Coven

he took her straight out. The room opened to them in cool darkness. They kissed belly to belly, dripping. The beads of water on her skin turned warm with her heat. Her open mouth sucked over his; their tongues frolicked. In the window she could see the moon, which seemed to watch like a distant face, or part of her past self.

Wade’s hands coaxed her buttocks apart and squeezed. His member (which she thought of unhesitantly as his cock) stood erect between their pressing bellies. Its hot underside throbbed. She longed to see its details, to witness its mysterious proof.

Next he straddled her on the bed. His strategy was agonizing: He kissed and licked every square inch of her body, from her lips to the tips of her toes—he dressed her in kisses. He traced her tan lines with his tongue. He sucked her nipples till they filled with a delicious ache. His mouth drew a wet line to her belly button, which he kissed, licked, and sucked with undue fascination.

Lydia felt stretched on an inquisitor’s rack when he began to kiss around the entirety of her sex; the sensation churned upward. Was she losing her mind from this? And what of him? She strained to grasp his cock, but it remained out of reach. For now she could only vow a dutiful reciprocation. Yes, she would tend to his cock as voraciously as he now tended to her. She would suck it till he came in her mouth, and that would only be the beginning.

These thoughts confounded her. Dirty girl, she thought. She wrapped her legs around his back. Yes, she would show him, once his cock was in reach. I don’t love this guy, do I? she dared to ask herself, but she could only think through chinks in the teasing frenzy. Then the wave began to rise. Oh, no. Oh—

Flexing spasms gathered and burst. A finger slipped in. She began to come at once when his mouth found the exposed nub of her clitoris. (She often thought that clitoris had to be the most ridiculous name devisable for the seat of feminine sexual pleasure.) The tongue licked up, bearing down. Moaning wasn’t Lydia’s style, yet she moaned just the same, writhing against the synchronicity of his tongue and mouth, which coaxed pulses of orgasms from her. Each beautiful release reminded her how long it had been since anything like this had happened to her. All she could do was lie there and come, give in to him. Yes, it had been a very long time indeed.

««—»»

The Supremate hummed, as if to set a score to its intricate web of thoughts. Soulless behind the shocking countenance, it knew everything. It watched and listened. And hummed.

—WHO AM I? The Supremate thought.

In a manner, it did know everything, and enjoyed the luxury of being in many places at once. Some would define God by these criteria. —AM I GOD? it wondered. —I AM OMNISCIENT. I AM OMNIPRESENT. I AM WORSHIPED. MAYBE I’M GOD.

Deep in the labyrinth, the daughters were at work, happy in mindlessness. They were pawns, but the Supremate loved them.

—I LOVE.

More God. Wasn’t love, too, a necessary criteria?

—WORK HARD. MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTERS. FOR I LOVE YOU.

—We know! came their reply. —We love you too!

But the Supremate idled. Surely there must be more to God than this. There had to be. —GOD? it thought.

Their holy—yes, holy—burdens here would soon be ended. Then they would move on to new fertile gardens, new pastures from which to reap. But how many more times? And how much longer?

The Supremate didn’t know.

—I’M NOT GOD, it realized. —I’M JUST… ME.

The Supremate’s head roared with ancient laughter. It laughed and laughed. And hummed.

««—»»

Stella Erbling arched forward, painting her toenails. She was painting them black. Her sister, Liddy, lounged back on the couch with her feet up, bored as she scrutinized the TV guide.

“What’s on cable?” Stella asked, painting daintily.

“Just horror movies on cable,” Liddy replied, bored.

“What ones?”

Liddy was a year older but a year behind. Their father had arranged for them to room together, believing that a familial proximity might encourage academic motivation. This, in truth, effected the opposite. Stella was proud that her 1.2 grade point average was one tenth of a percent higher than Liddy’s.

“Let’s see,” Liddy said, scanning the TV cable guide. “I Eat Your Skin, Bloodsucking Freaks, Three on a Meat Hook, and Citizen Kane.”

Stella laughed. “Citizen Kane isn’t a horror movie, you mushhead. It’s porno.”

“Oh,” Liddy peeped. Stella knew everything, damn her.

Stella capped the polish bottle. “Forget TV. I got a better idea.”

Liddy’s face shined in glee, “Do Horse?”

“Do Horse,” Stella authorized. “Call that human pile-driver right now. We’ll raise his Kane, all right.”

The sheer delight of this conspiracy merged into their laughter. Liddy’s denim mini slipped up and showed her pantyless bottom as she bent for the phone. They couldn’t wait for Do Horse to come calling. So what if he had less charisma than a package of lunch meat? He was like the flag at the White House—always up.

And they would do well to have their fun quickly, for sometimes the night brings many callers, not all of whom are welcome.

««—»»

Such callers, in this case, would be Tom, in a clean T shirt, and one of the middle sisters. Several hours had passed since David “Do Horse” Willet had arrived at the Erblings’ for what would be his last so called roll in the hay. Tom and the sister took the fire stairs up, to avoid notice by the lobby guard. Up, up they went, for another small straw of destiny.

Lois Hartley had acclimated well and was now brewing nicely in the gestation catalyzer. The Supremate was pleased. Vaguely Tom wondered what manner of grossness would emerge from Lois’ radiophaseshifttriionized womb. Too vividly he remembered the stillborn sack of flesh that the stasisfield defected Penelope had birthed. Ugh, he thought. No cigars from that daddy.

The cloaked sister stood behind him, grinning stupidly. They advanced with discretion, and passed room 202, Sarah’s room. Tom wondered if Jervis was still ravaged by the destruction of the romance. He also wondered if he’d ever see his Kirin guzzling friend again, before the promised all expense paid trip to eternity. Despite what Tom had become, he missed his friends.

Next came room 206, Penelope’s room, or at least it had been until her address was changed to underground. The poor airhead was probably still blubbering away down there.

Next came room 208, the Erblings’.

—Remember, said the sister. —Don’t make a mess this time.

Tom twisted the doorknob and pushed. Metal crunched as the bolt ground out. The door opened to a brightly lit room: three astonished faces jerked up from a rather elaborate menage a trois. Suddenly naked bodies blurred, dashing madly. Stella yelled, “Who—”

“—the fuck are they!” Liddy finished, gleaming breasts abob. But the dude, David “Do Horse” Willet, stepped forward, confident in spite of total nakedness, and totally unafraid.

“Who the fuck are you?” Do Horse asked.

“Ted Kennedy,” Tom said. “Wanna buy a Delta 88 cheap?”