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Subject: {Morton}JDR"The Essence of Addiction"( ds F/M mc anal )[1/1]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
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The Essence of Addiction
by Taylor Norton
jocon@tiac.net
It was poor man's cold, cold like when the landlord turned off the
heat and we children huddled together to keep warm. Cold like in solitary,
when the asshole guard's stuck me in an unheated cell.
"Rich man never knows a cold like this," Daddy used to say. His
comments didn't make the night go by any quicker, or the cold any warmer.
I was alone now. Daddy was ten years dead, too much whiskey, too much
poor man's cold. I didn't miss him. He beat my mother to death and
scarred my sisters in ways that would never heal.
I heard the car start, startling me back to reality, releasing me from
my memories. I crouched deeper into the bushes and watched the car pull
out of the driveway. I smiled in spite of the cold. There were no more
cars in the yard, all the lights were off, it was almost too perfect.
The house was a big old New England mansion, years of hard weather had
beaten most of the luster from the paint, years of neglect had turned the
spacious lawns into a jungle. Still it spoke of old wealth, and I knew
inside it must be filled with treasures.
I was careful, the house seemed deserted but I'd been fooled before.
Using the thick brush as a shield. I creepy- crawled around to the back of
the house. As I got closer I realized the house was massive, much bigger
than it had appeared from the front.
In the back I found a small window, like the rest of the house the
window was from another time; a wooden sash type window, locked from the
inside. I peered into the window, there was no light in the room that lay
beyond.
I took a roll of tape and taped off a square at the top of the window.
Using a small hand glass cutter I cut a large groove around the square,
then tapped it out. The glass backed by the tape barely made a noise as it
hit the floor inside.
My hand fit easily though the square, I reached up and unlocked the
window, then slowly pushed it up. In spite of its age the window moved
noisily. I climbed inside. I took two steps into the room. The dark was
total, impregnable to my eyes.
It was then the fear hit me, chilling me, cutting to my very core.
Fear like I'd never experienced, fear so intense I found myself frozen in
place.
Breaking and entering is always frightening, sneaking into a strange
home in the middle of the night, never knowing what you're going to find,
never knowing what's behind each door you open. It takes balls to work the
B and E racket. This was not my first job, far from it, I was used to the
rush, I could control the fear.
This was different, there was something more here, something tugging
on the edge of my conscience, warning me, begging me to turn and run.
I started to back away, inexplicably terrified. I knew without
knowing why that I had to get back out the window. Knew without knowing
why that there was something inside the house worse than anything I'd ever
known.
Directly in front of me in the darkest part of the darkness, someone
cleared their throat.
"I have a gun." I shouted! Trying to sound hard and dangerous, trying
to bluff my way through my fear. The way I did on streets when I was a
boy, and prison when I was a man.
"No you don't, you only have a knife, and a small one at that." A
woman said.
"Can you see in the dark?" I whispered.
"I can see beyond the dark," She answered. I pulled my flashlight
from my pocket, then aimed the light at the sound of her voice.
Her beauty was a weapon, shocking me with its brilliance. She had the
face of sculptured art. The face you see staring at you from museum walls.
Her body was perfection itself, firm breasts with big pink nipples, long
legs, wide hips.
Her hair hung loose across her shoulders. Hair the color of the
darkness, eyes darker still, shifting shadow eyes; eyes that glittered with
power, eyes that flickered with madness.
There was a presence about her, something queenly, something beastly.
As if she was the very core of everything that was elegant, or the catalyst
of everything depraved.
I turned off the flashlight. Robbing her was out of the question. At
that point I only wanted to survive her.
"What is it you wanted to steal?" She asked.
"I just needed some money for food." I answered, glad for the sanctum
of the darkness.
"So your hungry are you? Hungry like you were last year in Chicago? Or
last month in Boston?" Her questions send chills down my back, the hairs on
my neck stood on end. The knife in my hand dropped to the floor. In the
silent darkened room the sound was deafening.
In Chicago a man caught me inside his house and I had to use the
knife. In Boston it was a woman, and I had done more then just cut her,
much more. I thought these were my secrets alone, that only I was burdened
with the shame of what I had done.
"Accidents," I lied, ashamed at the depth or her knowledge. She
laughed, a punishing, contemptuous laugh. There was no humor in her laugh.
"I have what you need." She said, "Come to me."
All-around candles were being lit. I saw the room was filled with
figures in long hooded black robes. As even more candles were lit I saw
the room was as big as a gymnasium.
Only the woman was naked. She beckoned again, I went to her
willfully. The fear was still with me, still begging me to flee, but she
was stronger. She held out her arms and I went to her.
Her body was coated with a slimy jell like oil. She took my head in
her hands and pressed it against the warm flesh of her breasts. I licked
the oil from her breast, drinking of her until I could drink no more.
She tasted of the warmth of summer. She tasted like the first hit of
morning coffee, or a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.
I can't remember all of what happened next. I know the dark haired
woman pulled my pants down to my knees, I know that she spread her legs and
forced me down on top of her. I know cloaked figures formed a circle
around where we mated. I know they chanted in a language I could not
understand. I know at some point the candles were blown out, at some point
she took me in her arms and told me things no man should ever hear.
............................................................
That night Dacia prepared a fresh batch of the sacred oil. She mixed
the ingredients into a huge iron kettle. Herbs and spices, water from a
sacred springs, two jars of honey from her own consecrated hives along with
a many times tested combination of poppy and opiums.
The mansion had all of the modern connivances, including a stove large
enough to heat the kettle. But Dacia knew that somethings need to be
burned with the flame of a true fire.
She hung the kettle on a rack in the fireplace. As it burned she
added other things, bloody mangled things that she took from a burlap bag.
Dacia sang in the old language as she stirred the mixture. When it
was done she dipped her hand into the kettle and pulled out a large gob of
the jell like substance. She rubbed it over her naked belly, over her
breasts, she took a finger and slid a portion of the jell in the hole
between her legs.
Humming softly she walked back to the room where her new toy waited.
Dacia was careful never to taste the oil. She tasted it once, years
ago, and knew enough to never want to try it again.
The oil tasted like the pain of a junkies need.
.............................................................
That first week they kept me chained to a bed in one of the rooms.
During the day they teased and taunted me. A blond women would lick
and suck my penis until I was ready to explode them she would stop and
laugh at my pain. This went on for hours and hours. Other women would
come into the room and watch while the blond sucked me and they would make
jokes about how small my penis was, or how flabby my naked body looked.
The cruelest of them all was a tiny Chinese girl who had a shaven head
and many tattoo's. She was no more then five feet tall with tiny little
girl breast's and an almost boyish figure. She sat in a chair in the
corner of the room and spent most of the day telling me how worthless I
was, how pitiful I looked. She laughed loudest when the blond tortured me
with her mouth, and when I begged the blond to allow me to cum the Chinese
girl took her belt off and beat me until I was silent.
When I needed to go the bathroom the Chinese girl would handcuff my
hands and legs then unlock the collar and chain that bound me to the bed.
She would guide me to the bathroom and watch as I did what I needed to do.
They did not allow me to eat, or drink and I was constantly weak and
sick. Perhaps the worst thing they did to me was on the second day.
A fat black woman came into the room. She must have weighed 300
pounds. She stripped in front of me, her breasts sagged almost to her
pot-belly, rolls of flesh hung from her arms and legs. The Chinese girl
unlocked my collar and at first I thought that they were going to let me
free, then I saw that the room was filled with many other women.
The black women took a huge strap-on dildo and while four other women
helped hold me down, she raped my ass with the dildo. The pain was
intense, but the pain of the other women's laughter was even worse.
Each night the black haired witch would come to me. Her body would be
coated with the same jell and she would allow me to lick it from her body.
One taste of her was enough to make me forget all the pain and torture.
"My name is Dacia." she would tell me, "Say that you are mine."
"Yes, yes." I would mumble still drunk from the taste of her.
Then she would squat above me and lower herself onto my erect penis.
She would rock her hips until I was cumming inside her warm wet hole and
then she would pat me like a dog who has performed a new trick.
"You are mine now." She would tell me, and when the week was over, I
was.
--------------------------------------------------------
I spent the next few years living in one of the rooms of her mansion.
I was not alone, there were many others who came to serve. I was her
favorite, the one she summoned the most often. When I asked her why, She
told me it was because I was the one closest to the fire. I not sure what
she meant; but I think it had something to do with Boston, and Chicago.
For three years I did as she commanded. Sometimes there was a purpose
to my missions, like silencing a disgruntled convert, or punishing someone
who had irritated her.
Sometimes she send me out to do things for no reason other then it
gave her pleasure to do so.
All around me were her students and her servants. A coven of her
creation. It was a cold, heart dead place. A place where the most foul of
evils were practiced daily, where the most degenerate perversions were
common place. There seemed to be no limit to her appetite for chaos, or
our willingness to serve.
Finally I found I could take no more. I'd reached my limit. Everyone
has such a place; rapist's who shutter at the very thought of murder,
murderer's who grow outraged at the crime of child molesting. Everyone has
a place they won't go.
I didn't tell any of the others I was leaving. They were jealous of
me and would run to tell her first chance they got. I waited until a time
when they were all eating.
I packed my bags and went down the pantry staircase then out to the
back door. Dacia was sitting in a chair by the door. Two of her followers
were kneeling beside her.
"You can't leave me," She said.
"I have to, don't worry I'm not ever going to tell anyone what
happened here."
"You don't understand," She said. "I'm not like other women."
"I know." I was no longer sure she was a woman. She was something
olden, something so baneful just the hint of such a creature sent the
innocents to hang in Salem. I sensed she has always been here, always
preying on the weakest in the pack. Always feeding on those like me, those
closest to the fire.
I backed out the door then ran across the driveway, I heard her laugh,
but I kept running until I was a long way down the road.
.............................................................
That night Dacia could not sleep. The servant who left angered her,
there was time when no man would leave her. A time when she didn't need
the sacred oil to bind a man to her.
He had been a powerful tool. He had been the touch of her anger and
the sword of her vengeance. Now he had deeply embarrassed her in front of
all the young witches.
She knew he would come back. The spell was woven with the taste of
the sacred oil, and he would have to come back. But he had embarrassed her
and she would make him pay.
.............................................................
I ran into town and hot-wired a pickup truck. For a whole day I drove
as fast and as hard as that old Ford would go.
On the second day the pains started. My stomach felt as though it was
tied into a knot. I kept driving but each mile seemed longer. I was dizzy
all the time.
Then the paranoia came, it forced me off the highway, plaguing me with
the thought that every car was following me, that behind every window
savage eyes glaring at me.
Mad, irrational paranoia; part of me knew that, still I cowered in
terror, still I was unable to go on.
I found a motel room and spend the day laying on the floor of the
bathroom, my body shaking like a low income high-rise. I could not eat, or
sleep. At night the pains became unbearable, the cramps, the trouble
breathing, the unshakable belief that I was dying.
I called an ambulance. They kept me three days, taking test after
test. Finally they shot me full of morphine and gave me a few blissful
hours free of the pain.
"Your having a physical withdrawal from long term dosages of
narcotics." The doctor told me.
"I haven't done any drugs." I answered truthfully. I'd been telling
them that all along, nobody seemed to believe me.
"Your blood test show traces of a substance's similar to heroin and
cocaine. Their pretty excited at the lab, they think they found a new
drug."
"I don't know what your talking about." I answered truthfully.
That night I started I started to think about the women. I felt a
thirst like I had never known. A blinding, tearing, overpowering thirst.
I felt a hunger, a hunger as constant as my heart beating or my lungs
breathing.
I stole a car from the parking lot and drove back to the house at the
edge of the forest. She was waiting at the door. A score of followers
waited with her; to bear testament to her power.
She led me to her room in the bowels of the house. She took off the
long black robe and dropped it the floor. Her body was drenched in a heavy
layer of the sacred oil. She put her hands on my shoulders pushing me to
my knees in front of her.
She directed my head to the flesh of her belly. I licked from her,
instantly feeling the healing.
She tasted of the warmth of summer. She tasted like the first hit of
morning coffee, or a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.
I trembled with ecstasy, I sighed with fulfillment. She laughed at
me, spread her legs wide pushing my head further down.
I drank from her again. She tasted of addiction.
=====================
The Essence of Addiction
by Taylor Norton
-30-
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