The Three Rites of Eugenie Hastings

I had always wanted one of them to return the desire, to wrestle me down upon the hard bed, to lift my own nightgown up over my hips and to make me the woman in our nocturnal games, more even, to make me a dog with its belly rolled skyward in abject surrender, no strength and no fight left, only the need to submit at long last. Yet always my will, my desire, my force had been the stronger.

Now as Leah's long middle finger probed my moist passage, as I choked on the taste of her tongue that swirled around the back of my throat, I felt that I was myself at last. The rigidity left my body and I melted into the woman's strong arms, went weak and let her have her way.

I surely would have lost myself in the sensations of that instant, deadened to all else but the feel of that woman's touch, had it not been for the soft ringing of the bell that tied me to the greater whole, and kept my senses tethered to the world beyond my stoking desire--the bell that rang on Tim's stiff prick and guided my thought and my sight back towards him there on the floor.

As the sensation of a stranger's invasion of my innermost self washed over me, I beheld the sight of Timothy Hansen, bound and chained, his spittle running out with the pearly white offering from the corners of his mouth as the man he sucked burst forth and filled him to overflowing with his seed. I saw that man fall back and another at once thrust forward to take his place.

There was no formality, no tenderness as the revelers lost themselves to their urges once again, and surely there was no romance as the second man pressed his cock into Tim's mouth while he was still struggling to deal with the leavings of the first. The others could hardly stand the thrill of waiting. Most were stroking their pricks in wild fury at the sight of Tim on his knees, hungrily sucking.

Even I could see that it could not last long, that there was simply not enough of Tim to sate them, that their frenzy would only build and build and could not be put off. Not content to wait a turn at his mouth, I imagined they would soon fall upon him en masse and tear him to bits in their abandon, destroying the object of their desire in the burning need to receive it. I saw in their bearded and furious faces the same madness that I had once glimpsed in the countenance of my French instructor's paramour, and it thrilled me to imagine that in a moment I would see Timothy taken as she had been, that one of the ruffians would simply spread Tim's white buttocks and use him as a woman, taking him mercilessly by what I imagined to be a virgin rear passage.

Leah broke her kiss to whisper into my ear. "Don't you wish it were you dear? You're wet with the need, a bitch coming into heat. If I wanted, I believe I could put you down on the floor and you would willingly let yourself be used in every hole and still cry out for more. Wouldn't you, Ginny? Wouldn't you?"

Her words punctuated by a second finger wriggling through my narrow lips to join the first, her thumb sliding soft across my budding clit, sending a jolt through the whole of my existence. I could not answer, yet I was not expected to answer. I was expected to do nothing but take what was offered and to watch. That is what I did.

I had lost track of Mr. Arshinov in all that was happening. Surely he had not gone anywhere. It was simply that he had stepped into the crowd, one form among the shifting many. My attention filled by other things, I made no note of him. Neither had I noted the presence of the woman Sophie since I had seen her pull the gag from my fiancé's mouth. But as Leah worked her fingers in and out of my slick pussy, as Tim abandoned himself to the pricks that surrounded him, the sound of Arshinov's voice suddenly caught my ear and drew my attention toward the corner of the parlor where the phonograph played. I saw them together, alone and remote from the crowd, and I knew them at once. Even so, it was not clear at first what I beheld.

As the crowd fought for turns to fuck my fiancé in the mouth, a few could not wait and began to shoot their hot seed upon the skin of his back and the blushing firmness of his expectant buttocks, as I felt myself dancing on the tips of Leah's sweet and probing fingers, Arshinov and Sophie held themselves as though a world away, and I beheld a sight which I had not envisioned even in the wildest of my fantasies.

Sophie was on her hands and knees facing me, her eyes shut tight, her lips wide and aquiver as she soundlessly suffered through a delirium of pain and of pleasure that nothing in my life had ever suggested to me. Behind her Arshinov stood, his right arm raised above his head. In his hand he held a thick-handled flail that dangled with leather straps. The host was speaking aloud, yet it was not English he spoke. It bore no resemblance to any language I had ever heard.

There was no rhyme or reason to it, and none of the cadence or constancy that would mark it as a fathomable dialect at all, only the sounds that passed the man's lips and the flail that fell upon the mute's reddened back as a sign of punctuation.

Yet this was not what gripped me most about the tableau. The words and the flail were but a part of something else. The right hand was in constant motion, yet it was the left hand that fascinated, and the exquisite agony of the woman in its thrall. For as the right hand brought the flail down upon the woman's flesh with a wet and heavy sound, the left twisted and slowly pulled. It seemed to me that Arshinov was drawing something by force from Sophie's ass.

A string of oiled black pearls is what my mind made of them, a long string, an endless string and each one slightly larger than the one preceding it. The pearls themselves were onyx black, yet in the flickering light of candle and lamp it seemed there was a fire within them, some light dancing beneath the sheen of their surface. Each time Arshinov let the flail fall heavily across Sophie's reddened back and buttocks his left wrist would slowly jerk back, and the length of the coil would grow by one pearl, and with each tug of that lengthening string Sophie's face contorted, and I could imagine the dilation of her tight rear hole as it fought to keep itself closed against the pressure drawing forth another onyx globe from the confines of her secret chamber.

I was fascinated by the struggle clear upon her features, an exquisite and prolonged agony mixed with the sublime pleasure that I recognized only from the paintings of the saints displayed in the galleries of York and Providence. It was nothing I had ever seen on the face of any living person.

The mute woman made no move to escape from the pain. She held herself fast against the lash that fell, and bore the pain of each progressively larger orb drawn forth from her bowels. She held herself still for the pleasure beyond such things. When her eyes fluttered open in awful rapture they were the eyes of a woman who had somehow seen the face of God. How many pearls upon that string, and how large would they become? How long had she borne them heavily in her lean body against that moment of sweet extraction, and for what purpose was she delivered at this moment?

My mind burned with questions, even as my body burned with the desire Leah's thrusting fingers were provoking within me. In the war between the two my reasoned mind was giving way before the heady lust of my longing. As a carnival of debauchery swirled before me I no longer feared death or the devil, no terror in the visage of the men who defiled my intended, or in the warped form of Sophie's marked and mutilated body. I only felt the desire that spread up from the depths between my thighs, a hot burning need to feel it all for myself, to know each instant of the pain and pleasure offered to the rest.

I could feel my orgasm coming, building like a wave on the far horizon of the sea and rushing, growing, hurling itself to break in foam and thunder upon the shore, and the last of my reason flying away before it. My head fell weakly against Leah's, and breathlessly I let my lips fall open to speak.

"Make me cum," I whispered to her. "Please tell me that I am a slut, a whore, and make me cum. Put me down on the floor and let those men fuck me. I'll take them in every one of my holes...please."

But to my surprise Leah only laughed. I felt her fingers slide out of my pussy.

"Not yet," she told me. "Not yet."

I could have screamed in frustration as I felt my orgasm halt just before it broke. Desperately I sought her hand with my needy sex, but Leah was stepping away from me, grinning broadly at my surprise and my distress. She told me that I would have to wait.

"Please," I begged her. "I am so close..."

But once again she refused me with a shake of her head, telling me that the time was not yet right.

Yet my pleading desire may well have been a sign. In an instant I heard Arshinov shout, and I saw the lash fall upon Sophie's back. Then I saw his left hand violently pull back. Sophie's lips split wide in a rasping whimper and she fell forward upon the floor, her face in her hands and her ass in the air as Arshinov dragged from her what must have been the final pearl. To my dazzled eyes it seemed to be nearly the size of my fist. As Sophie's body wracked with silent sobs Arshinov threw his head back and screamed in pleasure and in triumph. It was a long and garbled sound that held no meaning; yet at its utterance the room fell into deep silence.

"Ia! Shub Niggurath! Ia! Yog-Sothoth! Ia! Nyarlathotep!"

Raising both the flail and the string of black pearls, nearly four feet long, above his head, he shouted these strange sounds once again. Then he let flail and string drop, to clatter on the floor beside Sophie's shaking body.

The host's narrow chest heaved with a sudden violence. Once more he seemed far younger and far stronger than he had when the night had begun, no frailty left in his visage, and his proud member still swollen with his passions. All eyes were upon him as Arshinov lashed out with an idle kick that toppled the phonograph from the table, sending it to the floor where it broke apart. All eyes upon him as he strode forth past the kneeling form of the silent woman, and I felt fresh thrill between my thighs as I saw that his eyes were wild upon my person, and his prick seemed aimed directly at my heart.

Was he the fate that I had been reserved for? Was his the prick would at last would pierce my secret and deliver me to the desired ravishment that had always lurked in the depths of my heart? Even though I had burst my own hymen long before on some sweet night and left my maiden blood upon white sheets, and had long known the pleasure of my own hands, now joined by the experience of Leah's, I still considered myself a virgin. There was something I did not know, some gift I was still waiting to be given.

Looking upon his stiff prick bouncing with each step he took across the floor, I felt my mouth begin to water. My heart seemed as though it would break free from the ribs which constrained it, and I imagined myself thrown down upon the floor, my legs locking tight around the host's hips as that heavy rod thrust deep within me for the first time and remade me into the woman I had so long desired to be.

Yet it was not to me that Arshinov strode, but to Timothy, still upon his knees as the men fell back around him. Timothy was a mess. I do not know how many pricks he had taken in his mouth, but his face was stained with thick splotches of jism. It rolled slowly off his cheekbones and pooled around the collar that cinched his throat. His back too was stained with the leavings of the crowd in the same way as Leah's body had been. I wondered how Timothy would ever be able to feel clean again, but the look in his eyes as Arshinov stood before him made it plain that Timothy Hansen did not care that night if he should ever be clean, or if he would ever be able to peer in a mirror without seeing the creature into which he had been made staring back.

As Arshinov drew up before him, I saw Tim's tongue flick out across his wet lips in needy anticipation, and he shuffled a few inches forward on his knees, reaching up to grasp Arshinov's prick in his hands, to nuzzle his face against the underside of the host's shaft and the wrinkled skin of his heavy testicles.

Arshinov laughed out loud, and he reached down to give a tug upon the chain which wound through my fiancé's nipples and down to the bell that bobbed upon his prick. As Arshinov pulled the chain taut Tim cried out in surprise and pain, his back arching heavily to alleviate the sudden stress put upon his most sensitive points.

"You have done well thus far, brother," Arshinov said. "You have come to us ready and willing and you have so far held nothing back. The door has been opened, the Lurker is striding forth. Can you hear his tread approaching, Mr. Hansen? Can you hear the thunder of his dread step?"

"Yes," I heard Tim gasp. "Yes sir, I can hear it."

"And are you ready to join with him completely, as a bride is joined to her groom? Are you ready now to abandon the last of yourself to the Creeping Chaos, knowing that once bound to it that there shall be no other way and no other course? Are you ready, Mr. Hansen?"

"Yes sir," Tim answered at once, his head nodding furiously, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and running down to mix with the semen on his skin. "Please...deliver me."

"What else, Mr. Hansen?" Arshinov asked him, twisting the chain cruelly in his hand, pulling it tighter until the rings in Tim's nipples seemed as if they would tear from the flesh and the bell on his prick had stretched the taut skin nearly an inch.

"What do you offer as sacrifice to the Lurker at the Threshold, what price do you pay to the Creeping Chaos you would join?"

I could not hear Tim's answer, but I saw his eyes dart in my direction. Arshinov ordered Tim that he must speak louder, that there could be no doubt later, that he must speak for all to hear. And through the pain that the chain caused him, through the red humiliation on his face I heard Tim raise his voice.

"I offer my fiancée to the Creeping Chaos, sir. I offer her fully to the Lurker on the Threshold."

Arshinov smiled. "And you understand what this means, Mr. Hansen? That all the days of your life you will never know her, not in the way that a husband knows a wife. You will never know the feel of her, the relief that her body may bring into yours. You will take her into your home but it is to another that she will belong. Pleasure she will know, but it will not be the pleasure of your touch. You shall watch her revel in the pleasure of others and always yourself be denied.

"In time she will bear children to the Creeping Chaos, and you shall raise them as your own, always knowing that it was not your seed which quickened in her fertile womb. Do you understand this, little one? Is this the offering you wish to make?"

"Yes!" Timothy cried out. "This is what I offer, the bargain I would strike. I offer Eugenie Hastings to the Creeping Chaos. Oh God help me, I offer her up!"

"Then it is done."

Arshinov grinned, and at once he relaxed his grip upon the chain. Tim gasped at the sudden relief. It was short-lived, for without preamble Arshinov thrust forward with his hips and drove his stiff prick all the way to the back of Tim's throat, causing my beloved to gag and to retch.

If the other men had treated him roughly, it had been nothing compared to Arshinov taking his mouth. Even now I can think of no other way to describe it than to say that Mr. Arshinov fucked him, that he fucked his face with all the savage force and sharp brutality of a stallion rutting a mare, without compassion and without mercy. There was no thought or care for Timothy's pleasure or his comfort, he was simply a hole to be filled, a repository for the prick of Arshinov, whose intent it seemed was to choke poor Tim upon his weighty cock, to seal the air within his lungs until they burst in desperation.

Timothy sought to pull away, pushing against Arshinov's legs with his bound hands and his face turned purple. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, but Arshinov gripped his head in both hands and held him fast, urging him in mocking language to take what was given, to take it all and to enjoy the taste.

"You are so talented, Mr, Hansen." Arshinov laughed. "Such a sweet and giving mouth. I have no doubt that this will be a common experience in the life to come, you upon your knees, prick upon your tongue, a gutter for the cum of the Chaos. Rejoice in it now, Mr. Hansen, learn to love it. Love it until it becomes to you as wine and you are drunk upon it."

So fast and so brutal I could not imagine that Arshinov would last long in Tim's full mouth. I thought he would soon boil over and like the others drown my fiancé with his hot seed. All at once Arshinov pulled out of Tim's mouth and stepped back, allowing Tim to collapse, retching and gagging upon the floor. The bulbous head glistened, yet there was no sign of cum. Clearly he was holding back for something else and something more.

His eyes once more found mine. Yet it was to Leah that Arshinov addressed his words.

"Is she ready, sister?"

"Yes, sir," Leah nodded happily. "I brought her to the edge until she was begging to cum. There is no resistance left in this one. She will be happy to serve, will go gladly to the sacrifice if it means that she can know what it is to be well and truly fucked."

"Bring her forward," Arshinov ordered, and Leah reached out and grasped me by the hand. "Her time has come at last."

I heard an excited murmur sweep the crowd as I was led forward on hesitant and shaking legs. There was no thought of resistance left within me. All of my reason was overcome in the face of my newfound need, the excitement that dripped thickly down my leg. What was going to become of me? What had I been offered up to?

I had heard the words that Arshinov has spoken to Timothy, the strictures he had made upon my life, and I suppose that I should have been terrified, should have fought and clawed to resist such things. Yet in the moment I could only feel anticipation. My world did not extend beyond the promise of my first cock, the edges of the orgasm that I could feel hanging in the wide spaces within me, ready to fall like a guillotine blade and cut me away from all that had been before.

As she led me forward I heard Leah admonish me not to be afraid. There was no need--there was no fear left within me. There was nothing left of Eugenie Hastings, there was only Ginny, and Ginny was eager to meet her fate.

I was led to stand before Arshinov, Timothy coughed, gasping for air at our feet.

"Is it true, my dear?" Mr. Arshinov asked me, a smile on his lips. "Are you ready?"

"I am," I whispered, the words struggling to escape the tightness of my throat.

"The third rite begins," Arshinov said. "It is not for the faint of heart. Will you do as you are commanded? Will you be brave and balk at nothing? Will you join yourself with us and with the Crawling Chaos that has almost arrived?"

"Yes." I whispered without a thought. "Yes. Please."

He reached out his left hand and he touched me gently upon the cheek, ran his fingers soft across my trembling lips.

"We have been waiting for you for so long," he whispered. "And now you are here. At last...it is upon us."

As he spoke I saw the others moving all around us, the naked men fanning out in a circle. Two of them went to Sofie still recovering herself upon the floor by the broken phonograph and tenderly they lifted her and set her upon her feet, led her forward to stand wearily in the center of the forming ring. There were five of us, Sophie, Leah, Tim, still gagging on the floor, Arshinov and myself. Our host took his hand from my skin as in low voices the men who surrounded us began to chant in the same strange tongue that Arshinov had spoken before.