Keywords: M/F anal, oral, magic
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Dark to Dawn

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

	Dark to Dawn - The doctor suspects strange happenings in town and
sets out to find the cause. What? Can't people fuck anymore without
someone thinking it's heinous? M/F, anal, oral, magic

			Dark to Dawn

	"What's the matter, honey?" asked Howard, "Aren't you in the
mood?"	
	"I don't know... yes... I just feel... dizzy. But yes, yes I'm 
in the mood," said Sharon.
	She wasn't sure what came over her. Her questions were quickly
lost in the feel of Howard's lips moving down her throat, kissing at
her collar bone, sliding down to her left nipple. She wanted him again.
She knew the pleasure- the peace- that only came when she felt him
inside her, warm and strong, filling her urgently.
	"Oh, Howard, don't bother," she said with a sigh, "I'm so ready.
Please... please put it in me. Please fuck me."
	"Er... " Howard said hesitantly, "Just another minute, please, 
I'm not quite ready yet."
	His mouth moved to fix on her other nipple, but Sharon put her
hand on his head and pulled him up. There was a look of apprehension on
his face. She knew he didn't want to admit he wasn't able to perform
and she hated to confront him with it, but she wanted him so badly.
	"Don't look so worried," she said gently, "I can help you."
	With that she laid his head back on the pillow beside her and
moved down his body. His penis was red and raw, the head a swollen
plum on a thin stalk too weak to support it. She would take care of
that.
	She took his cock in her mouth and he jerked a little. She wished
to reassure him, but she decided it was better to chase the head of his
cock around her mouth with her tongue. She could just as well show him
as tell him, and it would be sooner that his cock was hard and firm and
large and she could feel it inside herself again.
	She felt encouraged as she licked under the head and felt a
flicker of response. Still respectful of his shying at her touch, she
did not set to sucking on his prick immediately, but sent long licks
from his belly to the head.
	"My balls... my balls might like that," he said in gasps.
	Oh yes, that would be good, Sharon thought, and licked the
wrinkled skin containing the two orbs. She sucked one into her mouth
and gave it the same treatment as the head of his cock as he writhed.
She licked behind the sack before taking the other ball in her mouth.
	He was much more comfortable with this and it was having the 
desired effect. She looked up to watch his cock move flopping one
side to the other and seeming to expand before her eyes. She went
behind the sack again, since that seemed to make him jump the most.
	But it was getting so hard to wait. She tried to satisfy herself
with laving his balls, but her hunger, her need, made her leave them at
last and take his prick in her mouth again. She needed it inside her.
She needed it hard and thick and big. She had to suck it.
	He took it well, with only small grunts of protest as she sucked
the now normal-looking, if still red, cock in and out of her mouth. He
wanted it too, no matter what it cost.
	"I think... I think I can" he said, stirring onto and elbow and
pulling at her.
	She was unsure, but went easily onto her back and opened her legs
wide for him. He scrambled between them and hastily put his cock, which
he held in his hand to guide it, against her slit.
	"Just... just have to get it in..." he gasped as he pushed with
hips and fingers to press his barely tumescent prick into her, "just
get it in... and it will be fine..."
	Then he was inside her. Not hard and large and insistent, but
inside her. He moved, but it seemed his cock was fixed in place and it
was only the slack that he was demonstrating as he tried to fuck her.
	"Ohh! That's it! Fuck me!" she called out with all the ardor she
could muster- and much more boldness than she felt was proper.
	"Give it to me! Yes! Fuck me!" she cried out with all the pretended passion she had, hoping with her nasty talk to urge more
stiffness into the prick that she wanted so much.
	The first light of morning was crawling to their window and as 
Howard concentrated on the wet warmth around his cock, the first ray
broke through and struck him. He pushed heavily, trying to force more
of his cock inside her and then fell on top of her.
	It was no good. The light made Sharon squint and she became 
disgruntled with Howard's weight on her, her own position, and the
useless cock crammed inside her. He was still trying to hump
ineffectively, but she pushed him away.
	"Get up, then," she said irritably. "It's morning."
	"Morning," he grunted, not to contradict her, but to complain.
"But it's only dawn. Time for a couple hours... I could go in late
again..."
	They were more fatigued than when they had laid down the night 
before. Sharon could have a lie-in, perhaps sneak a nap later, but Howard had to be to work. He had been missing far too many mornings as
it was.
	He decided to make it one more, but he wouldn't sleep. His dick 
felt raw and swollen. Every step reminded him with a twinge as it
rubbed against his clothes. He was going to see if he could get in to
see Dr. Gilbert before he went in. Perhaps the doctor could give him
something to relieve the pain if not heal the raw skin.

	"Well, flop it up here on the counter and let's have a look," Dr.
Gilbert joked, already sure what he would see.
	Sure enough, Howard's complaint was friction burns on his penis.
That would normally be rare enough, a man's desire and stamina usually
stopping far short of damage, but it was not rare here. Howard was the
third man he'd treated along with four women for the same kind of
complaint.
	And these were not newly-weds in their late teens or early
twenties, but established people, most of them long married. Dr. Gilbert
wondered at the rash of sex-related complaints as he prescribed a
steroid creme for Howard. It wasn't usual, certainly not normal.
	 "I don't want to be indelicate, but there's really only one way
to get a condition like this," said Dr. Gilbert. "If you know what it's
going to do to you, why don't you stop before it hurts?"
	Howard looked confused, but then said, "I guess, when you feel
like it, you have to. I mean, you know how frustrating it can be
sometimes when you want to and your wife doesn't. I guess I'm getting it while the getting is good. Grabbing the chance you might say."
	"I might say it would be good to take a night off," Dr. Gilbert
said. "That irritation won't heal if you keep this up."

	Felicity Goodman sat down gingerly in the hot bath of Epsom
salts. She was wondering much the same thing as Dr. Gilbert. Why was it
that she couldn't stop? Why couldn't she say no?
	But that wasn't a fair question, she admitted as she settled back
and tried to let the hot water soothe her aching crotch. She remembered
being as eager, even shrill, in urging Charles to take her again as
he had been to fuck her.
	"I'll let you do it the way you like," she had said desperately,
while jerking on his cock.
	That had brought a response, feeble as it was, that her fingers
felt. She had rolled over and put her rear high in the air as she
dove down to suck his cock into her mouth.
	She had let him, this time actually wanted him to, reach over her
back and put a finger in her ass. It had the desired effect. She felt
his cock surge with blood as he worked his finger in and out of her
anus and she opened her throat as he thrust into her face with renewed
vigor.
	Quickly, but not too soon, she was gagging as his cock recovered
and began to seek her throat as he fucked her face. She took it with
a great satisfaction amid the choking.
	It had been an ill-considered move, she thought now, but there
had been no consideration of the consequences at the time. She had even
chided Charles for the brief delay that he took in applying the minimal
lubrication that she allowed before pushing her ass at him and begging
for his cock.
	She shifted uneasily with the reminder of her lack of
consideration as she moved to rest her weight on the other cheek in the
bath. Charles had been more eager, more unrestrained as his cock 
pressed past the closed gate of her rectum than he might have been
earlier, when they had just begun.
	And that was nothing compared to his vigor once his cock had
breached the clenched door. She could not blame him. She heard her
voice echo in her mind. She remembered shouting for him to go on, go
deeper, go harder as he ravaged from the first entrance until he had
fought his way to smack soundly against her rear.
	She had pushed her ass back to help him as he invaded her 
asshole. She had rocked in a counter rhythm to his thrusts to drive him
deeper, make him pull farther out so his thrusts could be as long and
harsh as they could both manage together.
	She had contributed, perhaps not as much, but as much as she 
could to the rough invasion and begged for more. Still, she remembered
her reasoning and could not argue that her raw, sore vagina didn't need
the break.
	But there was frustration she didn't understand as Charles 
finally stopped ripping her anus and fell back sated for a second. It
took so much more urging, with hands and mouth; she even put her tongue
into his asshole in her need. He was so slow to revive after ass-
fucking her. And she needed him.
	Then they had fucked again, and again. Charles howled as his
soreness poked into hers and she had threatened him if he stopped. She
had begged and demanded, ordered and pleaded as he drove into her. And
he had told her that he would take his revenge with a hard cock and
stab her with it until she could take no more.
	She had taken more than she could, she winced. It was not a
matter of that- at least not in the day. But in the night, it seemed
there was no consideration in the need that came and made them repeat
the same crazed lust over and over.
	At least Charles could doze a bit before he was needed at the
bank. She wished to do the same in her bath, but each time she lay 
back to relax, perhaps lose herself in sleep, another twinge reminded
her and the aching soreness would not let her rest.

	And there was the strange thing, Dr. Gilbert thought as he 
filed Howard's records. All his hyper-sexual patients lived on Gibbet
Lane. Without being haughty, he had to concede it was not the kind of
place one would expect to find such lusty goings-on.
	Not only was it address of settled couples, but couples that were
successful, prosperous, and he would have thought, focused on other 
things than sexual excess. He considered briefly some kind of club or
group organization devoted to orgies, but he couldn't believe that.
	He would have heard something. If not an invitation, certainly
there would be a rumor about something as scandalous as that. Besides,
if it were the case, he would expect at least one of his patients to
be worried about disease and none of them were.
	It was very puzzling, but for the moment that was all it was. He
had several patients, who all lived on the same street, who seemed to
be on a second Honeymoon of prodigious vigor and unbelievable duration.

	"You want it.  -don't you?"
	Melanie had put on Chinese silk pajamas for bed, thinking that
tonight they might sleep after the insane fury of the last few nights.
However, the top was thrown back, hanging from her shoulders and she
was holding the short pants up, having already undone the tie.
	Mike was ripping at his clothes as if some alarm had gone off and
he was compelled to answer it naked. She was teasing him with her full,
lush breasts swinging seductively as she teased with dropping the pants
and standing ready for his charge.
	"What's in here? What's in here that you want?" she teased as 
she pulled the waist out to look down at her own lightly furred sex and
prepared for the dramatic drop that would take all obstruction, both to
his seeing and his access, out of Mikes' way.
	"You'll find out what I want!" Mike said gruffly, "And it doesn't
matter about those pants. I'll shove my cock right through them and
fuck you with them on, if you don't get them out of the way!"
	Melanie dropped the pants as Mike was stepping impatiently on his
trousers, pulling them off his feet. She stepped wider, letting her
sex form a point aimed in opposition to the triangle between her legs.
Mike did not seem to appreciate her pose. He rushed her, cock erect,
and threw her to the bed, following her in a leap that brought him down
on top of her, conveniently placed between her legs.
	"Put it in!" she said in a husky voice, "You can warm me up
later."  
	This was not so far from some urgency they had know in years
past. Still, Melanie grimaced as Mike's cock pushed into her. Even in
those fevered times, the teasing had made her more ready. But that was 
beneath consideration. He was inside her and the relief was far more
than the pain of forcing her sheath to adapt.
	And he was grabbing her breasts, attacking her mouth, shoving
his tongue into her like the invader below. They were fucking. It was
the only thing that mattered.
	She wrapped her legs around him to pull him deeper. If it was to
hurt, she wanted it to hurt her as much as possible. She wanted to feel
him in her, against her, giving her everything he had as he took
everything she had to give him.
	It wasn't so much fucking as writhing as one beast with a 
connection where their four legs came together. His hips moved and hers
moved counter as his cock stayed deep inside her and he licked and
squeezed and mauled her.
	"Yes! Touch me!" she cried. "Be rough. Use me!"
	But he hadn't been rough- yet. He was grinding against her, his
hands moving as if there was some part of her that might escape if he
didn't reach it, touch it, grab it in time. His hand went to her ass 
and back up to grab the hair on the side of her head and pull her head
aside so he could bite her shoulder.
	That seemed to start it. His hand went back to her bottom, 
spanning it and pulling it up where he could probe more deeply. Holding
her butt with one hand, his other went down beside her head for the 
leverage to start thrusting into her.
	"Yes! Like a doll! Like a rag doll!" she encouraged as she felt
controlled by his hand and helpless against his need to hollow her out
with his zealous cock.
	"Hurt me!" she hissed, somehow wanting more of him.
	She reached up to catch his nipples between her thumb and
forefinger and kept increasing the pressure as he drove more strongly
into her as she did. His hand tightened on her rear, but there was no
more power he could use to push into her; he was driving as hard as
their position allowed.
	Perhaps reacting to her pinching, Mike pulled up his knees and,
pulling on her arm just below the shoulder, jerked backward until she
had been pulled up. He was astride his thighs, one hand still on her
butt and the other on her back, but supported, it seemed, on the hard
stalk of his cock that seemed to grow deeper into her as she settled
on it.
	He let go of her rear and used both hands on her back to lift her
and drop her back onto his cock. She threw herself forward to press her
breasts against him as his cock impaled her so divinely. She moaned in
happy helplessness to be used as simply a cunt for him to jack off into.
	 And when he tired, she pushed him back. They fell a bit 
uncomfortably as Mike struggled to straighten his knees, but Melanie
quickly moved back and found his hard cock. She slid back, bending as
needed, to drive the hard cock back inside her. Then she settled down
to grind against her husband's groin.
	"Keep it hard because I want it inside me," she growled, "I want
it in me forever. I want to feel it forever."
	It was simply an impossible admonition as she uttered it, but it
felt like truth to a deeper part of her. She only felt comfortable,
safe, when they were joined. She moved almost experimentally on him,
lifting only slightly to press down on him quickly and rub against him
before the next quick move up and back down.
	What they had missed in foreplay was long forgotten now. She was
not only ready, she was seething, flowing with her desire for him. Yet
she remained loathe to move energetically enough to relieve her need.
	She wanted it, but she wanted it to last. She also wanted
closeness and that desire brought her to lean over and fall on Mike
in the end. Pressed together, they once again spent long moments 
grinding their bodies together, although she felt slightly cheated
since Mike's lovely cock was not shoved as deep as it might be with
her on top of him.
	He seemed to share her feeling. He grunted a couple of times,
wrapping her in his arms, and then rolled her over, settling between
her legs once more and driving his cock to the fully satisfying, for
both of them, hilt. He was lying on her and instead of suffocation, she
felt the comfort and love of his cock inside her reach out to cover her
totally.
	"Fuck me, but never stop," she whispered in his ear.
	He responded appropriately. She wrapped her legs about him again
to squirm at the intrusions as he reproduced her movements on top of 
him with a more regular rhythm. He paused deep in her, but with less
pause before withdrawing a little way and pushing back in.
	This was their way. They had hardly gone for quick completion 
before they married. They had spent long hours coupled and coupling,
seeing the extension of pleasure as preferable to a series of rapid and
furious fucks, particularly, from Melanie's standpoint, when the series
was unreliable in number and in performance.
	It was standing them in good stead. When Mike at last could stand 
no more and thrust fast and hard, she dissolved into the ecstasy long
put off and let him drive her to climax. She could hold him close a
little longer. And when the desire came again, as it had every other
night, she would respond as necessary to resurrect Mike's cock and
again lay smashed or smashing together as long as the night lasted.

	An irritated bladder, 'honeymoon bladder', and more unguents for
a case of vaginitis and Dr. Gilbert's interest was piqued. He was
asking private questions now, not beyond the scope of a doctor, he told
himself, but as a diagnostic tool to understand this sudden epidemic,
he felt safe in calling it that, of hyper-sexual complaints.
	All denied any improper activity. There was just a new, although
they did seem confused as it its origin, awakening of their love for
their spouse. Every night? Yes, it seemed strange now that they thought
of it, but it was real and it just happened. Every night.

	"Hold me. Can't you just hold me?" Gladys asked pleadingly.
	She felt that she was on fire. The pain had not dropped even when
Evan pulled out of her and lay exhausted by her side. The burning, the
pain was worse now and she wasn't sure if she could stand to ignore it
for his sake as she had before.
	"I could... I could use my mouth to do it," she said hesitantly.
"That would relieve you, wouldn't it?"
	Evan moaned. He felt no better than Gladys.
	"No. No it doesn't," he said, bitterly, "You know I've told you
that. And I can't help it. I don't want to, you know..."
	She knew that before asking and she knew the darker truth that it
wouldn't relieve her either. She was as much to blame as Evan, though
content to let him feel the guilt she knew she shared.
	"Then hold me," she suggested again.
	"You know what will happen then," Evan groaned. "I'll hold you
and all the time I'll be trying to sneak it back in you. And I will,
even if I have to force you in the end. It's no good."
	He was right. All the same it was better than not. There was a
great panic worse than the pain that grew inside her, and it seemed,
him when they did not answer the lust that threw them on top of each
other and made them copulate to the point of destruction. It was a fear
of something, she didn't know what, greater then pain, torture or death
that would surely come if they tried to resist. And it was
irresistible.
	She howled. Evan gave out high-pitched grunts. Inevitably the
cuddle had become the exploration and now the torture of them both
screaming in pain as his cock tormented her swollen and raw sheath.
They did not, could not stop. They fucked in agony.

	Dr. Gilbert was talking to Dr. Lombard, not a medical doctor but
a Ph.D. who had lived in town nearly his entire life. Dr. Gilbert was
slightly bored with the long-winded reminiscences of the old days, even
old days before the aged Dr. Lombard was born.
	He snapped back to attention when he heard Lombard say: "I can't
imagine why they'd want to memorialize that by calling a road Gibbet
Lane."
	"Excuse me?" Gilbert interrupted. "What was that about Gibbet
Lane?"
	Lombard gave him a wondering look, which Gilbert imagined had
been turned on students regularly in Lombard's long career teaching,
as if he wondered why Gilbert didn't understand his clear presentation.
	"Gibbet Lane was built on the site," Lombard said unhelpfully.
	"The site of the hanging?" Gilbert made the guess to cover his
inattention.
	"Yes." said Lombard. "It was clearly that ridge on the south of
town."
	Swallowing his embarrassment at not listening, Gilbert knew he
had to ask Lombard to repeat the story he had been ignoring. If there
was something about that ridge, it might apply to his study of the
strange happenings there.
	That was his rational explanation. He was uneasily refusing to
credit the hair rising on his neck as an indication that the story had
some important meaning beyond the rational.
	"I'm not sure I got it all," Gilbert said, "Would you mind
repeating the whole part about the hanging and why they, her, it, was
hanged?"
	Lombard gave him a self-satisfied smile. For a moment Gilbert 
thought he might refuse, but then Lombard began to talk.
	"It must be difficult for you to admit an interest in old wives'
tales, I imagine," Lombard said unhelpfully, "But as I have your
attention, I will try and be as factual as the records will allow."
	Gilbert knew then that Lombard could not resist telling the tale
and that his inattention was not unexpected. It only gave Lombard the
chance to hold forth, something Gilbert already knew pleased him.
	"It was in 1692, when such things were in fashion, that the
village was struck by a series of catastrophes, at least to the poor,
ignorant folk who lived there," Lombard began. "Cicadas chose that year
to emerge en masse, setting their superstitious nerves on edge with a
strange whirring in the dark and the occasional fright when some, 
already frightened soul was out and one of the bugs would fly at them
or land on them. They were sure it was a plague from the Devil.
	"Also a fever," Lombard continued, "Which your medical ancestors
so wisely turned into many deaths with their habit of blood-letting."	Gilbert could see that Lombard was playing with him, but he was 
doing nothing to interrupt the story this time. He wasn't giving
Lombard any chance to draw it out.
	"It was also a year of indifferent harvest," Lombard went on. 
"And to add here, not legend or superstition, but a personal
observation of human nature over many years: in light of historical
events occurring at the time, the people were eager to join the
excitement of casting out witches that had sprung up in neighboring
towns, so as not to be thought the only village unable to see the evil
within itself."
	Obviously Lombard was going to draw it out, whatever Gilbert did.
	"Their object, Mother Osborne, was already the object of much
gossip- after all, didn't she eat poison and live? For the poor
enlightened lady had the nerve to raise tomatoes and eat them, when her
neighbors were still convinced they were poisonous," Lombard said
smugly, "She also, unfortunately for her, knew much about herbs and
healing that put her in disrepute with the doctor."
	Again he paused, seeming to await a retort, but again Gilbert 
didn't rise to the bait. It was already a much longer tale than the
first telling and he wasn't going to give Lombard the opportunity to
embroider more on the subject.
	"Osborne was, to say the least, uncooperative with the attempts
to hang her," Lombard went on finally, "She refused to confess, or
indeed, grant the elders any authority to question her at all. Then the
strange things began to happen."
	Lombard looked to Gilbert meaningfully.
	"What strange things," he said grudgingly to make him continue.
	"Her chief accuser, Goody Booth, was discovered dead, her face
fixed with an expression of horror, seeming to stare at her hearth.
The hearth where, as all witchologists of the time knew, a witch would
emerge from the chimney. Justice Churchill, who was leading the 
proceedings, found it impossible to speak whenever Mother Osborne was
in the court," Lombard said with a pleased look, "This is not hearsay.
It is in the record. The townspeople seem to have had enough. There is
no more record of a trial. There is only an entry that the witch Mother
Osborne was hanged."
	"And she was hanged where Gibbet Lane is now," Gilbert concluded.
	"Yes," Lombard said. "But don't you want to know the interesting
thing? The thing that entered the event into the lore and legend of
this town?"
	"Oh all right," Gilbert said, having listened so far.
	"The legend says that we, our ancestors, may have indeed hung the
only true witch," Lombard said with sparkling eyes. "She left a curse.
From a contemporary diary we find the reference to the actual
execution."
	He paused, obviously not intending to continue until Gilbert
asked for more. Gilbert had decided it was a waste of time, yet he
could not bring himself to cut Lombard short. Loathe as he would be to
admit it, the tingling sensation that had prompted his request for the
story had not subsided. In fact, it had grown alarming as Lombard
approached this point.
	"What did the diary say?" Gilbert asked, feigning indifference.
	"That Mother Osborne was taken, kicking and cursing, to the
gallows where they, with some difficulty, mounted her on the ladder and
put the noose around her neck. As it was customary to allow the accused 
to repent, even in a lynching, she was allowed a moment to speak,"
Lombard said, his eyes now glowing. "The diarist recorded her words:
	All you people good and true- 
	I give my blessing unto you
	From dark 'till dawn shall be no rest - 
	lest flesh on flesh you be press'd...
She seemed to wish to speak more, but the hangman, on hearing what was
clearly a spell in his ears, rushed to kick away the ladder and cut off
whatever more there may have been by dropping Mother Osborne to 
strangle."
	"And so the town is cursed?" Gilbert asked skeptically.
	"Only with a legend for the tourists as far as I can discover,"
Lombard relaxed. "Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred since and
nothing bad, if you don't count Mother Osborne's killers escaping any
kind of reckoning for their actions."
	But something told Gilbert that there might be a consequence. His
logical mind rejected what he was thinking, but his stomach was
churning. The words, curse, whatever it was, came eerily close to what
he was observing among the couples that lived where this accused witch
had died.

	"Dammit, Howard! Don't stop!" Sharon shrieked.
	"But it's hurting! I hear you screaming," Howard argued.
	"I don't care! Fuck my ass!" she demanded.
	Felicity had been tragically, horribly, wrong about this approach
to the pain and soreness of intercourse, but Sharon feared something
else, something worse if they stopped. She felt compelled to suffer
the tearing of her anus and the punishment of Howard's cock stabbing
at her insides. She was beginning to believe only the white, searing
pain could burn away the obsession with fucking all night they had been
suffering since they had moved into their new house.
	And worst of all, it was doing little to relieve the desire that
drove them. As she endured on her knees, her body felt cold and
trembled except where Howard pressed against her as he drove the hard
stake into her ass and skewered her with his indecent thrusts.
	She knew what it must cost him to pause and loved him for it. He
was clearly deep in the grip of his need to fuck her and it must have
taken	nearly superhuman effort for him to stop the pounding heaves that
split her anus as drove his hard rod deep into her.
	She tried to think of that as she muffled her cries of pain at
the continued surge of thick cock rapidly in and out of her ass. She
believed he couldn't help it. He was in the grip of... something that
made him thrust so feverently into her unaccustomed and unresponsive
asshole. 
	He would split her, she was sure, the intrusion was so huge. She
could feel the trickle of wetness she was sure was blood as his girth
forced open the round muscle of her sphincter and intruded so brazenly
in powerful, deep excursions into her bowel.
	"I'll cum now! It'll be over!" Howard announced.
	"No! Hold back! You know you have to hold back!" Sharon
screeched, demanding more torture as an almost article of faith in the
patterns they had discovered.
	He would only want more- she would too. The longer she could bear
the fire and the tearing, the longer it would be before she would
gladly sacrifice the almost equal pain of intercourse in the normal
way. For she was sure that she would not be able to bear this anal
entry again for a long time.
	The agony did not subside, only lessened, when Howard had
continued to pull back and give her the length of his cock in hard,
quick thrusts for some time before slamming against her and jerking out
his orgasm in her bowels. It dropped to a dull throb inside her
everywhere. That seemed to mask the sharp twinges of pain from her 
plundered anus as they demanded her concern.
	"I have to suck it," she told him. "I need it again. I have to 
have it. You must help me."
	There was no thought for where his cock had been as she dipped
down to take it in her mouth. That seemed of no more consequence than
her boldness demanding to put her mouth where she had only shyly been
persuaded to put it before. She had no shame about sucking it any 
longer. Her need saw to that. She had nothing but that need and the
compulsion to restore Howard's cock to a stiff, standing state that
he could use to invade her most torturously again.

	Dr. Gilbert was not a psychiatrist, the kind of practitioner that
he most thought could help his patients on Gibbet Lane. Their
conditions were becoming, if not critical, at least dangerous to their
general health. There already would be scarring on Howard's penis and
the danger of septic lesions was not far off.
	They would not, said they could not, cease from their ruinous
activities. Even a psychiatrist would be hard pressed to discover the
cause and reverse the damage before severe consequences to their health
occurred. It was very strange, yet he felt like a charlatan suggesting
what he was having trouble discounting as a cause.
	"Why don't you and Sharon take a vacation? A few days in a hotel
at least?" he suggested to Howard.
	"There may be fumes in the new house causing this," he fabricated
a reasonable sounding story to mask his suspicions.
	He greeted the news that his prescription had worked with no
happiness. Pleased as he might be that Howard and Sharon had gotten
to sleep and all was well, it forced him to consider the unfortunate
reason he had dispensed the advice. It wasn't possible. He was going
as mad as the occupants of Gibbet Lane.
	Even so, it made it easier to promulgate the rumor that some
drably mundane error in construction was causing the strange behavior
of the residents. He succeeded in moving the couples out of their homes 
for a time, assuring them he was in contact with the authorities to
unravel this mystery.
	The lies did not sit well. He was a hysterical old man to let 
some ghost story scare him into such evasions. But his patients were
praising him for his wisdom, and he didn't know what to do next.
Perhaps there was a fault in the houses, but he didn't know who or how
to approach anyone to test this theory.
	And there was that growing feeling in his gut that he knew the
solution and should have the courage to challenge not only his own
rigid beliefs, but the suspected perpetrator.

	"Mother Osborne, Goodwife Osborne, if you exist you should hear
me," Dr. Gilbert called out, feeling distinctly foolish. "If you 
cursed these people then show yourself."
	He had not researched summoning spirits or any such lore. In his
heart, he knew he wished only to put this disturbed feeling to rest
and that failing to bring forth the witch was a good first step.
	It was with horror of several kinds that he thought he heard
a whispering response.
	"Who calls Mother Osborne?"
	Clearly the result of an over-excited mind, he thought
desperately. I'm so mad that I'm hearing what I want to hear. On the
advent of the event he wished to disprove, Dr. Gilbert was even more
adamant that there was no phenomena here.
	"I'm called Dr. Gilbert. And I wish you to lift the curse," he
said in spite of himself.
	There was no reply. Dr. Gilbert took a deep breath and let it
out slowly. Perhaps he was coming to his senses. A cold, dark night on
a deserted ridge, the lights of the houses dark because he had sent the
residents away, a certain presupposition of Hallowe'en style events, it
might have worked on his subconscious to bring forth childish fears
of his childhood...
	"And what will you give me in return?"
	It interrupted his self-diagnosis so abruptly that he could no
longer think he was manufacturing the voice from imagination. That
frightful conclusion, along with the fact that he had no reply, left
him silent.
	"Do you offer yourself?" the ghostly voice inquired.
	"Myself?" Dr. Gilbert posed as a question, but felt a chill as
the sound became a low chuckle.
	"Then come to me. Come to the tree on the hill." the voice bade.
	"Now wait a minute," Dr. Gilbert said, he hoped to himself, "I'm
out here in the dark imagining I'm talking to a witch that's been dead 
over three hundred years. I'm clearly insane. This doesn't happen.
There are no witches. Magic is not real. I must be crazy."
	"Then come to me," the voice repeated. "What harm is there?"
	Well, that was right on. How was he to shake this delusion if he
ran like a frightened child? He had to let it have its run and then
he'd be forced to see it was all in his head- or (he had read a couple
of journals on the subject) concoct an elaborate and even less likely
excuse why it did not.
	Emboldened by his fresh grasp on reality and the rational 
explanation of an irrational event, Dr. Gilbert looked around for this
tree his mind told him to seek. It stood only a little way off from
the center of the cul-de-sac, clearly the tree since it was the only
one aged enough to exist at that far-removed period of time.
	It was an oak tree of tremendous age, looking particularly
sinister with his wide, gnarled branches ending in limbs that looked
like limbs twisted by torture. He imagined, if it was indeed the tree
from which Mother Osborne was hanged, that branch had grown far above
the ground by now.
	"Would you hear my rhyme?" he imagined the voice to say.
	"I've heard your rhyme," Dr. Gilbert said, without considering he
was granting the voice substance by his reply.
	"Not the whole rhyme..." the voice teased, "I was... cut off
before I completed the spell."
	"And what does that matter?" he asked, before realizing he might
ask a question for which he had no answer to see what he imagined then.
"Did your spell not work as intended?"
	"Did it summon you here?" the voice rasped indignantly. "Is there
a disturbance that had prompted you?"
	"And no-" the voice said bitterly, "I meant for the whole town to
come under the glamour. Not just the ground about me. And I would have done..."
	It was shocking to think his mind could be so active without him
knowing. He was never known for his sense of the dramatic. Perhaps it
was repressed within him, which might explain it bursting forth in his
madness. Unfortunately that repressed part of him was making too much
sense- if that word could be used in this situation.
	"Then if you've failed, begone," he said with more resolve than
he felt. "I banish you!"
	The voice was a laugh like gusts of wind at his attempt at the
commanding declaration.
	"Oh you 'are' powerful," it mocked. "But if I have failed, why 
are you here? Why did you summon me?"
	Dr. Gilbert had to admit that it was no longer about the health
of his patients. It had grown into a fight for his own sanity, his own
mind. He felt definite peril and no longer cared what happened to the
residents of Gibbet Lane. Yet, this delusion, this hallucination, this
madness was linked to them in his mind, and that was where he was sure
all this was occurring.
	"To tell you to be off!" he said forcefully. "Accept your fate
and rest. Or go to Hell. Just leave and never come back!"
	"I could do that," the voice sounded thoughtful. "I might. But
I demand a price."
	Oh what now? Gilbert thought, my soul? That would suit the
workings of his over-excited mind.
	"Not your soul. You. Come with me and I swear to leave this place
and lift the curse," the voice promised.
	Rather than worry him with the perceived knowledge of his
thoughts, this utterance made Gilbert more sure it was all issuing from
his disturbed mind. Of course he knew what he was thinking, even if he
didn't know everything he was thinking as the delusion clearly
demonstrated.
	Shaking the confused train of thought from his head, he tried to
consider his next move. He was going to confront his illusion to force
it to reveal itself or to destroy it. He knew that still made sense,
although he was losing faith that he would recognize it when it
happened.
	"Okay. I'll come with you as long as you lift the curse and never
trouble this town- or any other- again," he said.
	Now he'd see. He felt more confident after calling his
hallucination's bluff. There was no danger. He was already crazy. What
else could a delusion do?
	The voice began whispering a verse. The beginning was familiar.

	"All you people good and true- 
	I give my blessing unto you
	From dark 'till dawn shall be no rest - 
	lest flesh on flesh you be press'd..."
And it went on with a verse Gilbert did not know...
	"Unnat'ral as Hellfire burns-
	Shall be the lusts for which you yearn.
	Turning once upon you all
	Know me and you know your fall."

	Gilbert felt as if a string through his spine had been jerked
upward. Suddenly he stood erect and felt powerless. He had no time to
ponder how his madness could have this effect.
	"Shall I be man? woman? beast?" the voice mocked.
	Before Dr. Gilbert stood a boy. He recognized him as a patient.
He had no feelings for the boy, although, if pressed, he would admit
an admiration for the future obviously awaiting him. That was it.
	The boy was well-formed and bright with no defect and an
inquiring mind. Dr. Gilbert enjoyed their snippets of conversation
while examining him, but he didn't lust for him. He certainly never
imagined him kneeling in front of him and taking out his cock.
	In horror and disbelief he felt a mouth, a small mouth, cover
his organ and begin to move up and down. The boy that couldn't be,
wasn't, was impossible to be there looked up with happy eyes and the
doctor's cock between his lips. And he felt it.
	"I know you want to, even if you don't," the boy said, now
naked and bending forward in front of him, offering his buttocks.
	He didn't want to- except that logic seemed out of place. He
moved toward the boy and heard him grunt as he- unbelievably- put
his penis between those small, round cheeks and sought the asshole
nestled within. It was very tight, yet also elastic as he- unwilling-
pressed forward and felt an anus welcome him. It moved enough but
sometimes tightened as he pushed deeper into the rear of this child.
	He was sickened, nauseated, but there was also an appreciation
for the pure physical pleasure of so perfect a receptacle for his
thrusts. He could not stop the thrusting nor the enjoyment as he
buggered this young boy with increasing fervor.
	"But there are more pleasures than this," the voice was almost scolding.
	The boy changed. His cock was no longer in the elastic grip, but
in a wet compression that felt like a vagina. Only he noticed that
something rude hit his belly as he pushed in and there was some curly
rug or something between him and the target of his affection.
	When he looked down, he was shocked to see his cock moving in
and out of the posterior of a goat. Somewhere he had lost his clothes.
He was naked, bent over the goat and thrusting into it, its tail
raised and poking his belly on every ingress. It felt no less like a
woman, but his stomach rolled in protest.
	"Don't you like her? She likes you," the voice taunted as he
fucked the goat unwillingly and helplessly.
	"A woman then," the voice sounded disgusted, but resigned.
	Ahh, I am just crazy, Dr. Gilbert relaxed as much as he was able
in the midst of his acknowledgment of insanity. He was still naked,
erect and in a lather of desire, but the goat had disappeared and was
replaced by a woman he knew, a woman he had desired in his residency.
She was naked and standing with her hands behind her and her eyes
downcast, but she was familiar, clearly a product of his own mind.
	Then he walked to her and, without warning, slapped her full 
force across the face. She had no reaction, as if this was what she
had expected. He was the one in horror as his next blow was aimed at
her breasts. She stood- as long as she could- crying copiously as he
continued to slap and then punch her.
	When she was on the ground, he grabbed her roughly by the hair
and lifted her to her knees to plunge his cock in her mouth. She
didn't fight him. She only struggled with panic as his cock jamming
deep in her throat threatened to strangle her. And he went on,
mercilessly fucking her face until she passed out, her skin a pale
blue color from lack of oxygen.
	He kicked her awake, in total disbelief at his own actions and
then fell on her. He was fucking her, but it seemed his delight still
came from the abuse he heaped on her breasts and face as he thrust
into her.
	Then, with a chilling fear of what he was going to do, he saw the
glint of a scalpel laying near her head. He tried to close his eyes 
against the revulsion but he saw as clearly with them open or closed.
Her blood spurted out to blind him with warm disgust as he drew the
scalpel across her throat. He felt her move with the shock of dying and
his own ecstatic release at her dying quiver.
	This was the end of everything. Even madness could not shield
him from the despicable act he had done, imagined, been forced upon
him. No excuse could take that horror from him. There was no cure that
could heal the shame he was feeling.
	"I can't take any more!" he cried out.
	"Then you would have it end?" the voice asked seductively.
	"Yes! I want it over!" he said.
	He saw her for the first time, briefly. She was striking woman,
quite tall for her day, he supposed she was the equal of many men and
towered over some in height, and though aged, her hair was long and
still quite black. Her eyes were intensely wicked and he did not linger
looking into them, instead taking in a straight nose and a strong, if
pointed chin. She was naked and he only caught an impression of round,
high breasts before she was gone.
	She seemed to pass through him. He felt nothing at that passing,
but immediately felt her presence behind him. She felt very real and
still gave off the spirit of being sinister.
	"Now you will know your own true lover," she said, and the voice
was a woman's voice, no longer a whisper.
	He no longer regarded the picture of himself alone, naked on the
hill, acting out his mad fantasy. He was consumed by the hallucination
to the point of flinching at her touch even as her warm hands stroked
his body and then trailed down to caress his penis.
	She worked it, milked it, her body pressed to his back until she
had produced an erection, firm and standing. He was slipping in his
resolve as her hands roused desires in him as well. There was a
questioning thought as he felt something artificial, something unnatural
press against his buttocks as she held him to her.
	It felt wooden. And everything changed. All at once he felt a
stabbing, ripping pain in his anus as that unnatural object was jabbed
into him and the warm body went suddenly icy. He was frozen in its
grip as the wooden stake rammed up his ass. He was being roughly fucked
when he heard the delighted, cackling rendition of the unheard rhyme:
	"Turning once upon you all
	Know me and you know your fall."

	Whatever Dr. Gilbert was doing in the middle of the cul-de-sac
of Gibbet Lane naked was never determined. It was said he had been
acting a bit odd, and the discovery of a tumor the size of a tennis
ball seemed to give an excuse, if not an answer.
	There was no obvious cause of death- the tumor not interfering 
with life function- but no sign of foul play. It was ruled natural
causes and joined the tales of other oddities in town.
	He was remembered best by the couples on Gibbet Lane. Although
he had never discovered the cause of their strange obsession, they
were not troubled again after they took their recommended 'vacations'
away from their houses before the doctor died.
	Of the witch, no more was heard. Oh, perhaps you might say she
lived on- in spirit- among those same residents of Gibbet Lane when
Evan might say to Gladys or Howard to Sharon: "Better get ready! I
feel a fear of not fucking coming on!"
	Wherever she is, that might make her laugh.
	###