of her presence. Swallowing his disappointment, he took a quick shower, then wandered downstairs.

"Good afternoon, sleepy-head," his mom said cheerily over her shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. She was at the counter, preparing a late lunch, dressed in a pair of beige shorts and a t-shirt that Paul thought were unflattering to her softly rounded figure.

"Agatha gone?" he asked, though he was sure she was.

"Yep," Claire nodded. "She said she tried to wake you for another round, but that you were zonked out. Not terribly surprising. This was, what? Five times in barely twelve hours? No one can keep up that pace forever, honey."

John's cock, however, had other ideas about exactly what he was capable of. As soon as he saw his mother, it had hardened. As she turned back to the counter to core an apple, John stepped in close behind her. Pressing his cock into the cleft of her ass-cheeks, his hands rose to cup and massage his mother's beautiful tits.

As soon as she felt John's phallus press into her ass, Claire sighed. You knew this was going to happen sooner or later, she said to herself, rejecting the surge of lust her son's touch engendered. Might as well set the ground rules now.

With surprising speed, she drew her foot up and smashed it down onto John's unprotected toes. When he bent down with a cry of startled pain, her elbow flashed around and caught him firmly across the temple.

John staggered back, hopping awkwardly on one foot, a hand pressed to his head. He stared at his mother in disbelief, then collapsed into a chair.