0 comments/ 8153 views/ 4 favorites Empath By: oneiria THE FIRST COMING Eloa, the angel of sorrow and compassion, felt the frisson of Empty Boy's longing and despair as she ascended the stairs to the third floor. She was already wet and trembling at the thought of their imminent encounter. Eloa had been born from a single tear shed by the Christ at the grave of Lazarus. But names are evanescent, just as ephemeral as people or even the angels themselves. The names that appear in this epistle reflect this elusive nature of existence, in which even simplest of things change from day to day and moment to moment. Eloa was also one of the Orishas of the religious tradition called Santeria, sometimes called Obeah or Voodoo. There she is called Ochum, the goddess of love and abundance. She feeds from human desire, and she often uses this power to transform herself. The Orishas, like all angels, are able to take possession of the bodies of their human worshippers. She called the human horse she rode the "Pin Cushion Girl," for reasons that will soon be apparent. Eloa felt every nuance of the anguish and joy of the people around her, a sensation denied to the unseeing masses that surrounded her in this artificial anthill of concrete, steel and glass. She knew that what she felt was a kind of telepathy or spiritual union. In some cases, she knew events before they occurred, a form of precognition granted to angels and their foes. But the docs at Johns Hopkins had summarily rejected those ideas. Psi phenomena did not exist, they proclaimed vehemently (and don't get them started on angels or demons). She could feel their intense fear of such phenomena and the threat they posed to their precious Weltanschauung of reductionist neuroscience. The Johns Hopkins neurologists explained to her that humans possess over 400 different types of olfactory receptors. Whereas most people possess only a small minority of these receptors, they told her, she likely possessed the majority of them. This rendered her extraordinarily sensitive to a wide variety of biochemical ligands, including of course human pheromones. Just passing within a hundred yards of a person enabled her to feel their darkest desires and undisclosed ecstasies, with an almost supernatural accuracy, although Eloa knew they could drop the "almost" in her case. The Johns Hopkins neuroscientists told her that she was an olfactory empath of extraordinary sensitivity, and they offered her a chance to join the CIA's psych ops team, to assess the psychological states of subjects undergoing enhanced interrogation, using the banal (one might even say medieval) techniques of waterboarding, fingernail manipulation, bisection and extraction, lumbar vertebrae realignment by height elongation through stretching on the rack (far more effective than Shiatsu massage), demi-crisping (burning the right half of a Gitmo guest at the stake while the miscreant's left half was kept alive through being continually hosed down with ice water), and of course last, but far from least, the techniques of sexual humiliation and abasement. Eloa's ears and nose had perked up at the mention of these last techniques, as she understood that the Gitmo interrogators themselves got to interact directly and intimately with the internees, who were often aroused by their shame and excitement at being stripped naked before the lewdly exposed faces of the infidel women, and their shame at the erections and longings that these female demons engendered in them. But Eloa was an instrument of pleasure and of carefully cultured defilement, not of the pain, suffering and abandonment that rode the wings of uninvited torture. So she had declined the CIA's kind offer, and had walked the streets ever since, in search of the unwanted suffering that made the world ring hollow to so many of its involuntary denizens. Her reveries were interrupted when she reached the door of the Empty Boy's third floor apartment. She considered knocking on it, but knew that his anguish was too great and that there was no time for subtlety or finesse. She pulled her Glock magnum, slammed in a clip, and kicked the door open. Empty Boy lay crumpled in a heap against the far wall and floor. He watched Eloa with the haunted, shadow eyes of a dying roadkill taking in the descent of a murder of crows. He held a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 revolver to the roof of his mouth. "Mon't co many clozzer, mor I mill ble mu brans ou," he said. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" "My mon hab nee..." he said before withdrawing the revolver from his oral cavity. "I don't have any mother," he said much more clearly. Eloa raised her Glock so that it was pointed at the center of his forehead. She flipped open her badge. "Freeze, demon. I'm Special Agent Eloa Seraph of the Federal Bureau of Sexual Relations. Eloa took a step closer to him. "Don't come any closer," he repeated, much more clearly this time, "or I will blow my brains out." "Drop that pistol, you lowlife pretender," she said, "or I will blow your brains clean out of your skull and scatter them all over your precious Britney Spears wallpaper." The Smith & Wesson hit the floor in a split second. It was just as Eloa thought. This guy wasn't quite ready to cut his cerebral cortex loose, at least not yet. But he was getting there. She plopped down next to him, her back resting on the purity of the fortunately still inviolate Britney Spears wallpaper. "Want a smoke?" she asked him. "I never tried them, but I guess so. If today is not the day to start, I don't know what is." Eloa patted down her shirt and skirt pockets in search of a cig. "Sorry, I forgot. I gave up smoking five years ago." "The story of my life," he said. "Whenever I reach out for pleasure, I'm shit-out-of-luck." Eloa sniffed the air and wrapped herself in the dark desperation of Empty Boy's loneliness and abandonment. "Do you mind?" she asked, as she ripped the black T-shirt from his torso. He didn't seem to mind. She laid her head upon his more than ample shoulder and ran her fingernails down over his left pectoral muscle, down his washboard abs, and beneath his blue jeans, feeling the unshaven bush that awaited all the pleasure that she could deliver to him. "You really miss her, don't you Empty Boy?" He nodded, a tear rolling down the mountain of his cheek. Eloa brushed it away with her fingers. Empty Boy raised a half-empty fifth of Jim Beam to his lips and took a long swag. He presented the bottle to Eloa, who guzzled down at least three shots in a most unladylike manner. Union was what was important now. Self-discipline and the mastery of the mind would come later. Eloa traced her fingernails down his bare torso once again before plunging them well beneath the waistlines of his jeans and jockey shorts to seize the helmet of Empty Boy's already erect and throbbing cock. Empty Boy arched his back, trying to increase the pressure of her fingernails against his straining root. She undid his belt buckle and whipped his belt through the loops of his jeans. She threw it against the wall, but not too far. The leather strap had many erotic, therapeutic, and educational uses, and she did not want to deprive herself of this instrument when she truly needed it. She looked over at the massive cache of weapons and implements of torture stacked against the far wall. Empty Boy followed her gaze. "It looks as though you have been planning to take a few folks out beside yourself. Am I right?" Empty Boy nodded, another tear rolling down his face. "It's OK, we at the National Bureau of Sexual Relations are here to help you. We don't want you to become a mass murderer or a serial killer, and I suspect that you don't want to become one either. But it's hard, isn't it?" Empty Boy nodded his head silently. "This world can be a cold, empty and lonely place. I know that, Empty Boy. But I am here to help you," Eloa said, stroking his hungry, hungry cock with one hand and pulling down his zipper with another. His shaft sprang free of the cotton prison of his jockey shorts. Eloa immediately curled the fingers of her left hand around that throbbing instrument of sexual mayhem. With the razor claws of her right hand, she pierced the soft sensitive skin of Empty Boy's helmet as if it were the top of a pepper shaker needing to be refilled. "I hope you don't mind, honey. I have to take a few measurements. Part of our new intake procedure." She spread her right hand and placed it on his throbbing johnson. "Good," she said. "Seven and a half inches, by my mark. Anything under seven inches, and insurance won't pay for this treatment. We are trying to prevent unspeakable acts of sexual depravity and cruelty. The courts in their infinite wisdom have determined that a rod of at least seven inches is needed to perpetrate such crimes. Don't sweat the small stuff, we say. Throw 'em back in the river if that's all they got. But you're gonna work out just fine, Tiger. Just fine. "I also need to measure your thickness, honey. I left my calipers back at the station, so I'm going to have to do this orally. Just think of your cock as an oral thermometer and my mouth as the fevered patient. You're gonna be all right. I hope you don't mind." The Empty Boy shook his head emphatically. "Good. I'll tell you what. You were a little bit close on the length measurement, so I'm going to hold your balls while I size the girth of your cock. Is that OK?" Empty Boy nodded vigorously. Eloa, aka the Pin Cushion Girl, cupped Empty Boy's balls inside his tidy whities and began to squeeze them rhythmically. "You can't come yet no matter what I do. This is a test of self-control. You must learn self-control. You can't give in to your hungers for violence or depraved sex, or you're going to wind up hurting a lot of people and spend the rest of you pitiful terrestrial life looking out the barred windows of a federal penitentiary at what might have been. "You must learn discipline and control. For that reason, you can only cum when I say you can cum. Also it might throw off the measurement of your girth, which is now all-important. Do you understand, Empty Boy?" Empty Boy nodded his head, and Special Agent Eloa Seraph plunged the mouth she shared with Pin Cushion Girl over Empty Boy's already throbbing shaft. She took Empty Boy's hands and placed them on her quad-D tits. "Grab ahold of these melons and squeeze them with all your might. Squeeze 'em like grapefruits that need pulping, but first free them from their prisons of cloth." She guided Empty Boy's fingers to the clasp that bound the twin volcanos of her love. She felt her phantom manna flowing within her mammaries like magma desperately straining to escape its Earthly catacombs or like the divine life-giving milk in Empty Boy's swollen testicles that was screaming to be freed. Empty Boy's digits successfully negotiated unbinding spell on the center clasp of Eloa's scarlet Victoria's Secret brassiere, and Pin Cushion Girl's massive boobies fell free into the night air. The former prison of the scarlet quad-D cups now hung uselessly around her neck and throat. She presented her back to him, her spine arched, and held out her arms behind her. She was completely vulnerable to him. "Strip me," she commanded the Empty Boy. Empty Boy unzipped Eloa's silk gown and gently pulled if off her body, carefully negotiating the contours of her phantom swan wings. He seized the now empty cups of her Victoria's Secret bra and pulled that garment over her supplicating arms and off of her body. Eloa now lay naked before him, her silky crimson hair spilling down the glowing whiteness of her back. His cock grew even harder at her offered vulnerability, and Eloa seized it once again, her thumbnail stroking its quivering veins. She yanked his pants and underwear down his legs, and his cock sprang free once again, a soft yet steel-hard rod rubbing against her nose and eyelashes. She slid her mouth over it, squeezing it with her lips as her head began to plunge slowly up and down on his throbbing shaft. Her well-practiced thumbs traveled eagerly over the twin spheres of Empty Boy's balls as she slowly mouth-fucked his yearning phallus. Empty Boy's hands reached down, and he slid his fingers through the soft silk of Pin Cushion Girl's red hair. He seized her head and pressed it more tightly against his abdomen as she devoured the offered treasure of his manhood. She took both of his balls in her left hand and slid her right arm around Empty Boy's buttocks, pulling him closer to her as she devoured his root. She began to slide her fingers up and down his crack, matching the pace of her mouth as she nursed upon his throbbing second self like a baby fresh out of the womb. Her pace grew faster and faster, and Empty Boy began to breathe feverishly, in time with the acceleration of her thrusts. His whole body strained when Eloa grasped his balls with all of her strength and shoved three fingers up his virgin ass. He exploded in her mouth, pumping the hot contents of his tortured balls down her throat. "That was very good control, but I did not give you the command to cum," Eloa / Pin Cushion Girl said. "We are still going to need to do a lot of work, before I can let you back out into the World. They lay together in paradise, the soft silk of Eloa's crimson hair draped over her lovely skin like a veil. "Mmmm," she whispered, "that was nice. What do you think, Empty Boy, is love not better than war?" He would have to concede that point, Empty Boy thought. At least for now. THE SECOND COMING After a few moments, Eloa asked "How do you feel, Empty Boy? Would you like it if I came to you every day? Would that help to ease your pain?" Empty Boy smiled and nodded. But the umbra of darkness was still wrapped around his soul. Eloa drifted forward on the tendrils of Time. Only 18 dead now, where there had been 35. But these would not happen at the mall as she had seen previously, but right here in this very chamber of death. Empty Boy was no longer a spree shooter, given Eloa's promise to hoover him multiple times on a daily basis. Instead he was now a serial killer, his unrequited love fueling his craving for slow torture and transformation. "Maybe you would feel a little more chipper if you fucked me like a rag doll right now. Do you think you might?" Eloa asked him, brushing back his long straight hair, to reveal the moistness of his starving eyes. He nodded his head. "Chain me so that I am helpless and spread before you," Eloa said and took Empty Boy's hand and led him to the pneumatically-powered bed he had purchased from IKEA, which had taken him 36 hours to assemble, to say nothing of the shame he felt when he asked his landlady to help him. At first, her eyes had appraised him as a creature somewhat lower than a rabid rat on the Great Chain of Being. However, his landlady's eyes soon brightened, and a lascivious look came over her as she further contemplated the nature of the equipment they were assembling. She "accidentally" let her silk robe fall open to reveal her ample tits, grown to the magnificence attained only by mature women. Empty Boy had trembled at the thought of chaining her to the torture bed and possessing her exquisite body completely. Eloa detected the growing excitement in Empty Boy's eyes, which she knew stemmed from his fear of loss of control and abandonment, which flickered just underneath his mask of control. "Someone has chained you to such a bed and tortured you. She raped you here the first time, didn't she, Empty Boy? Most of this equipment is hers, isn't it?" Empty Boy nodded silently, too shamed to speak his memories of the dark priestess's torture and twisted games. "This time you will be the one in power," Eloa whispered. She let Pin Cushion Girl, whose human body Eloa rode, come forth. Pin Cushion Girl's supplicating eyes pleaded with Empty Boy both for mercy and for the torture she knew she must endure before her salvation and final transformation. Pin Cushion Girl smiled as she lay face down on the bed and spread her arms and legs before Empty Boy. To her delight, Empty Boy slapped the leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles roughly. He turned a wheel on the wall and the restraints on Pin Cushion Girl's arms and legs tightened, threatening to rip her limbs from her sockets. Empty Boy felt Belial, the demon that rode him, rise as he lay down upon the angel's naked back. Empty Boy / Belial sheathed their shared throbbing scepter in Pin Cushion Girl's welcoming crack. He reached beneath her to grab her breasts, already swollen to nurture him through this ride. He felt the angel's hot milk as it spilled through his fingers onto the satin sheets below. He somehow sensed the fleeting phantom feathers of her wings against his hard chest, as he reached out with his right arm and pinned her neck down into the pillow with a half nelson. He could feel the soft fluttering of her butterfly heart beneath him, whether in fear or sexual excitement, he could not say. He began to lick his way up and down her spine, tasting the faint down of her exposed and vulnerable swan's neck. Using his right arm, he pushed her head more tightly against the mattress and began swirling his tongue around her ear as he arched back and fiercely rammed his shaft into the divine hidden softness of her selflessly offered cunt. The demon who rode him wanted to break her upon this bed, but knew that she offered untold pleasures to come. He must restrain himself in order to extract every last drop of her divine being. The demon stepped over her right leg and his balls slid up and down the pure white skin of her thigh with each of his thrusts into the inner sanctuary of her cunt. He took her earlobe between his teeth, as his battering ram grew to demonic proportions. Pin Cushion Girl's screams were soon replaced by grunts with each of Empty Boy's brutal thrusts into her helplessly stretched body. He sought her mouth, and she turned her head to the side to grant Belial's elongated and raspy forked tongue complete access to her oral cavity. He increased the pressure of the half nelson on her neck as he tasted her tongue with his. Then he released her neck, and his hands sought out her bound wrists. He intertwined his fingers with hers and squeezed her hands as he rammed into her with a final brutal thrust and poured the acid heat of his demon's jism deeply inside her womb. Eloa screamed in ecstasy, as Empty Boy collapsed onto the bed of her soft white and seemingly feathered back. They lay together for a while, listening to the sounds of the sea. Eloa again floated above the river of Time. She saw that the deaths would come one at a time now and would only end when Empty Boy swam in her angelic grace. THE THIRD COMING Eloa shrugged Pin Cushion Girl's shoulders, and the Empty Boy rolled off the divine mattress of her back and phantom wings. "That was pure heaven," Eloa whispered in the Empty Boy's ear. "But you need to learn control if you wish to survive in this world much longer. A trail of bodies will only land you in a dark damp prison cell, cut off from the worldly pleasures this realm has to offer." Eloa stopped Time itself to directly address her foe directly. "What say you, Belial?" she asked the batlike red-eyed demon who rode Empty Boy's flesh and claimed to be no less than the King of Devils himself. A seraph such as Eloa presented a far more worthy foe for an archdemon than did an untrained human such as Empty Boy. A demonic smile began to twitch at the corners of Empty Boy's mouth. "Step forth, angel," he said. "Show yourself and I will do the same. This game is already mine." "Very well, demon," Eloa said. "We might as well get all our metaphysical cards on the table." She stepped out of her hidden lair in Pin Cushion Girl's flesh, and showed herself purely at last. She unfurled her white swan wings, exposing her perfect body. A golden aura suffused her skin and wings, although her eyes were as penetrating as any hawk's. Empath "Well, I've shown you mine, why don't you show us yours," she said, addressing the beast who rode Empty Boy's flesh. Whereas Eloa had stepped out of Pin Cushion Girl's body as easily as stepping out of a shower, Belial struggled to free himself from the flypaper enticements of Empty Boy's corporal existence. "What's the matter, my obsidian friend?" Eloa taunted the black demon. "Getting too old for the extraction process? Getting a little too fond of the enticements of this plane, Are we?" Belial took in a deep breath. The nauseatingly purer-than-thou seraph was probably right. Nonetheless, he was finally able to pull himself out of the hedonistic enticements of Empty Boy's body with all the grace of a 10,000-year-old saber-toothed cat skeleton clawing its way out of the La Brea Tar Pits. "Glad you could join us, o mighty King of the Demons." Eloa taunted him, as he spread his sticky, wide black leathery wings. "We meet once again." "As I recall, our last bout in New Orleans did not end well for you, angel. Are you sure that you wish to undergo another spiritual beatdown?" "I have gained a better control of my base nature, demon, while you can barely drag yourself away from this pathetic, lonely and lost boy's cravings and anger. Soon you will find yourself bound in this realm of fury, lust, and cravings until our fair sun swells, dons the scarlet cloak of my hair, and swallows the very Earth itself." Belial folded his leathery wings as if in contemplation of the Eloa's observations. "As you know all too well, seraph, while few billion years comprise eternity for these lowly creatures we ride, they are no longer than the blink of an eye to primordial beings such as ourselves. And they are of no concern whatever to the Progenitors of the mathematical hoax these lowly beings call the universe." Eloa replied, "I see that even you are captured by this esoteric Dream outside of Time in which we angels and demons find ourselves floating, our own private Cosmos outside the material world. Your goat's scepter is already arisen, and you hunger for the warmth and protection of my swan wings and my velvet sheath. Let me surround you, o Belial, King of the Demons. Ride inside my being and we will disappear from Time itself. Join with me and face the Progenitors together, so that we can put an end to these tortures we endure." "A tempting offer, archangel. But first I need to feel the pleasure offered by the delightful body of the stripped wench you ride. As you can see, seraph, my own human vehicle, the one you call Empty Boy, has most fittingly spent a king's ransom on mediaeval torture devices, which he frugally ordered from Amazon.com with free shipping and which now hang awaiting their moment in the sun on yonder wall. Witness too his vast array of modern implements of destruction. I can almost taste the pain these trembling, huddled masses in this Dream can inflict at the drop of a hat. "As you know seraph, the Divine Court has ruled that eternal damnation maybe just a wee bit excessive. Our current renegade false pope has even opened the doors of heaven to atheists, unbaptized babies, dogs and others of their foul ilk. The Doors of Hell have swung wide open. Now spree shooters lurk in every diaper-changing station and terrorists seeking admission to Paradise in every ice cream truck. Delicious for me, but perhaps not so agreeable to a delicate, empathic bleeding heart angel such as yourself." The light and dark angels vanished back into their former abodes, once again absorbed into the corporal beings nicknamed Empty Boy and Pin Cushion Girl. Empty Boy's mouth sneered as it said, "Why don't we try the German Chair, my lovely angel? This is a device currently favored by the Syrians, who hark from the very cradle of human civilization. And who can argue with the current success of that so-called civilization? "The German Chair is a very simple device, but is very effective in summoning the pain that we both crave. Would you do the honors, my angel?" Pin Cushion Girl eagerly climbed upon the hinged wooden German Chair, stretching her arms and legs so that Empty Boy could chain her with her arms raised high above her head and her legs stretched almost to the breaking point. She favored Empty Boy with a smile and licked her lips in anticipation of the pleasure she was about to receive. "You're a game one, I'll give you that," Empty Boy / Belial said, as he turned the wheel, stretching her arms and legs to the point of breaking. She became wet with her powerlessness and her pain. Her fluids streamed out of her crack and ran down her legs. "I see you are enjoying this, my masochistic slave. But you are only at 180 degrees. How do you think you will fare at 120 degrees? Let's find out." He turned another crank and Empty Girl was bent like a bow. Her upper torso and legs were pulled downward, while her midsection was raised like as altar. Her smile did not waver, which infuriated the archdemon. "I see you pretend to yearn the pain. Let us give you a better taste with the cat." Empty Boy / Belial went to the cabinet and pulled out a leather cat-o-nine-tails outfitted with razor sharp balls to simulate feline claws. Pin Cushion Girl arched her back as the sight of the cat. Empty Boy ran his fingers over her now prominent ribcage. "Such bones," he said. "I will enjoy eating the meat off them. I hope I still have some barbecue sauce left. If not, I'm pretty sure I have some A-1 sauce in the fridge. "Would you like to eat the first few ribs yourself, my pretty angel? Don't worry about your diet. No matter how many you eat, you won't gain any weight, as you will be eating yourself." He ran the hilt of the cat over her ribcage at though he were playing the washboard at a local bluegrass festival. Pin Cushion Girl shuddered at each pass of the cruel device. Her breasts rose and her nipples became erect as she arched her back into an even more excruciating configuration than that enforced by the Chair itself. She flinched as Empty Boy / Belial administered the first lash of the cat-o-nine-tails to her torso, opening deep lacerations in her pure perfect skin. She cried out as he whipped each of her breasts, opening deep ducts through which her angel's milk spilled upon her skin. She writhed on the German Chair as his raspy demon's tongue began to lick and suck the divine manna from her lacerated skin and the pouring volcanos of her nipples. He cranked a wheel and the chains around her ankles and wrists grew even tighter as her spine was bent even more cruelly over the hinge in the chair. He reached for the breast rippers on the wall (imagine gloves that even Freddy Krueger would hesitate to wear at a white-tie gubernatorial ball). He donned them with relish, admiring their gleam under the cold fluorescent lights that served as a paltry sun in Empty Boy's tasteless killing zone. He flexed his fingers, admiring the polished steel and craftsmanship of the blades. Empty Boy / Belial climbed upon the German Chair and began to lick his way slowly up Pin Cushion Girl's / Eloa's inner thighs. He ran his steel claws over the taut quadriceps muscles of her legs as he ascended her hopelessly stretched and compliant frail human body. He felt her shudder as the blades opened crimson rivers on the flesh of her legs, creating a complex and chaotic landscape, whereas before there had been only the barren and boring perfection of white skin. Belial had brought life to the ecosystem of her body, whereas before there had been only the sterility of innocence. He licked his way down to the door of her being. His tongue slowly penetrated the cavern of her body, which was ice cold in its purity. His burning demon tongue slithered like a serpent past the nether lips that guarded that Eloa's inner being. She could feel its fire as it ascended her passage and the burning heat as it attained the womb it so desperately sought. The demon gasped at the touch of her frigid womb. The warmth that he sought was not here. He slowly withdrew his forked tongue, swirling it around her tunnel and leaving no spot pure and untouched. He ran his tongue up and down the thirsty lips of her throbbing labia, feeling her shudder at the ongoing violation of her purity. She gasped, the fire of her hunger growing. She longed to hold his head, to press it strongly against her as he violated her inner being, but she was chained helplessly to the Chair. He found her bud and took it between his demon lips. He mouthed her clit, trying to take it inside him, but he was denied the deep intrusion past his throat that even the lowest of fellating crack whores knew so intimately. He felt Eloa's pure white feathers reaching to enfold him as she shuddered over and over again in the ecstasy of her violation. He grabbed her magnificent breasts with his steel claws, opening fresh streams in the holy land that was her body. He squeezed her flowing mammaries with all his might as he ate her, listening to her succubus's moans and screams as his lips and tongue attacked the center of her being. She trembled beneath him, trying in vain to squeeze him with her thighs and press his head tightly against her mound. His mouth drew forth all her hidden desires, but she was again foiled by the chains that bound her to the cruel Chair. She poured her angelic manna over his face as she came over and over again. His lips tried in vain to catch each precious drop, but heaven would not be so easily attained. He climbed the valley of her glowing skin, ripping her abdomen as he ascended the torn hills of her breasts. She writhed underneath him, spreading her swan's wings and feeding off the pleasure of the intense pain as he grasped her twin peaks with his razor steel claws and pulled himself to the apex of her cruelly bent frame. He grabbed the wood of the German Chair in both hands and hauled himself up cruelly. Eloa felt the intense pain as the incubus's now 12-inch phallus battered its way inside her inner being. She screamed out as the demon rammed himself into her all the way up to the hilt, spreading her cruelly apart. He pushed a button overhead, and Eloa / Pin Cushion Girl felt her arms and legs being pulled out of her body. She felt a succession of four snaps as her limbs were yanked out of their sockets. The demon bent over her, grasping her dangling head with his cruel talons. He held her in that unholy embrace, running his lips over her lips in an effort to capture every scream that poured forth from the purity of the angel's lungs. His long serpentine tongue again braved the labyrinth of her eagerly sucking mouth. Belial / Lost Boy felt her razor sharp teeth against the flesh of his tongue, with their promise of pain. Eloa's neck was slowly breaking as the demon bent her head back over the fold of the Chair. Pin Cushion Girl cried out in the ecstasy of total domination and pain. The Beast grunted foully with every thrust, but the pleasure eluded him. He wrapped his claws around Pin Cushion Girl's frail and vulnerable neck, choking her as he forced her head even further backwards, to bathe her in the ecstasy of erotic asphyxiation. He felt her fear and terror, as well as the supreme thrill of skirting just beyond the wind of nonexistence. Eloa blew all the pain and suffering into the human body the demon shared with the Empty Boy, and blew all the pleasure into the craving limbic system of Pin Cushion Girl's brain, showing her the world of supreme pleasure that lay just beyond the bars of her masochistic cage. She held the demon's tongue with her razor teeth, severely lacerating it as Belial frantically yanked it from the haven / heaven / hell of her mouth. The body shared by Belial and Empty Boy hastily flew off the Chair and ran blindly down the halls and stairs in search of an absence of pain. The demon's leathery wings were now festooned with white swan down as he tried to save the Empty Boy from the devouring soul-eating creature that pursued them down the halls of time. The former demon and now fledgling angel was now called Uriel. He could not remember any other name. Thus is change the way of the universe. Eloa inhaled her dislocated limbs back into the sockets of Pin Cushion Girl's skeleton.. She arched her back and snapped both her spine and the Chair back into the fully locked and upright position. She lifted her arms and legs, breaking the chains of illusion that bound her extremities to the cruel wood of the table. She who was Eloa was now named Lilith, Adam's demonic wife before Eve. She spread her black wings and flew down the mirrored illusions of time, craving the pain that was pleasure, eager to purify that pleasure by pouring the pain into Empty Boy's trembling rabbit soul. The newborn demon smiled and her eyes grew blood red as she pursued the fleeing Empty Boy and his pathetic newborn angel into the fires of hell. She absently patted her purse in the way of all women. The ID was still there, although she knew it now gave her name as Special Agent Lilith Asmodeus of the Federal Bureau of Sexual Relations. As the Ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus proclaimed, all is flux and there is no permanence, opposites coincide, and the base material of the world is fire. Who can argue with that? Empathic Sex Dave was in a state far beyond unconsciousness. It is nothing. There are no dreams here, no memories, no thoughts, and no feelings. It is a black void that isn't quite death, but is very close. Suddenly the pain hit him like a comet colliding with a planet. He took in a deep, shocked breath. The pain was coming from everywhere, but mostly from the back of his head. He raised his arm to touch the wounded area, but felt something tugging at his arm. He slowly opened his eyes, then quickly closed them again; the light was too bright. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he quickly blinked his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw a very high ceiling above him. He looked at his arm and saw that it was an IV tube that was pulling against his arm. "Where am I?" he asked in a raspy voice, not really expecting the answer he received. "You are in the post-op recovery room," a voice said to him. Dave turned his head quickly to the side and was rewarded by a sharp increase in pain at the base of his skull. He saw a woman in a white nurse's uniform standing next to him. "You've been in surgery." "For what," he asked. The fog in his mind still hadn't cleared yet. "You and your wife had both had sub-cranial telepathic transceivers implanted." Now it was starting to come back to him. Dave and his wife, Beth, had heard about these devices from a couple of their friends. They had gotten the Corsican Implants (as they were called by people outside of the medical field) which allowed them to feel everything the other felt while they were having sex. Dave and Beth got very excited over the idea and saved up the money to have the operation themselves. "Rest now," the nurse instructed, "you have been under a long time. The effects of the anesthetic will take a while to ware off." Dave nodded slowly and closed his eyes. Before he knew it he was asleep. **** When Dave woke up, he was in his hospital room. The pain was too great to lift his head off the pillow, so he pushed the button to raise the top of the bed up. He looked around but could see little besides the privacy curtain that surrounded his bed. Dave looked down at his arms and noticed that the IV's had been taken out. He reached up to the base of his skull and felt where they had shaved the back of his head. There was no wound though. The marvels of modern science, Dave thought. He was about to turn on the Vid-Window when there was a knock at the door. The door opened and a male voice asked, "Hello, are you awake?" "Yes," he heard his wife's voice answer from the other side of the curtain. "I am too," Dave replied. He was glad to hear Beth's voice. The curtain danced as it caught the air that was pushed by the door opening and closing. As the doctor walked in, he grabbed the end of the curtain as he walked into the room and between the two beds. Dave smiled at his wife when she came into view. She was wearing a hospital gown just like he was, but she looked much better in hers than he did. Her red hair was up in a ponytail, so Dave could see the shaved area on the back of her head. It was a little red, but there was no wound on her either. Beth turned to look at Dave and winced at the pain throbbing in the back of her head. Dr. Bowman was a short man with thinning white hair. Dave's head hurt too much to look him in the eyes, so he just stared at the doctor's name embroidered on his long white lab coat. He carried a chart in the crook of his left arm. "The operations seem to have gone perfectly," the doctor said as he flipped through the chart. He had a German accent. "There doesn't seem to be any initial rejection of the devices." He pulled a small device out of his pocket, which looked like a cellular phone. He passed it over the shaved area on the back of Beth's head and then did the same to Dave. "And the sub-cortical transceivers seem to be operating normally. Very good. Very Good." he said while writing the results of his scan down in the chart. "The power-cells are fully charged and your implants are set to the same frequency." "What is the chance of someone using the same frequency as us," Dave asked, giving Beth a wink. "Ach, almost none," the Dr. Bowman replied, "we have been assigned millions of different frequencies by the World Communications Commission for use with these devices. Even if we were to run out of frequencies, each pair has a 1000 digit encryption code built into them. This is also to protect you from someone hacking into your link." He said the last line as he tapped his own head. "When can we try them out," Beth asked. "Not for a week and a half. Your nerve pathways need time to merge with the implant's connections." "When can we go home then," Dave inquired. "Well, I want to keep you here over night, to make sure that you haven't gotten any infections. If none show up, you can go home tomorrow. I want you to come back to my office when it is time for you to start your training." **** Dave and Beth showed up at Dr. Bowman's office two weeks later. As they sat in the waiting room, Beth was tapping her foot, and Dave was drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. They were both very anxious to start their training. They couldn't wait until they could find out just what it felt like to experience the new devices. It was not that either of them were unsatisfied with their sex life. They made love every other day, and neither one had anything to complain about. But the idea of being able to feel the sensations of your partner along with your own excited them both. The receptionist's phone buzzed. She picked up the receiver and said "Yes" into it. Then she leaned over her desk and said to Dave and Beth, that the doctor is ready to see them now. Dr. Bowman met them at the door to his office. He shook their hands as he greeted them. "Ah David, Elizabeth, please have a seat," he said and walked around the desk. Before he sat down, he pulled a black rectangular box out of a display case and set it down on his blotter. "This is the device that is at the heart of the sub-cranial telepathic transceiver system. This is the unit that receives the signals from your implants and transmits it to you partner." Dave picked up the device. It looked like a pager with a few LED's on it. Under them were the letters TX, RX, and PWR. "Why did you make it look like a pager?" He asked. "That is so if someone sees it lying around, that will now know exactly what it is." Dave flipped it over and saw a USB port on the back. "What's this for?" he asked. "That is for an optional VR recorder we are developing," the doctor explained. "You can record experiences and, later play them back. We will also start selling pre-recorded discs of things like sky diving, orbiting space, and yes even pornography." "Well, now that ought to be interesting," Dave said, just before Beth gave him an elbow to the ribs. Dr. Bowman tried to hide his smile. "How soon will we be able to use the implants?" Beth asked. "Oh, it will take about a week of training before you can use them to their fullest potential," the doctor explained as he leaned back into his chair. "You see, the human brain is not used to receiving two different signals at the same time, so we must start you off slow." He stood up as he continued. "If you would please follow me, we shall begin your training right away." **** Dave and Beth were in a room together. They had attempted to make the room look like a normal bedroom and not an exam room. The bed was a real bed, not a hospital bed. There was carpeting on the floor, and the room had been wallpapered. The only problem was the four-foot by six-foot pane of one way glass set into one of the walls. On the nightstand sat the little black box. Beth was lying naked on the bed, and Dave, also naked, was sitting in a chair facing the foot of the bed. Dr. Bowman's voice came booming in from a hidden speaker. "Are you both comfortable?" Dave and Beth gave a hesitant nod. "Good. Now for this first session, we want you to experience what your partner feels without any interference from your own sensations. To do this I want you each to masturbate one at a time. While one of you is doing this, I want the other to be concentrating on the impressions you are getting from your partner. David, if you would please start it off." Dave wasn't sure if he could do it in front of people. He had never even masturbated in front of Beth. As he looked at his naked wife though, he began to get aroused. They had been married for five years now, and still couldn't believe that he had managed to get this angelic woman to marry him. Her hair was a deep red, and her eyes were a vivid green. Her skin was a pale white, and she had a few freckles on her face and chest. Her breasts were a generous C cup and were perfectly shaped. She had long legs, and between those legs was a shocking patch of bright red pubic hair. Dave could feel his dick start to rise. When he wrapped his hand around it, he heard a gasp come from Beth. He looked up and saw a shocked expression on her face. "Did you feel that?" he asked his wife. "I sure did," she said a little out of breath. "Keep going!" Not wanting to disappoint her, he continued stroking his still growing erection. The thought of his wife feeling what he was doing to himself made Dave even more aroused. Soon he was pumping away and Beth was moaning like a porno star. Dave looked down between Beth's legs and saw that her pussy was enflamed and wet. The lips were a deep red, and he could see her clit sticking up through the thick pubic hair. Dave tried to hold back, but he couldn't take it any more. He let out a deep moan when the first wave hit him. Beth though let out a huge scream as she felt her husband's climax. Her hips rose up off the bed, and her hands moved down to her crotch. She tried to grab at something on her pubic mound that wasn't there. Dave sat there staring at his wife. She was lying on the bed panting. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. Dave felt a sense of pride in himself. He had given his wife many orgasms in the past, but this one he could truly say was all his doing. "How was that?" he asked when her breathing started to return to normal. "Oh...my...god," she said between gasps. "Is that what it feels like for you all the time?" "Usually," he said with a smile. They both jumped when they heard Dr. Bowman's voice come over the loudspeaker. "Well now, that sure looked like a successful test." He chuckled into the microphone. "If you would be so kind David, there is a towel behind your seat for you." Dave reached behind the chair for the towel and cleaned up the byproduct of his orgasm. "Now Elizabeth, when you are ready, would you please continue with the experiment." Beth gave Dave a mischievous smile. Dave knew and loved this expression. He called it her "evil look" because when she smiled at him like that, he knew she was going to do something naughty. Beth's hands moved first to her breasts. Dave moaned purely out of lust, he hadn't felt anything yet. When Beth's fingers touched her areolas though, Dave felt a jolt of pleasure run through him. He had never felt anything like that before (Dave's own nipples were not sensitive as some men's are). Beth kneaded her breasts, making sure that her hands rubbed across the nipples as she did. Beth grabbed hold of one of them and twisted. She giggled, and Dave groaned. Even though Dave had just had an orgasm, he was already starting to get hard, which caught Beth's attention, and amazed Dave. Not even in his younger days could he recover this fast. "I see you're enjoying this," Beth teased in a deep breathy voice. "You bet I am," Dave laughed. "Well, wait until you get a load of this." Beth's hand moved down her tummy to her pubic hair and spread her legs so that Dave could get a good view. She grazed her clit with one finger, and Dave nearly fell out of his seat. "Did you feel that?" But Dave couldn't even talk. He just nodded his head. "Are you ready for me to go on?" Again only another nod. Beth reached down and spread her lips with her fingers. She slid a finger from her other hand up and down her parted vagina, spreading around the juices that had already collected there from watching her husband just a few minutes before. Dave couldn't even keep his eyes open. His head was thrown back, and he was moaning in time with his wife's hand. Beth inserted a finger inside her, and Dave opened his eyes and yelled "Whoa!" Beth giggled again as she started to move her finger in and out. Dave was moving around so much that he almost fell off the chair. With her free hand she started rubbing circles on her clit. "Holy Shit!" Dave screamed when he felt that. Beth (and Dave) could feel the impending orgasm barreling down on them like an avalanche. If it feels this good now, Dave thought, her orgasm is going to kill me. Dave didn't have long to wait though. When the first wave hit, they both screamed (Dave screamed louder, mostly out of surprise). When the second wave hit, Dave ejaculated (Dr. Bowman told them that this usually happened in the first lesson, and that after a while, most men learned how to feel their wife's orgasm without having one of there own). He couldn't believe how intense this was. He was about to pass out when it stopped. When it was over, Dave realized that his hands were clenched into fists so hard that he had to pry them open. He lifted himself out of the chair and staggered over to the bed. He collapsed on it next to Beth who was out of breath. They cuddled together for a while arms and legs tangled together. Dave was about to fall asleep when Dr. Bowman's voice boomed over the speaker again. "If you both like that, wait until tomorrow." Dave and Beth looked into each other's eyes and laughed. * * * * * Well, that's all I have for now. If anyone would like me to continue with this story, just let me know. Empathy Her fingers delicately glided across the glossy black neck of the violin. With each subtle movement a new vibrant key sung from the voluptuous instrument. Upon her face she wore an expression so serene it was as though she were looking into a distant and private reverie. Sitting on her balcony and bathed in the coral glow of sunset, she lost herself in the moment -- as she has many times before. The solo performance was always attended by a single person; the same person. Many times her sat, waiting in earnest to hear her sweet, soulful song. From across the manicured courtyard he excitedly had observed her emerge from her small apartment, violin in hand. Her auburn hair fluttered wildly like a halo of tiny butterflies as her long pink nightgown rippled in the gentle evening breeze. Watching her, as he always did, he put his pen to paper. Certainly he had encountered more beautiful women in his life, but in his eyes, none could compare to his muse. Ink flowed from his pen, describing in long detail her fair, elfin features. He shook away the inkling to call her exotic, because she was -- in many ways -- painfully familiar to him. Yet, often he felt, from across the emerald expanse that separated their mirrored dwellings, he was beholding a creature from another time; the incarnation of a siren or some lesser goddess. Nevertheless, he was bewitched by her. She seemed to live a quiet, solitary life like his. Everyday she came and went like clockwork, occasionally returning with only a few small parcels of common necessities. Even less often she would have visitors. Yet, she never seemed melancholy. Just like everything else he witnessed, she would appear on her balcony with her violin as though it was a formal symphony performance. But unlike she appeared, he was lonely. He didn't need anyone to tell him he was a striking, attractive man; he knew this to be true. He also knew in his heart that kind, gentlemen like himself are easily broken by the carelessness of others. After several heartbreaks he has retreated into a safe, albeit empty, solitude. That loneliness began to ebb when she moved into the apartment facing his. It was also when he first started to feel the compulsion to write again. Certainly he had written love letters and short poems for previous lovers, but never had the urge been so great. They were just lines, half-thoughts, at first. Soon, though, he became bolder. Odes and stories, and soon journals began to fill his once bare shelves. But his secret remained a heavy secret; never had even mentioned his redhaired subject, even to the closest of friends. In the year he had watched her and listened to her exquisite siren song, he grew thinner, knowing that he was pining for her. Despite his discretion, his attention did not go unnoticed. On this night, like so many others she had slipped into her favorite nightgown and proceeded towards her balcony holding her beloved violin. Glancing towards the opposing apartment, she saw a familiar face, cast in heavy shadows, peering out into the evening. When she had first moved into this new home, it was to escape yet another failed love. She filled the lonely nights with her musical friend, enjoying how deeply the notes soothed her soul. At first she played for her sadness; heavy bitter notes written long ago by others unlucky in love. But as she noticed him, she no longer needed to fill the void inside. Rather, now she felt something bright and hopeful mending the hole in her heart. She played songs of of the seasons and heavens, and oceans. Each time she saw his lovely, handsome face in the window she felt a little warmer and new again. Yet, soon the songs of other weren't enough, so for the first time she began to compose music of her own. As the graceful fibers of her bow caressed the violin's strings, she played songs about her mysterious nighttime companion. She would watch him writing furiously by the flicker of a single candle, night after night. At first she thought dreamily that perhaps he was writing love letters to a lover, but she never saw anyone visit him. Month by month he wrote linger and longer into the night. She then played songs about his passionate writing. Often she imagined him to be a prolific but tragic writer; brilliantly recounting epics about divine loves, and fate. Over time, she imagined her music the same way; carrying the story of love over oceans and through a timeless history. This night, like the others, she stole glimpses of her neighbor, yearning to know what he was writing once more. But tonight her eyes lingered too long, and she froze as his intense eyes locked with hers. A sharp chord was struck inside of her; then it snapped, releasing her from the moment. This had to be the night. She sat her violin on the bench and raced for the stairs, fearing she would lose her nerve if she didn't run. He saw her abandon her violin and hastily dash for the stairs. Whatever reservations he might have had melted away, and he made for his front door wearing nothing but his pajama pants. His legs felt heavy and uncoordinated, hindering him from reaching her faster. He descended the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up to her. As his bare feet hit the moist grass she rounded a blooming rose bush. Under the violet glow of dusk her could still see the brilliant pink glow rising on her cheeks, her hair illuminated like a celestial flame: she never looked more beautiful to him. For the first time she saw his face close up, and decided he had the kindest eyes she had ever seen, wanting desperately to drown in them forever. Just then the sprinklers rose from the green lawn, drenching them entirely. However, neither particularly noticed. She extended her hand out to him. He hesitated for a moment, but then grasped his much larger hand around hers and pulled her deep into an embrace. She felt as though she were melting into hi,, wrapping her arms around his waist. For a long moment they stood breathing in the fragrance of the wet grass, the darkening night sky and each other. A wave of familiarity washed over them. Tipping her chin upwards with his crooked finger he looked deep into her eyes for the first time, truly. In them he saw a tender, passionate soul just like his own, and he knew right then he would be lost without her. She brought her lips to his, having fantasized about this moment for nearly a year. As their lips met a sizzling spark passed between them, and the kiss deepened. She laced her arms around his neck, and he cradled her face firmly, opening his mouth to hers. Softly she moaned into his mouth, her tongue seeking his. The contact was exhilarating, but after so long of watching the source of his affection he simply needed more. Sensing his urgency, she grabbed his shoulder, pulling them both down to the wet grass, under the shower of the sprinklers. Nestled comfortably, between her thighs, he smiled at her, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Beneath the dark fringe hanging over his eyes he beheld his goddess -- his muse -- alive and aroused before him. Brilliant strands of hair plastered to her face; lips wet and parted. No matter how he had watched and written of her nothing compared to this moment. She pulled him closer, kissing him firmly, although more aggressively this time. His hands roamed over her tenderly, curiously, and she felt as though he were composing one of his literary creations upon her skin. Never In her life has she ever felt so adored. Filled with her own desire to experience every inch of her inspiration, she smoothed her hands down his back, over his chest and everywhere she could reach. She memorized every plane, ripple and valley, her fingers moving as though she could play him as her violin. In that moment, he felt just as cherished, her sensual song singing in his soul. His hand slowly pushed her nightgown up her leg until her could slip under the hem. Timidly at first he inched his fingers closer to the center of her desire. Finding no panties to hinder his journey, he ventured forward. He found her sex already hot and wet, urging him further. Not to allow him to have all of the fun, she slipped a hand between them, seeking out his heavy manhood already pressed against the inside of her thigh. Breaking the kiss he gasped wildly for air as her small hand worked its way into his pants, grasping him firmly. He looked about the courtyard. He was relieved to find they were not only alone, but sheltered from passersby behind the rose bush. Encouraged he tugged the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders, her breasts coming into full view. With her thumbs she pushed his soft pants down over his hips. His hardness stood erect and he was surprised by the slight chill in the night air. Before he could say anything she encircled him with her hand, bring him closer to her womanhood. He bent forward taking one pink, erect nipple into his mouth. She arched against him, rubbing the head of his penis against her painfully hard clitoris. He was crazed with desire, his erection felt unbearably hot and hard. Instinctively he lunged forward, enveloping himself in her moist, silken sheath. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, needing to fellt as much of him as possible. Overwhelmed. He steadied himself for a moment, but as her hips bucked against his, he let go of his waning self-control. Plunging into her again he lost himself in the purest pleasure he had ever known. Rising to meet him thrust for thrust, she found herself quickly at the sharp precipice of ecstasy. Nearing climax himself, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "You are my muse, and I'll never stop writing for you." Tears trickled down her cheeks as she replied, "And I will never stop playing the music you have written on my soul." He kissed her desperately, trying to leave the imprint of his affection on her lips forever. She writhed and sobbed an ecstatic breath into his mouth, her climax consuming her. His orgasm followed quickly behind hers. They laid entwined for a long time, relishing in the afterglow. Watching thin, white clouds veil and unveil the brilliant stars both found themselves wrapped in a sensation of total joy for the first time. Propping his head up on one hand he asked, "Can I ask you, what's your name?" She smiled, placed a delicate kiss on his lower lip and replied, "You can call me 'soulmate'." He tightened his embrace around her and glanced to the heavens, knowing the universe was smiling down at them. Yes, 'soulmate' would do just fine.