The Taking of Amy Johnson


"Yes. I did my best. But now I've lost. Now I've lost everything."

"I don't think you understand, my dear," I said, stepping around to stand before her. "You've exercised your free will, but what you fight the hardest is also what you call forth. That's why we're here. Because your thoughts and actions called us here. And on this night, this night that you call 'Halloween' and we call 'Samhain,' when our dark power is at its zenith, you are beyond His protection and your free will amounts to nothing."

I knelt before her, my finger caressing her cheek.

"So what's going to happen next is that you're going to fuck everyone in this circle, beginning and ending with me. You will give yourself completely and willingly to each man and woman, all resistance obliterated, for there is nothing you can do to prevent it, and for your surrender and service you will receive unimaginable pleasures."

"And then you will take me to Hell."

"On the contrary," I said, standing and parting my robe to free my penis. "Now do as you are instructed, for your surrender is the delight of our Mistress."

"Mistress?" she asked, confused. "I thought..."

"Enough talking," I commanded. "Begin the ritual."

"No," she said. "You know I want it, but if I..."

"Hold her then," I ordered the two strongest men. With her arms in their firm grip she seemed to relax, like an infant relaxes in swaddling cloths, and as a final aid in her transition, a woman stepped up and tied a black blindfold at the back of Amy's head. Only then did all tension leave her body, and as she accepted her surrender, her mouth opened in invitation. I stepped forward and placed the tip of my now-erect cock on her lower lip, and feeling it there, Amy opened her mouth wider and extended her neck forward, filling her mouth and then softly closing her lips around my shaft. I felt her tongue swirl an erotic fugue around the head, then the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath it.

"Will you do what you're told now, Amy?"

She mumbled and nodded her affirmation, beginning to bob back and forth on me.

"Good. So good. You're not to stop what you're doing, do you understand? Because in a moment you're going to feel another woman licking you, and soon after that you're going to be penetrated by a faceless stranger. But you're not to stop what you're doing. Understood?"

"Mmmff," she replied, sucking faster as I described what was about to happen.

"On your knees then, Amy, and suck harder." She complied, and a slight figure from the circle set her torch in its mount and stepped forward, casting back her hood and dropping her cloak to reveal a petite woman with a slightly bony, weathered appearance and extremely long brown hair. I'd known her vaguely my whole adult life, but watching her lick Amy's pussy revealed her in a new light.

Mr. Black waited in the background, but I could see him preparing, stroking himself in the firelight, and I practically felt his excited breathing from where I stood opposite him. When I motioned to him he tossed aside his cloak and strode eagerly to the center of the circle.

I'd expected Mr. Black to move directly to Amy, but he surprised me, kneeling behind the scrawny convenience store clerk and entering her with a single dramatic stroke. After a few assertive thrusts, he withdrew himself and stepped right up to Amy, grasping her buttocks roughly and entering her with a dramatic push that made her cry out.

"Keep sucking," I reminded her. "Are you ready for me to cum?"

She nodded her head, mumbling. Behind her the store clerk moved into position under her to suck Amy's dangling clit, and Mr. Black fucked her like Beethoven directing a passionate symphony that only he could hear.

"I'm almost there, my dear," I hissed. "I've been saving up for you. We've all been saving up for you."

My words, the fucking and the cunnilingus now pushed her over the lip of the abyss, and as Amy began to cum, her knees and elbows shivered and failed. She hung on valiantly to my cock, but in her ecstasy she lost most voluntary control, and as the orgasm wracked her in waves of contractions, I helped her complete her task, thrusting my hips the last few times necessary to tip me into my first explosion of the night. A week's worth of pent-up semen gushed into Amy's mouth in the midst of her orgasm, and in an instant she was coughing and gasping for breath, her world a world of cocks and cum and magic and funk.

As Amy receded, rolling blissfully on her side, her face covered in my sperm, her own juices trailing down her thighs, her fingers kneading the grass like a blissful kitten, I motioned to the rest of the group. Mr. Black stepped aside, lifted the little convenience store clerk and deposited her on his penis, and she rode him like that, the two kissing each other deeply, until he came inside her. Meanwhile, the rest of the group began stroking and caressing Amy, lifting her onto the round wooden table we'd brought along for the event.

I watched them with a strange sense of completion. This seduction had been years in the making, years of planning and preparation. To see it all executed with such wicked beautifully gave me great satisfaction, but also some much-needed closure.

I'd admired and feared and loathed and desired Amy since childhood, and finally here we were, in middle age, softer around the middle than we once were, worlds apart in our understanding of life. Yet for the first time in all those years, I felt connected to her.

In her teens and twenties Amy had been a world-class beauty, but her need to control the world had rendered her ugly, hard and resentful. To see her recast in the role of a polyester ice queen, a cutout caricature of a pageant princess turned family-values enforcer, had long hurt my heart. I understood that she wasn't a good person, but I was far from perfect myself.

But here she was, freed from the tyranny of her public self, one phony myth replacing another. With her projection of control and order removed, she softened in a way that moved me, and she seemed to grow younger and more beautiful with each longing kiss she so sweetly returned. Amy sucked and was suckled. She kissed and stroked and opened herself, again and again, a shifting, surreal kaleidoscope of skin and flesh. Men and women. Cocks and pussies. After years of violently denying her erotic self, Amy Johnson was suddenly, blessedly freed from the demands of her shame.

She was no longer having sex.

She was sex.

"Happy now?" I asked Eve Foucault.

"Blissful," she said, her voice disembodied in the shadows behind me. "Speaking of which, you looked pretty blissful yourself with your cock in Amy's mouth, Fred."

"Incredible," I said, watching as one of the men lifted Amy's curvy body up and deposited her atop another man who lay face-up on the table. With her back on his belly, Amy slithered down a bit and found his erect cock, then enveloped it with a strong, well-lubricated stroke. Hands and lips and cocks covered her, enveloped her, and she disappeared beneath them. "She is absolutely incredible."

Eve stepped out of the darkness in her cloak and took my hand, squeezing it. "Thank you, Fred."

"Thank you, Eve." I meant it sincerely. She had re-emerged in my life at its lowest point, just a few months after Amy Johnson and her PPD had finally gotten me fired from my job as principal at Howell Elementary after destroying my reputation through years of campaigning for my removal. I'd barely left the house in the weeks after it all came crashing down. Everything in my life -- my job, my career, my marriage, my self-esteem -- felt broken, trampled, soiled . That the agent of my destruction had been my secret crush in high school only made my humiliation worse. I couldn't help wanting to please her despite everything she had done to me. How I loathed the pathetic failure I had become.

But then Eve showed up. She was the first person to penetrate my shroud of gloom, and she began by forgiving me for the way I'd betrayed her 10 years. Amy hated beautiful, free-spirited Eve in a way I had been too young to understand at the time, and when she came after my newly hired librarian I didn't immediately recognize the shit-storm that was headed our way. I held out for a while, protecting Eve as best I could, but ultimately I'd buckled beneath Amy's relentless pressure. I was only 27 when it all began, the youngest principal in the county and woefully unprepared for such controversy.

And so I'd failed Eve, and in sacrificing her in hopes of saving myself, I had failed even to penetrate the protective shell around the core of Amy's hidden humanity. I'd betrayed an innocent girl, embraced hypocrisy and ruined my pride, all for nothing. Yet Eve forgave me.

And then she thanked me.

Because as it turned out, Eve's career disaster here in Prospect wound up being the best thing that ever happened to her. Unable to find work as a school librarian in North Carolina, she moved in with a friend in Brooklyn, got a job waiting tables, and started writing fiction in her spare time.

Dark fiction. Erotic fiction. New York Times Bestseller list erotic vampire fiction, with dozens of books in her catalog and a three-movie deal, all of it under the pen-name Vispera Venganza.

Eve's Revenge.

Because the best revenge is living well. And Eve Foucault lived very well. Well enough to hire me full-time to run her plot to undo Amy Johnson's hateful little feudal duchy here in the moldy ruins of the Carolinas' defunct textile belt. Well enough to fund a network of Blackberry hackers and phony campaign volunteers. Well enough to purchase a private home on the outskirts of town and donate its use to the furtive swingers club that had previously migrated from home to home, always careful to disguise their comings and goings. With Prospect's only network of sexually adventureous couples engaged in our secret work, it was only a matter of time before Eve and I could begin to acquire all sorts of sexual intelligence about sleepy little Cincinnatus County.

By the time we pulled that stunt in the Suburban, with Amy's trusted campaign workers acting like they'd been possessed by demonic adversaries, we had infiltrated so many corners of town and compiled so many sexual dossiers on Amy and Max and their friends that we knew things we suspected even the married couples didn't know about each other.

And in a town run by shame, when you know a person's sexual secrets, that person becomes your slave.

"So what now, Eve?" I asked. "Are you going to join in? I mean, you paid for this party." The massed sexing of Amy Johnson had now morphed into a full-fledged orgy, with couples and triangles forming and shifting on the perfectly manicured circular lawn.

"On another night, sure," she said. "But watching Amy Johnson like this is my payoff. Getting fucked myself right now would just be a distraction."

"Amy's licking pussy like its her last moment on Earth," I said. "Wouldn't that be a nice moment for you? The prude who got you fired, lapping at..."

"No thank you, Fred. Seriously, this is enough."

As we watched in silence, Amy rearranged herself on the man beneath her, removing his cock and positioning it at the entrance to her tight little rose. It took her a few tries to get it inside her, but with the man's cock firmly embedded in her ass, she beckoned to an unseen lover, anyone, really, to come and fill her the rest of the way. Within a matter of seconds, both men were thrusting into her vigorously, and Amy screamed with each push, her howling rising across dark forest and field like the spirit of the pagan wilderness.

"Wow," Eve said. "Didn't see that coming."

After watching Amy give and receive a few more orgasms, I instructed the group to bind her to the table as I'd explained before. "Sure you don't want some of this?" I asked Eve one last time. "Because once I fuck her this last time, the evening is over."

"Thank you again, my friend," Eve said, then squeezed my hand again. "But ask me how I feel later tonight after everyone goes home and you just might get lucky."


"Seriously. I think I'm going to be horny as fuck after I watch the final act."

"Lucky me."

"Goddamn right."

With a wink to Eve, I pulled the hood over my face and walked back to the table, then removed the cum-stained blindfold and petted Amy's face as she tried to catch her breath. "Last one, my dear," I whispered. "It's almost over."

She was beyond words at this point, communicating only with moans and whines and the purring, straining movements of her body. Standing between her bound thighs, I could see the evidence of Amy's magically rough night. Sperm leaked from her ass and pussy and puddled beneath her, a mixture of fluids that would have worried me if I'd not carefully screened the evening's participants. We had no interest in infecting Amy with any diseases, and once we had a copy of her medical records and knew that she'd had her tubes tied after the birth of her second child, I'd encouraged each of the men to cum inside her if the opportunity presented itself. As I stood there marveling at her erotic tableau, Amy's body ground and writhed, eyes closed, pussy reaching out for the last cock of the night.

I didn't need her help getting hard, and I entered her sweetly this time. She gasped slightly, then began a low moan.

"Amy, do you recognize me?"

She kept her eyes closed and shook her head. I pulled my cock out of her pussy and positioned its head against the opening to her ass. Her hips rocked forward to receive it.

"Tell me my name, Amy," I said, and then slid the first third of my cock inside her.

"You're Satan," she blurted out, then bit her lip as she pushed herself against me, trying to take me deeper inside. "And I'm damned to Hell forever."

"No, my dear, you're not," I said. "Is there any sin He won't forgive?"

"No," she said.

I pulled out of her ass and buried my cock to the hilt in her pussy.

"Then what you do with this night is between you and your maker."

"Don't stop fucking me," she purred. "I've been so alone for so long."

"Then that's your Hell," I said. "Not this." I put my cock back in her ass, and this time gave her everything I had.

"And this is like heaven," she moaned. "Don't stop fucking me."

"I won't."

With my fingers rubbing her clit and my cock going back and forth between ass and pussy, Amy didn't hold out long. I almost came with her, but pulled out just in time and stood panting for air, holding back my semen, waiting for the impulse to subside. I motioned to one of the women in the circle, and Miss Dubois brought me the soap and wash cloth, gently cleaning my hard, jumping cock. When it was fresh again, she kissed its tip and smiled at me, then returned to her place.

Turning back to Amy, who writhed in her wordless oblivion on the table, I placed my cock by her face and she turned to it languidly, dreamily sucking me as if by little more than instinct. I had to make her stop after only a few strokes, because I didn't want it to end.

I returned to fucking her. I was gentle this time, cockstroking her with long, smooth thrusts, own pending orgasm tingling and aching all the way into the small of my back as her body cleaved to mine. This was the body that had hugged me once after I hit the game-winning shot, its erotic completeness so electric against mine that I couldn't ever erase the sensation from my memory. And now I had experienced all of it.

I leaned down across her, so that my belly touched her and I could whisper to her in a voice that no one else could hear.

"What's my name, Amy Perky?"

A little smile creased her cum-covered lips. "Fred August," she whispered.

"And how did you know?" I asked.

"Because we've always wanted each other, haven't we?" Her eyes flashed opened, and had her arms not been tied down I believe she would have thrown them around me and held me tight. Instead she merely lifted her neck up to kiss me hard. "I tried to destroy you, Fred, I hated you so much."

"Do you hate me now?"

"Are you going to kill me when you finish with me?" Her eyes gleamed in the fire as if she wished for nothing more than to be consumed in this perfect moment.


"Then no, I don't hate you. Or maybe I do. I don't know. Just fuck me."

That was all I could take, and so I pulled out and rushed around the table to deliver that tribute shot across her breasts, in bitter, loving memory of everything she had been to me.

Afterward, we blindfolded Amy again and together the group walked her back at the house to bathe her. After dressing her we led her back to her Suburban, where her campaign assistant and her communications director, both of whom were also on Eve's payroll, waited patiently, still in glass-eyed possessed-by-the-Devil character. Each was now due a six-figure bonus from Eve.

I opened the door for Amy.

"Thank you for a memorable evening, Mr. August," she said, shaking my hand as if we were saying goodnight after a fund-raising dinner. "I'm so glad I got to see you again after all that ugliness at the school board around your untimely departure. But I trust this is the last time we shall meet."

"It is," I said. "Until my mistress deems otherwise."

"Yes," she said, "Do tell me about this mistress of yours."

Instead I telling her, I handed her Eve's envelope. I'd never asked Eve what it contained. That was her business. But with all the infrared camera and audio equipment we'd set up around the house and the magic circle in the woods, I had little doubt that a few things were going to be changing around Prospect in the years to come.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson," I said as I shut the passenger's side door. "Merry Samhain."

The white Suburban disappeared down the wooded driveway.

State Senator Amy Johnson's annual demonic abduction by Prospect's forces of erotic darkness has taken place every Samhain since then. The conditions and rules of the pantomime are all part of Amy's larger private deal with Eve, although who included those clauses, and why, remains their intimate secret. Whatever they are, I couldn't care less. They work for me.

And as for Prospect, let me put it this way. Not only have I been rehired as the principal at Howell Elementary, every fall we put on an extremely popular Harvest Festival. And at each festival, Sen. Amy Johnson stops by to award the prizes to the winners of the Broomstick Race. Her graying hair is longer and more sensual these days, and there's a new ease to her yoga-trained body and charisma to her evolving public persona. Party leaders have openly encouraged her to run for governor.

Which is all nice, I suppose. But my favorite thing about the new normal in Prospect are those photos in the local paper of Amy hugging the Broomstick Race winners. Every shot reveals an expectant gleam in Amy's shining eyes.

And I know it's because Halloween is only a few days away.

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