9 comments/ 7058 views/ 2 favorites Falling Prey Ch. 01 By: themightyoak ******** For Literotica readers: There is no sex in this chapter and there will be very little sex in the entire story. There will not be any graphic sex. The following story is fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental and unintended. ******** My daughter, Lauren, was home for Thanksgiving break from her first year of college. She and I were on an emergency trip to the grocery store, and she trotted behind me trying to keep up as I rushed up the main aisle. I turned down the cookie aisle and breezed past a woman as I directed my voice toward Lauren. "Does your mother want one or two?" Lauren's voice, full of youthful zest, shook from her quick pace. "They come two in a package." A voice called from behind me. It was a womanly voice, self-assured, almost presumptuous. "Russell?" I turned around hearing my name. The woman I had passed was standing in the middle of the aisle looking at me. "Oh. My. God," she said. She held out her arms and trotted her tall pumps past Lauren. Her ripe melons bounced under a tight gray sweater, threatening to spill from where a few more buttons should have been fastened. I leaned down to politely receive her, and she gave me a hug that lasted too long as her pleasing fragrance washed over me. "Hello Amber," I said, "How are you?" She pulled back and gently placed her manicured hand on the side of my face. "It's so nice to see you!" She let her delicate fingers linger on my cheek. Lauren was not amused and she eyed the petite woman up and down. Besides the tall pumps and the cleavage, Amber was wearing jeans that only accentuated her seemingly immoral curves. And it didn't help Lauren's attitude to see that Amber was such an attractive woman, made even more alluring by the way her dirty blonde hair was adorned with platinum streaks. Lauren's critical eyes left their target and she looked at me with an attitude that said, "...for real?" "Amber," I said, "this is my daughter, Lauren. Lauren, this is Amber Featherton. Amber and I used to work together." "Hi," Lauren said with a fake smile. "It's nice to meet you." Lauren, an athletic five-feet-six, had to look down at Amber. Amber touched Lauren's forearm. "It's nice to meet you! I worked with your father for fourteen years, and honey let me tell you, he was the smartest man in the whole company." Amber turned back to me and her words slowed like sweet, golden honey. "The best looking, too," she drawled. Like a little boy getting a pat on the head, I tried to suppress a smile. Lauren made a big roll of her eyes and mumbled, "Oh, please..." "So what are you doing on this side of town?" Amber asked. Her joyful, smiling eyes made me feel special. "We just moved over here." "Where?" "Tuscany Drive." Amber slapped my arm. "You did not." "Yeah." "The Braselton house?" "That's the one," I said. She slapped my arm again. "Russell! Were you going to tell me?" I hadn't seen Amber since leaving the company, so I didn't know how that was supposed to happen. "Yeah, of course," I replied, and I shrugged a shoulder. "If...if I saw you. We've only been there a few days." Amber turned to Lauren. "You know that little bridge across the creek in your new backyard? That goes into MY backyard!" Amber lifted her petite shoulders and scrunched her nose at the "cuteness" of our new proximity. Lauren looked at me through the tops of her eyes. Her thoughts glared, "You've GOT to be kidding me." I averted my eyes. "That's your house?" I asked. "Right behind us?" "Yes, silly!" Amber said, and she slapped my arm again. "Oh, you knew that." But I didn't. I thought she lived another street or two over. "Y'all have to come over," she said. "Yes! You all have to come over for dinner...soon! Bring the whole family! Lauren was shaking her head and mouthing the words "No! No!" "Dinner?" I hesitated. "Yes! You have to!" "Umm...well...." Lauren was shaking head and waving her hands, "NO! NO!" "C'mon!" Amber encouraged. "It'll be fun!" "Well..." I stammered. Ah hell. I couldn't think of any excuses. "Yeah...okay...that would be nice." Lauren slapped her forehead. "Wonderful!" Amber gushed. She clapped her tiny hands with glee and a hundred bangles jingled like sleigh bells. I had left Cray Bionics a year earlier and I would never have forgotten that Amber was a bit "flighty," but as we chatted, I realized that she was far more beautiful than I remembered. My eyes savored her ravishing face, her petite nose, her shapely lips. She must have been in her late thirties, and yet her skin was still as smooth and pure as Lauren's. She and I stood in the middle of the grocery aisle and caught up. Lauren faked a smile every time Amber turned to her. "Oh," Amber said, and she held up her rhinestone decorated pink phone. "You've got to give me your number. What is it?" Lauren glared at me. "My number?" I said hesitatingly. Lauren's pretty brown eyes squinted, oddly resembling flashing signals at a railway crossing. I swear I could hear the train coming. "It's umm..." Lauren's eyes became slits and she clenched her jaw, warning, "Don't do it." "...Umm..." My hands were getting clammy. I couldn't think of what to say. I looked away from Lauren's scowl. "Eight seven three..." Lauren dropped her head in her hand. Amber and I talked a while more, and then we finally began our goodbyes. She gave me another too-long hug with her hand against the nape of my neck, and as she pulled away she gently dragged her white-tipped nails. I felt a siren's call run up my spine and I think I floated an inch or so off the floor. Amber turned around to Lauren. "Lauren," she said, "it was so nice to meet you." "It was nice to meet you too," Lauren said politely. Amber turned to me and waddled her phone. "I'll be in touch," she winked, and with a drippingly affectionate voice she signed off, "I gotta go. Take care." She rolled her pretty fingers, turned sweetly, and strutted down the aisle. She took short steps in her provocative stiletto pumps, heel to toe, swaying confident strides like she was walking a painted line. Mesmerized, I watched the two most delicious rounds of womanly ass move up and down in a fervently appetizing dance that - "AHEM!" Lauren interrupted. I spun and began searching the grocery shelves in an effort to cover my tracks. She crossed her arms like her mother does. Her lustrous brown hair fell across her shoulders. "Daddy, what are you looking for?" I had absolutely no idea. I had completely forgotten what we had come to get, but I kept frantically searching. "Umm, you know...the...the stuff." "Really?" Lauren challenged. She was tapping one foot. "What stuff?" "The umm...the..." My eyes scanned and my mind searched through a look-up table of possibilities: "Oatmeal cookies, ginger snaps...sweets, it has something to do with sweets. Candy. Dessert." "...or was it green beans?" I dropped my shoulders. "Heck, I don't know, sweetie" I said contritely. "I don't remember. What are we here for?" Lauren, my responsible, go-with-your-dad-or-he'll-buy-the-wrong-thing daughter, gave me a sarcastic smile. "Pie shells," she admonished. "They're in the frozen section, Casanova." I turned proudly and started walking. "I knew that." When we arrived home, Karen was straightening magazines in the family room in preparation for thes who would soon arrive to share Thanksgiving dinner. I walked into the kitchen, smelling the delicious aromas of warm, browned turkey and sweet potato casserole, and I set the cold pie shells on the black marble island. Lauren joined her mom in the adjoining room, kicked off her sandals, and sat on the couch with her feet under to her. "Mom, do you know Amber..." Lauren looked at me as I entered from the kitchen. "What was her last name again?" Now I was the one rolling eyes. "Featherton." "Mom, you know who Amber Featherton is?" Karen stopped arranging magazines and stood straight. Her dark brown hair fell in a razor cut that was even with the bottom of her jaw. I hated her hair cut short, but I never admitted it. "Yeah," Karen said. "She worked with your father." Lauren pointed out the French doors that lined the back wall. "She lives right there." Karen, perplexed, furrowed her brow at me. The finest lines ran from the corners of her eyes, lines I had come to adore as reminders of twenty eight years of happily married. "She and Dad were all touchy feely in the grocery store," Lauren added. "Now wait a minute..." I countered. "Daddy gave her his cell number too." Karen looked incredulous. "You gave Amber Featherton your phone number?" "Well what was I supposed to do? Say no?" Those two answered in unison. "Well, duh!" "Oh for crying out loud," I started, "you guys..." "Russell," Karen interrupted, "you mean to tell me you bought this house knowing that woman lives right behind us?" Lauren slid off the couch, picked up her sandals, and turned to me. "Okay," she said affectionately, mimicking Amber, "I gotta go set the table. Take care, you sexy hunk of man, you." She rolled her fingers at me like Amber had done, giggled, and strutted her way out of the room. Karen raised her eyebrows. "Sexy hunk of man?" "Hold on a minute," I said. "As I recall, you got in the car, right here in this driveway, and you said, 'This is the house. Even if we have to pay the asking price, I want this house.' Remember that?" "Well that wouldn't have happened if I knew Jessica Rabbit was going to be living behind us." "Jessica..." I stopped. It suddenly occurred to me that Jessica Rabbit might actually be a really good description of Amber. I looked off in thought, seeing Amber's enthralling curves, her silky hair, that sensuous pout, and I mumbled, "Jessica Rabbit?" Karen folded a magazine and cocked back. "Russell! So help me God!" ******** Thanksgiving dinner was the typical overdone spread. Karen's parents were there as well as her brother, Matt, and her sister, Lara, with their spouses and kids. It was a packed house as usual, but our son, Alex, Lauren's older brother, chose to stay at school. His absence was a nagging void. After dinner, Karen and I stacked the dishes, and as we stood in the kitchen she poured another glass of wine. "Do you really need another," I asked, trying to be gentle about it, but unlike her normal calm self, Karen's temper flared instantly. "Don't start with me, Russell." She pointed at me. "I'm a grown woman. I'll what...I'll be..." She shook her head in frustration. "I'll drink what I want," she blurted out. She fumbled with the latch-on bottle cork, gave up, yanked opened a drawer and threw it in. She slammed the drawer shut, walked to the archway into the family room and turned on a smile. "Okay everybody," she announced as she entered the room, "I want everyone to gather for a pitcher...pitch...a PIC-ture!" She let out a great big laugh. To my right Karen's mother, Claire, was standing outside the door to the dining room. She looked at me with disapproval and then her eyes dropped and she walked away. In the family room, the annoyed group crammed together at the back wall - Karen insisted - but it was still too many people to fit in the camera's field of view. "Hold on," Karen said, holding the camera in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She backed up and checked the camera screen. "Nope." She backed up some more with her eyes on the screen, and some more, and suddenly Claire screamed. "Karen!" Karen fell over a small Queen Anne table, spilling wine all over herself and the carpet and breaking a small lamp. She lay on the floor laughing, still holding the camera in front of her like she was ready to make the shot. Embarrassment filled the room like an awkward pall. Lauren, her face flushed red, rushed over to help her up. "Mom, look where you're going." Karen kept right on laughing as Lauren and Claire helped her off the floor. Claire's face was stern. "Karen, you're drunk." "I am not, Mother." "Yes you are. You've had at least six glasses of wine since Jim and I got here." "Oh really? Are you counting my drinks now, Mother?" Karen wrenched her arm loose from Claire. "Well somebody needs to. It doesn't seem your husband is going to do anything." "What do you expect me to do, Claire? She's my wife, not my child." Lauren tried to smooth things over. "It was just a little accident, guys." Claire ignored her and stayed on me. "I expect you to take her wine from her. This is getting to be a habit." "And how long's that going to work?" "You two stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Karen angered. "I'm not some fucking child!" None of us ever used that kind of language and the mood instantly became as hard as concrete. For a few seconds, we all stood like mute statues. Karen's father, Jim, broke the silence. "I think we've seen enough," he said to Claire. "Let's go." "Grand Daddy don't leave," Lauren beseeched, "it was just an accident." But Jim's a bull-headed spoiled brat who is constantly reminding everyone that he goes to church every single Sunday. He once let Claire work a part-time job, just to prove that he's not a chauvinist. "Nope," he said childishly. "Claire and I are better people than this." Lauren's face turned beet red with shame. Jim grabbed his jacket off the back of the corner chair and with his hand on Claire's back, he led his duteous wife toward the front door. The room remained stiff until they reached the foyer, and then, like a light slowly emerging from fog, Karen softly spoke. "You've always been better people than me, Daddy," she said calmly. Jim turned around. Karen stood with a sway. "You and Mother have always let me know every little thing I didn't get perfect. How I missed Summa Cum Laude by only point two points. How I lost the tennis regionals by one game. Mother, you shook Melanie Parks' hand and told her that I would never have made nationals anyway." Karen looked at the floor. "But why should I care? I hated that fucking game." She pointed at Claire with her empty wine glass. "And at my own wedding, Mother, you told me that Lara was the most beautiful woman there. You told me that my sister was the limelight. You told me that at my own wedding. What mother does that?" Tears began to drip from Karen's eyes. "Daddy," she continued, "you told me that companies don't fire good people. I'd been with Metric for eighteen years! They laid off 600 people, you stupid son of a bitch! That job was my career!" Karen's voice ripped like linen as she began to sob. "That job was my life!" She tossed her wine glass to the floor and ran upstairs, passing Jim and Claire without any of them making eye contact. Lauren covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Her chin trembled. Her eyes glistened in pools of water. Claire scanned the room. Her face was hateful like the bark of a knotted old oak. Jim urged her along with a tap on the back, and they turned and walked out the front door. Thanksgiving had been stabbed with a knife. Thanksgiving was over. Falling Prey Ch. 02 Thank you for the positive response to the first chapter, ergo, as threatened, here's the second. Thank you to those who made suggestions and were actively involved in the creative - *snerk* creative? - process. You know who you are, UKOD, and there was even encouragement from the USA for which I am grateful. Right, before I get all emotional like a celeb at the Oscars I'm outta here. Enjoy, I hope. * As the weeks before Christmas passed, accelerating towards the feast of gluttony and excess with a fanfare of commercial enterprise that amazed me, Helen fell truly within my grasp. My mind held hers fast; she was my slave. On the occasions I allowed her to visit I resisted penetrating her; it was only when she was completely despoiled that I would take her. Despite her having sunk so far into the mire there were still unplumbed depths for my sweet Helen. Of course she protested at my refusal to fuck her, but I found the tears and the begging, so humiliating for her, all part of the fun. What kind of man am I? You may ask that question and would probably label me a monster -- which wouldn't be far from the truth. For a man I am not. I choose to exist among you but I am a creature of the ether. I'm not alone in the universe; there are others, many others, of my kind. But among those of my ilk I'm rather special. For while those entities, those lesser demons, probe blindly through the upper air like earthworms in wet soil, I am in a higher place. I'm self-aware, reasoning, intelligent, but still forced to live according to my nature. I need sustenance just as you, but my food is suffering; suffering and evil. You'll find my kind drifting amongst the onlookers at the scene of an accident. Ghoulish ravens, invisible to your eye amidst the mourners around an open grave, with more skulking in hospital wards, although I find hospitals are tainted with hope and love amidst the fear -- a terrible thing for me since hope and love weaken me. Wherever there's suffering one of us will be watching. If you sense us amongst the mayhem, I tell you now, turn and go and don't look back. For if that thing notices you -- even being incapable of reason -- the instinct is strong and it will latch onto you like the leech it so closely resembles. And then your life will be over. We aren't Death I hasten to add, although we do engineer her visits -- oh yes, Death is female; she's exquisitely beautiful but completely heartless. As cold and unfeeling as the moon, hers is a duty, a calling, and no amount of pleading, tears, anger or rage will deter Death when she turns that face towards you. Age, sex, race, whether you've been good or bad -- according to your scale -- it's all the same to Death. I'm sustained by suffering. If I don't feed every two years, perhaps three, my force would be so diminished I doubt I could recover. I find that perversion and its consequences add a piquant sauce to my dish. It's an unusual taste for one such as me -- I did mention I was special -- I appear to have developed a penchant for a certain quality of woman; attractive women, one whose slide into corruption nourishes my dark soul. *** Helen arrived early; she was eager to see him. She braced herself and prepared to brave the cold. Dark for less than half an hour, the bitter conditions had laid a layer of rime on the cars surrounding hers. She took a deep breath, partly in anticipation of the chill, but also to calm her nerves. She knew what to expect; Matthew had been very clear on the events she was shortly to be party to. "Two," he'd said. "There'll be two, plus me and the camera. I'm going to film you, Helen. I'm going to film you and then you're going to sit and watch the results. Right there in that room, immediately after you've been used. I want you stained and filthy while you watch, with their semen drying on your body; oozing from your cunt." The scene he described melted Helen's sex. She felt the trickle between her thighs even as the phone fell silent in her hand. Matthew had given her the hotel address, the time and date; there was no question she'd take part. What have I become? My God, he owns me. I'm his to control. Why do I crave him so much? Bundled inside her coat and with her breath showing in little puffs as she walked, Helen hurried past the cars seemingly huddled together like some kind of prehistoric creatures sheltering against the cold under their veneer of frost. "Good afternoon," the woman behind the desk smiled with professional courtesy and disinterested eyes. "Checking in?" "My..." Helen paused. How could she describe him? The woman remained impassive as Helen felt the heat rise in her face. "My friend," she blurted. "He's already here; he should be in the bar." "Certainly, madam," the receptionist acknowledged. "The bar is that way." Helen followed the direction of the pointing finger, missing the smirk on the other woman's face. "Friend my arse," the woman muttered, shaking her head before dismissing what was to her an everyday occurrence in the hotel. Helen paused before fully entering. From the door she could see the short side of an L-shaped room. Two girls were in harassed attendance behind the bar; serving drinks to a collection of van drivers, salesmen, transient construction workers, and other itinerant folk whose livelihood took them away from home. The bar was noisy with its predominantly male clientele and Helen expected to be examined and studied, an object of curiosity, too well-dressed for her surroundings. Under normal circumstance Helen would have baulked at that point; in fact, this hotel was of a kind far beneath her usual tastes. Such was the power of Matthew's influence that Helen's previous attitudes no longer counted, for now she was about to embark on the most sordid adventure of her life. Early on, shortly after meeting Matthew, Helen had been ripped by feelings of guilt and shame over her betrayal of her husband, Bobby, however Matthew's power over her now meant that taking this step further into the mire invoked only feelings of excited anticipation; guilt was redundant emotion. Helen was so eager to please Matthew she would do anything for him, and that included fucking two strange men while being filmed, as well as being unconcerned by the hungry looks of the oafish gaggle. Matthew turned in his seat to face Helen. She saw him turn and gasped, thinking: How did he know I was here? Shrugging off the thought walking into the hubbub she felt the slide of arousal at the sight of him, accompanied by a flutter of deep, warm anticipation and a sinking feeling in her guts, indistinguishable between excitement and dread. Matthew walked casually to the bar and seemingly without effort, despite others waiting their turn to be served, drew the attention of the barmaid. Helen couldn't hear his words as she approached but simply waited behind Matthew while the drinks were poured. Without speaking Matthew handed Helen a glass and then, returned to his table. It was simply expected that she'd follow. "So," he said eventually, "are you ready?" Helen sipped at her drink and grimaced. "Jesus, how strong is this?" Matthew laughed and replied, "It's a double. Dutch courage -- not that you'll need it, Helen, I'm sure." He leaned in, "Are you ready?" he repeated. "Are you ready to be fucked?" Matthew was satisfied to see Helen swallow heavily. "Oh, Matthew; I'm ready. I'll do it for you, anything for you." "Of that I have no doubt, my dear." He reached out a hand and pushed his fingers under the hem of Helen's dress, squeezing the bare skin of her thigh above her stocking top. For Helen the touch of his fingers against her flesh caused a tingle of excitement to ripple through her body, the epicentre of which was her juicing sex. She shivered and her thighs parted in an unconscious response. "And soon," Matthew continued," I'll fuck you too, Helen. I'll fuck you as you've begged me to. Would that be good for you?" "God, Matthew," she sighed, "That would... I..." "But before I have you," Matthew interrupted, "there's today's fun to be had." Ten minutes later Helen followed Matthew along the anonymous corridor. When he inserted the card that acted as a key into its slot Helen swayed and fell against the wall. Her legs felt weak and incapable of supporting her. She experienced a final, feeble stab of remorse at her betrayal of Bobby as Matthew pushed into the room and, as the thought of her faithful husband melted, Helen followed unsteadily. There were two men -- as expected -- waiting with casual insouciance. Despite knowing the men would be there their presence shocked Helen enough to gasp at the sight of them. The black man, well-muscled, shaven-headed and confident, grinned at the sound of Helen's sharp intake of breath. "Did we scare ya, honey?" he asked unfolding his arms and grinning in a dangerous way. "We don't mean no harm." "Helen, may I introduce Clayton," Matthew waved his arm in a flamboyant gesture towards the man. "Clayton, this is Helen, the lady I told you about." "You weren't kidding, man," Clayton nodded approvingly. "She's an oldie but goodie alright." Recovering slowly Helen dimly noticed the man's accent, American, she thought, American or Canadian. "And this is François," Matthew added indicating the second man. Helen glanced at François. Unusual name, she mused, possibly French? and then noticed the elaborate tattoo that adorned his arm from wrist to the cuff of his tee-shirt. He too was finely muscled, smiling at Helen with a predatory glint in his eyes. "Are we gettin' down to business?" Clayton suggested. "I can't wait to get missy all naked and sucking my cock." "Impatient, eh, Clayton?" Matthew grinned. "She's all yours boys. I'll just set the lights and take control of the camera. Use her and abuse her. She loves it." While Matthew concentrated on the lighting and equipment, Clayton moved around the bed. "Come here, baby," he crooned. "Come and get some of this." He unzipped and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them open and grinning when the length of his cock flopped into view. "Ever had a black cock before?" Helen's eyes widened when she saw the terrible length and girth. It was bigger than any cock she'd ever experienced, or even seen. "Hey," François interjected in his accented English. "Just because he is black doesn't mean he has the biggest cock." He too unzipped his flies and revealed his own long, thick, penis. "I think you should suck me first. Come here, baby, come and suck this big fucking cock." He is French. The thought was irrelevant, Helen wouldn't and couldn't refuse this man whatever his nationality; she was powerless to refuse either one such was Matthew's influence. She glanced at Matthew, who gave a slight nod, and Helen abandoned all control. "She's all yours, François," Clayton graciously acknowledged. "Let her suck your cock first. I'll watch the show and then give Miss Big Tits here a slice of the ol' Clayton tongue. I'll make her squeal on my face before I give her the pleasure of the ol' black snake. Would you like that, honey? Would you like Clayton to lick that hot, pink pussy of your'n?" The men spoke and acted as though Helen had no mind of her own, which at that moment was close to the truth. She was mesmerised by the size of the men's appendages, both men of course chosen especially for their endowment. Clayton turned Helen around, slid her coat from her shoulders, and whistled in appreciation when he saw her figure hugging dress. "She sure has the big titties, eh?" François concurred. "Maybe we should see them, no?" "Come here," Clayton cajoled. "Come here and let me help you with that dress." He reached forward and pulled the zip that held the dress at Helen's neck. When the garment was loosened enough Clayton pulled and Helen wriggled. "Yeah, baby," Clayton grinned when Helen's breasts fell free. "Damn but they's big titties." Helen continued to slide the dress down over her hips, allowing it to fall in a heap at her feet before stepping out from the folds. "Ain't she sure put together well, Franky boy? Damn we got ourselves a hot-bodied cougar here." Matthew, camera in hand, moved in close to capture the moment of Helen's revelation. The image in the viewfinder showed Clayton fondling Helen's breasts, his dark skin in shocking contrast to hers. Clayton kissed Helen, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth while his fingers continued to knead and massage her flesh. It took a moment for Helen to respond to the kiss, but soon her tongue rolled around and around with ardour inside Clayton's mouth. As they kissed, Helen's fingers curled around the shaft of Clayton's cock. Immediately it thickened and grew as the man grew aroused. "God it's so... So thick," Helen whispered in awe. Naked now François moved forward, having undressed hurriedly during Clayton and Helen's kiss. "Feel this one also. This one is also thick. Can you get your mouth around me, Madame?" Turning at the touch of his hand on her shoulder, Helen faced François. She noticed the intricate tattoo extended not only the length of his left arm, but also adorned his torso, forming a complicated pattern from shoulder to his waist. Then her eyes fell to his engorged length and the tattoo was forgotten. "Fuck," Helen sighed. "It's huge. Both of you... Such huge cocks." Helen turned to comment to Matthew a moment later and, even in the midst of impiety she was taken aback by his expression. As he surveyed the scene, his camera in hand recording the events, Matthew's look was unguarded. Helen felt a shiver of unease ripple down her spine. For a moment she felt his malevolence; a portent of doom like a goose walking over her grave. It was a momentary phase, one which was quickly pushed from her mind when Clayton's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Suck him, bitch," Clayton ordered as he began to divest himself of his restrictive clothing. "Get on your knees and suck it." Like a supplicant, Helen knelt, a slight residue of unease staining her consciousness which rapidly faded to nothing as she confronted the terrible thing in front of her. François grinned down at the woman as, slowly, she took his shaft in hand and, her eyes wide, examined the brutal cock. After a short time she shook her head as though waking and realising what was expected of her. Matthew captured the spectacle, focussing upon Helen's lips stretched tight around the man's girth as she opened her mouth wide to take the bulbous cock-head between her lips. Helen gagged as François forced his length into her mouth, letting the thing drop from her lips as she choked and retched. "She ain't used to a big ol' thing like that, Franky baby," Clayton chuckled. "You're gonna choke the bitch." "I will have to train her then." François pulled Helen's head back towards his cock as it waggled heavily."Like I train the French ladies back home, non? Lick it," he insisted. "Lick the tip like a lollipop." "That's a nasty sight," Clayton continued. "Big titty bitch on her knees suckin' cock. Damn but that's a bad thing to be seein'. He stroked his own length further into engorged anger. "I can't wait, Franky. Let her suck some of me too. C'mere, bitch, lick Clayton's pole." "Oh my God," Helen murmured when faced with the double assault. "I..." Her words were cut off as Clayton forced his meat against her face. She opened her mouth and attempted to take some of the offered length. Once again she gagged and spat, saliva dripping onto her breasts while cords of goo connected her face to Clayton's cock. "Too big..." she spluttered. "Too long, both of you; I can't take you so deep." "Lay on the bed; open your legs; I wanna taste your hot, juicy pussy." Clayton lifted Helen to her feet by one arm and flung her onto the bed. "Come on, bitch," he ordered roughly. "Hurry up and show me some pink." Helen rolled onto her back and allowed her thighs to fall open. She saw both men's eyes glint with interest at her smooth, newly shaven mound. Peeling her labia apart in a shamelessly lascivious act, she offered her bubbling centre to the men. "Lick me," she begged. "Lick my cunt" -- she knew the use of the word would please Matthew -- "I'm so hot and wet. One of you, hurry and lick me." "I'd be happy to," Clayton grinned. "Sweet, white-girl pussy; I'm gonna enjoy this." "Yes." Helen cried in rapture when Clayton tongued at her opening. "I can feel your hot breath on my body, it's so exciting. Curl that talented tongue inside me, you black fucker," she groaned, "lick me till I come." Clayton tongued and slurped at Helen while Matthew filmed and François massaged her breasts, his cock inches from her face. "Suck me again," he grunted, pushing his penis toward Helen. A smear of pre-come stained her cheek as she turned her head to facilitate François request. Her grunts of pleasure were muffled as François forced his penis into Helen's mouth, this time mindful not to choke her. "That's the way, baby," François hissed in approval as Helen's tongue swirled around his cock head. "Suck my cock, that's it; lick it just like that... Ah, that's so good." "Oh shit," Helen grunted. "Stop licking me... Please... Fuck me now. Put it in me now and I'll come." Her breath came in pants, her face was flushed, and her eyes bright. "Put it in me Clayton I'm begging you. Put it in me and fuck." "Anything you say." Clayton knelt between Helen's thighs and rubbed the head of his cock against her labia and clitoris. He moved the thing up and down, splitting the sticky folds before finally nudging into Helen's opening. "Oh God," Helen's eyes widened as inch after slow inch invaded her body. "It's stretching me," she squealed, squirming on the bed. "It's filling me... Oh..." She swallowed heavily, eyes bulging wide as she looked along the front of her body and saw the dark shaft slowly disappearing. "Look at it going in," she grunted and then sighed when Clayton stopped for a moment only to pull back an inch or two. He eased further out of Helen's body, pausing before reversing direction and pushing back into Helen, this time going deeper than before. "Look at the sticky stuff on my dick," Clayton grunted as he again pulled his length nearly completely free of Helen. "The bitch is so horny she's gettin' all gooey on me. Damn but she's all hot for my black cock. You like that, honey? You like Clayton's big, black snake? Is it gonna make you yell and squirm?" "Yes, you glorious bastard," Helen groaned. The tendons in her neck and throat were as sharp as a knife edge as she grimaced in ecstasy. "Come on, you big fucker," she continued through gritted teeth. "Move that thing in and out. Fuck me with it." Her urgency and desperation for climax was evident in the way Helen thrust her hips up to meet Clayton's own downward force. Her nails clawed down along the man's back and sides as she desperately tried to pull more of him into her body. As she strove for release Helen's eyes met Matthew's. Suddenly an independent thought burst and Helen stared with haughty disdain at Matthew. Her eyes glinted in challenge; sparks from a forge, but, alas for her it was a confrontation instantly defeated by the man's intense look in response. *** Test me would you, bitch? Do you think I care about them fucking you? I care less for their rutting; their grunting sweating bodies invading your own delicious form. I have no real taste for the physical release of your sex; it's the despoiling of you that nourishes me. Let your brief pleasure wash over you. Let them take their fill of your cunt, and you in return have your fill of them. Drain them of their seed. Concentrate on your own needs, my harlot, come on his cock and put on a superb show for the lens. This recording will be the currency by which I buy my supper. Falling Prey Ch. 02 There is no sex in this chapter. ******** I was floating in that heavenly ether that exists somewhere between sleep and awake when the memory emerged from the black. I could see us riding the crowded bus that stirred the dry dust on a meandering road along the shoreline of Jamaica. Karen and I had only been married about a year, and we had finally managed to scrape together enough money to have a honeymoon. Those few romantic days were over, and we were herded onto a bus with a tired mosaic of silent and sunburned faces. A high-school girl with teased black hair and heavy mascara sat one seat behind her parents. She stared out the window, longing to be home like the rest of us, while the period's number one Billboard hit, Time After Time, played softly from her small boom box. Karen slept. Her head rested on my shoulder and her hair smelled of fresh shower. Her limp and exhausted body swayed with the motion of the bus. I felt the slow rise and fall of her breathing. I savored the warmth of her womanly body against mine. Her hand rested on my thigh and I watched the glint of bright sunlight flicker off the meager gold around her finger. I took her delicate hand in mine. Her fingers were slender and fragile. Her nail polish was the color of cantaloupe. I touched the ring, and I thought to myself, "We're on our way into a life together. It's her and me. It's just her and me." I watched the palm trees go by while I relished the sanctuary resting on my shoulder. Everything seemed so perfect. The high-school girl pressed rewind and Time After Time started again. I hoped that bus would never reach the airport. The curtains fell on my wonderful memory and I awoke facing the urn-style lamp on my nightstand. The bedroom was dim, but slits of horizontal sunlight leaked through the venetian blinds and painted bright stripes across the polished blue-gray swirls of the lamp. In one of the wing-back chairs in the seating area of the room, my reading glasses sat on an archery catalog, which straddled the open pages of a technical publication titled, Data Acquisition Processes for EEG-based Electro-Biological Interfaces. I lay still and basked in the quiet smell of fresh linen. I remembered Lauren "telling on me" about talking with Amber in the grocery store and I couldn't help but to chuckle, quietly. She and I have a long history of sparring with each other. We've always been especially close and to this day she carries my old Tau Beta Pi bent on her keychain. But cheerful thoughts of her whimsical antics moved aside as a pensive mood strolled in, and I felt the melancholy stillness of a deep forest. I missed my kids. I missed helping Alex with his calculus. I missed his well-informed thoughts on politics and the economy. I missed telling him to get his gym bag out of the family room. I missed Lauren, her irrepressible liveliness, her quips, her unpredictability. Karen called her "Christmas cheer 365 days a year." Curled photographs of her popularity remained tacked to her old bulletin board, which leaned against the unpacked boxes in her room in our new house. For so many years I had a Sunday morning ritual of cooking us all breakfast, whether at home, a rented beach house in Florida, or a ski chalet in the Rockies. We all sat around the table, stabbed at ham and eggs and pancakes, and shared our highs and lows and our hopes for the future. That ritual was a family fortress, but now, with the kids gone, broken walls formed an outline in the sand and the people that used to gather there, they were never coming back. Behind me Karen moved and I realized she was awake. I rolled over to face her. "I thought I heard you laughing," she said. I chuckled again. "I was thinking about Lauren telling you about the grocery store. I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake you." Karen chuckled too. "She's a pistol, isn't she?" "She called me the other day and said, 'Daddy do we have a good lawyer?'" "I said, 'Yeah, darling, what do you need a lawyer for?'" "I just punched a man in a chicken suit." I shook my head. "How many parents do you think get a call like that?" Karen laughed. "Why did she punch a man in a chicken suit?" "It was a new restaurant opening near campus. She said he grabbed her ass." "That would make Lauren swing," Karen admitted. "I asked her if she thought she hurt him, and she said, 'How would I know? He was in a chicken suit!' Then she added, 'But I told him I was sorry.'" Karen burst out laughing, but it quickly subsided. "I embarrassed her yesterday," she said. "'Mortified' is a better word." Karen's face blushed red with humiliation. She was about to say more, but her effort to talk crumbled and she began to cry. Tears streamed from the corner of her eye and dripped off her nose. I pulled her against me, embracing the caring mother with a few extra pounds she was perpetually trying to lose. She cried openly but softly as I held her, both of us hoping that I might soothe the welts that her parents had whipped into her self-worth. But there was nothing I could do. The open cuts had festered with time and her caustic memories sat like a roiling stench in the pit of her stomach. I propped my head on my elbow and ran my fingers through the hair at her temple. Her wet cheek glistened. Dust particles sparkled in slanted gleans of sunlight. "You need to go talk to someone," I said softly. "I'll go with you if you want. I'll do whatever you need, but you need seek some help, Beautiful." She nodded and dabbed her eyes with the sheet. "If I could just find a job..." More crying smothered her apology. "Karen, we don't love you because of your job. We love you because of who you are." "But I need to be worth something to people. I need to..." "Karen. Sweetie. You've raised two wonderful kids; you were the Director of IT for a major corporation; we have a great marriage. We live comfortably; we have a generous retirement already. There's nothing left to prove. It's time to ease up and start enjoying life." She nodded in agreement, but the relentless indoctrination of not-good-enough still raged inside her and she only cried harder. "Remember when I wanted to go back to school for my PhD?" I said. "The kids were young, you were working, and I would have to quit work. I didn't think we could handle it, but you said, 'Go for it. We'll figure it out one way or another.' That's you, Karen. That's always been you. Fearless. Undaunted. You've never been afraid to take life head on. You led us to where we are." "I am afraid now," she sniffled. "I don't know what's happened to me; I'm falling apart. I feel it inside me. I don't know who I should be." She looked away from me. "I'm scared, Russell. I'm really scared." I pulled her into my chest and spoke in a soothing voice. "You've never learned how to deal with the anger. You've never learned how to let go of the demands. You need to talk to someone." I looked down at her. "We'll get through this, Beautiful. You and me. We'll get through this." We lay cuddled together, her forehead at my neck, her body in my arms. The house was quiet. The once powerful lioness was succumbing to the jackals. ******** By the Christmas holidays Karen's drinking had gotten much worse. She made little effort to hide it anymore, or so I thought. She was seeing a psychologist and we both had a better understanding of her struggle, but that didn't make any difference. She no longer met her friends for coffee on Saturday mornings; in fact, she almost never left the house. She rarely put on makeup and she even gave up her beloved painting. Her downstairs studio of waiting easels and rectangular landscapes sat collecting dust like the forgotten vault of some dead artist. She had been paid as much as $1,800 for some of her pieces. So much talent wasting away. But it was the holidays and the kids were home, so I tried not to think about it. I made dinner reservations at Mahogany, my favorite restaurant, a place that specializes in the art of aged beef. I was hoping a night out with the kids might allow Karen and me to take a deep breath from the constant tension that burned in our guts. Lauren drove herself and Alex to the restaurant. Karen and I took my car. We arrived wrapped in coats under a gray sky just as the lights of the city were beginning to glimmer. The valet, same age as my kids, approached with a ticket in hand. "Mr. Hawks, how you doing tonight?" "I'm doing well, Brad, I hope you are." "Yes, sir." As always, sandy-haired Brad wore a knit sport shirt with the collar up. He covered it with a red sailing jacket and wore his much-loved dock shoes without socks. As Karen and I made our way inside, I heard the familiar squeal of my tires echoing in the parking garage. "Brad's hair always looks like he just woke up," I said as I held the door for Karen. "That's the style these days, honey." "Yeah, well, remind me next time to wrap his tip around a comb." I didn't expect to wait in the foyer very long, Alex and Lauren were right behind us, but Karen walked to the bar and ordered a glass of wine anyway. The kids walked in just as Karen returned, and the four of us were shown our seats at a robust mahogany table, draped in white linen, near the center of the restaurant. I held the chair for Karen and the waiter placed our napkins in our laps, black for three of us, white for Lauren's lace dress. He took three drink orders and left. "So are you guys glad to have the semester behind you?" I asked. "Yeah," Alex said, "that optics class was brutal. I hardly had time to lift weights." Lauren looked him over. "I think you need to back off some," she said. "You're starting to look like SpongeBob when he had inflatable arms." "Alex," Karen said, "I didn't see the charge for next semester. Have you registered?" Lauren gave Alex guilty eyes. "Umm...no...not yet," he said. Karen looked puzzled. "Well you're going to miss it, aren't you? I would think it's already too late." There was a pause. Lauren elbowed her brother, trying to be covert about it. "Something up?" I asked. Lauren kept looking at Alex. He checked her stare out the corner of his eye. Something definitely was up. I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. "Okay, let's have it. What's going on, son?" Alex looked at the table. Karen tilted her wine glass to her lips. "I joined the Marines," he said. Karen sprayed red wine. "You did what?" "He joined the Marines," Lauren said matter-of-factly. "I heard what he said," Karen snarled. Lauren rolled her eyes. "Saw-ree!" Karen's words charged at Alex. "Have you lost your mind?" "I thought it would be a good thing for me," Alex shrugged, "so I signed up." "Well you'll just unsign up," Karen demanded. "I can't unsign up, Mom. It doesn't work that way." "I don't care how it works! You're not joining the Marines! I won't have it!" "You don't make those decisions for me anymore...Mother." Alex sneered, mimicking the way Karen talks to Claire when she's angry. Karen slammed her hand on the table. Silverware jingled. Lauren jumped. "DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO ME THAT WAY!" She shouted. "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BASTARD!" I grabbed her firmly by the forearms. "Karen! Calm down!" I admonished under my breath. "The entire restaurant is looking! What the hell's gotten into you?" She spoke through clenched teeth. "I am not going have my own son..." "Karen," I interrupted. "Hold on! Just hold on a minute! You are way out of line!" She clenched her jaw, folded her arms, and turned away. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and spoke calmly. "Son, you have one semester left and then you graduate. You have to admit, this is some really bad timing. Why now? Why the Marines?" Alex dragged his angered eyes off his mother. "I want to do my part, Daddy. If I start a career, it'll never happen. I'll never have the opportunity." Karen touched my arm and spit like a viper. "Give me the valet ticket." I didn't hesitate. I pulled it from my wallet and slapped it in her hand. She grabbed her purse, stood up, and walked away. Lauren watched her leave. "Daddy, where's she going?" "I have no idea, darlin." I turned to Alex. "Son, look, it is admirable that you want to join the Marines, but you should have given us some advance consideration." Alex motioned to his mother's empty chair. "I knew this would happen." "That doesn't matter. You owe it to us to tell us. You haven't officially moved out yet. We are the ones paying for your college, son, and that's no small-time bill." "I understand that, Daddy, but Mama is acting crazy anymore. I'm convinced she's an alcoholic and I'm sick of it. She's erupts out of nowhere!" I wasn't going to discuss his mother's difficulties with him right there in the restaurant, and besides, his situation was the topic at hand. We talked about it for a few minutes, and then Lauren broke in. "Daddy," she said stiffly, "Mama left." Lauren held up her phone to me. There was a GPS image on it. "What's that?" I said. I took the phone and studied the moving map. The screen showed an arrowhead tagged "Mom" that was headed up South Boulevard. "It's a GPS tracker app," Lauren said. "It shows where Mama's phone is." "A tracker app?" I said unthinkingly, and then it dawned on me. "Wait a minute. You have an application tracking your mom's phone?" Lauren's face turned to, "Oops!" "Have you got this on my phone?" I pulled my phone from my inside coat pocket and began scrolling through applications. Lauren snatched her phone back. "Daddy!" She asserted. "We can't worry about that now! Mama's driving away!" The waiter walked up. He set down a beer for me, a beer for Alex, and an unsweetened iced tea for Lauren. "We have some specials tonight if you'd like to hear them," he said. "Should I wait for the Misses to return?" "Umm...yeah," I said, "if you could give us a minute." He walked away and Lauren urged, "Daddy, we have to go! This is an emergency!" I didn't know how much the beers and tea cost, and I didn't know if Karen paid for her wine or put it on the tab. I threw fifty dollars on the table for the drinks and the waiter's trouble and we headed out. As we made our way through the restaurant, I mumbled, "My wife's driving away, my son's joined the Marines, and my daughter's tracking my phone." I threw my hands up. "I just wanted a good steak!" We stepped outside and Brad took Lauren's valet ticket. "You're not leaving already are you?" "Yeah," Lauren said, her voice had suddenly become soft, "we have a minor emergency." Brad pulled her keys from his pocket, pressed the unlock button, and the car chirped -- right next to us! "Hey, hold on a cotton pickin minute," I complained, "how's she get this primo spot? She never spends any money here." "Sorry, Mr. Hawks," Brad said as he opened her car door for her. "It's the only spot I had left." There were at least ten empty spots just outside the parking garage to our left. I looked down the way at the empty spots. I looked at Brad. He just grinned. I shook my head. "Let's go, kids." I hopped in to ride shotgun and Alex sat in the back seat. "I only work till eleven tonight, you know," Brad said with goo-goo eyes at Lauren as she stood at her opened car door. "Really?" She said. "And then what?" "I don't know. I was kind of thinking about going over to..." "Hey," I called to Lauren, "I thought we had an emergency here." With her hand hidden behind her back, Lauren waved vigorously for me to shush as Brad tried to arrange a date. I guess the term "emergency" is relative. "I really like your hair like that," I heard Brad say. Lauren's hairstyle hadn't changed in years. "Oh," Lauren fawned, "I'm just trying it long for a while. I thought it would..." I tapped her with my hand. "Hey. Juliet. Get in the car already. He's here till eleven, remember?" The love fest would have gone on forever, but I finally got Lauren in the car and we took off to find Karen. By then, the GPS was showing "no data," so we drove home by our typical route. But as the garage door opened, we found that Karen wasn't home. I tried again, but her phone kept going to voicemail. Lauren's face was worried. "Daddy," she said, clutching the steering wheel, "something's wrong." "Alex, do me a favor and stay here in case your mother comes home," I said. "Lauren and I are going to drive back to the restaurant." We didn't quite make it all the way back to the restaurant when my phone rang. It was Karen. "Hey, Beautiful, where are you?" I asked. "Rus...Russell," she said. "I'm...umm..." her voice trembled, "I'm being arrested." "Arrested?" Lauren flicked her head my way. Karen began to sob. "Will you come get me?" It was not a question of whether or not I would bail her out. She was asking if I would still have her. "Of course I'll come get you. Where?" I heard her talk to someone. "The county jail. They're taking me to the county jail. I'm sorry, Russell. I'm so sorry." "I'll be there as fast as I can, okay? Everything's going to be alright." "Yeah...okay...umm..." Karen's voice ripped to shreds. "It's a DUI. I'm sorry. I'm really so sorry, Russell." "Sweetie, calm down. Everything's going to be fine. I'll be there as fast as I can and we'll have you home before you know it." "Don't tell the kids, okay? Please don't tell the kids." She begged. She was crying in a pitiful, sobbing, gush of humiliation. "I would never be able to face them again, Russell. Please don't tell them. Please don't." Lauren was looking right at me. Falling Prey Ch. 02 *** Helen, realising she had displeased him reacted to Matthew's look by instantly breaking contact, redoubling her efforts against Clayton's pounding rhythm. Clayton, mistaking Helen's efforts at placating Matthew, took this as proof of his own prowess and concentrated his efforts by slamming harder against Helen's body, hammering at her mound with merciless vigour. "You want me to tear your pussy up, huh, bitch? You want ol' Clayton to bang you rough?" Deaf to his words Helen felt the surge of her climax build and rush through her body in an inescapable tide. She glanced at Matthew again and saw a pleased expression on his face. Relieved and reassured by the sight, Helen gave a cry of joy and allowed her mind to fall into the abyss. She groaned and sighed in ecstasy while the juice oozed from her in a steady trickle, coating Clayton's shaft and dribbling over his swinging balls while Clayton forced his way deeper and harder into her body. Finally, crying louder, Helen rode the crest of the orgasmic wave. As Helen writhed and groaned, Clayton withdrew his length and its coating of mixed juices. François took up position with indecent, eager haste, hauling Helen with neither ceremony nor care onto her front. He then dragged her into position on all fours and then, with Helen's derriere raised, he probed at her until the tip of his penis found the place. With a groan from François and an accompanying sigh of pleasure from Helen, he finally slid into the woman's accommodating body. "Another fat cock," Helen purred, falling forward her breasts squashing into the bed. "Fuck me as hard as he did," She implored, her voice muffled as a result of her face pressing into the bed. "Fuck me like that glorious bastard just did." Another glance at Matthew, this one rather awkward, for approbation was met with a silent smirk of approval. "I'm wet and I feel the need for fucking," she added, desperate for Matthew's continued good grace. "Go on, Franky," Clayton urged. "You do the old bitch good." He took a handful of Helen's hair and lifted her level with his penis. Helen studied the shaft waggling near her face and noticed how slick and shiny it was. "Is that me on your cock?" Helen's head began to jerk in time with the thrusting, grunting François as his tight belly slapped against her buttocks."Is that my come?" "It sure is, baby; you wanna taste it? You wanna taste your cream on my cock?" Without waiting for a response Clayton forced himself between Helen's lips. The woman needed no urging and opened her mouth to accept the offering. "Damn but you're a slutty old bitch. Just lookit you licking my dick. It's been awhile since I've see'd one as nasty as you." *** Poor Clayton has no way of knowing but Helen will be his last woman. In a few more minutes, as I instructed earlier, he will masturbate and spray his life's final ejaculate against Helen's breasts. Then, later, as he leaves a pub in Whitechapel, he will be the victim of an assault that will see him stabbed and bleeding in the road while late night revellers ignore his pleas for help. An ambulance will arrive in due course, but it'll be too late for the American; his life will have leaked away onto the cold ground of London, so far from his homeland. Both men, both Clayton and François, have been sensed by others of my kind; the dull ones were alerted by my proximity. But just because my distant cousins are brainless, that doesn't make them any less dangerous, and I'm content to allow them this feed like hyenas at the Lion's kill. The one hovering near Clayton now -- and to me it's as visible as the man's ridiculous cock -- has its own plan for him; his fate is sealed, and Clayton will be kissing the cold, harsh lips of Death before tomorrow's sun dawns. François? He's revelling in his rutting; he's fucking Helen like a man possessed, which in a few moments he will be. He too will never see another day. He's fated to be electrocuted on the Piccadilly line. An unfortunate accident of course, but the demon waiting for him will relish the gawping crowd that gathers to see his smouldering corpse. It will feed well on their shock and fear. Poor François, he doesn't know it but he's leaving Helen a little gift -- a nasty, virulent dose of gonorrhoea. A little twist of my own I think Bobby will appreciate. *** "Ah... Merde... I'm going to come. I can't help..." François gripped Helen's hips and pushed into her as his filthy seed spurted deep. "I can feel you doing it," Helen wailed, not knowing that the man's semen was tainted with infection. "I can feel the stuff pissing into me... I'm coming too. I'm coming again!" François released Helen's hips and reached under her body to cup her heavy breasts in his palms. He continued to rut into the woman as he kneaded and mauled at her tits. "So sexy," he sighed, "so fucking sexy. Such big tits, they excite me. And your cunt... It is made for fucking." François eventually released Helen's breasts. The soft flesh was marked with red blotches where François had mauled at her body and there were similar signs of his grasping fingers on her hips. Helen fell forward on the bed in a panting heap while François wiped the perspiration from his brow. His penis remained semi-erect, with drops of polluted spunk dripping onto the rumpled quilt. A few minutes later both men had departed, but not before they had both played to the camera and, as per Matthew's instructions, flung a sheaf of banknotes at a now bedraggled and soiled Helen. "Thanks for the fuck," François had sneered. "Yeah, baby, you're one juicy slut with a hungry pussy," Clayton added, eyeing Helen's impressive breasts for a final time. "If'n you want some more action you come find me. I'm sure I can get a few more fellahs together and really give you a good time." The door closed and the pair walked towards their respective fates. In the room Matthew quickly organised the equipment so Helen, still naked, leaking come, and with Clayton's goo cooling and drying on her breasts, could relive the outrageous scene. "Was I good enough, Matthew? Did I please you?" Helen's expression turned downcast. "I'm sorry about..." "No matter, Helen," his tone was curt. "Don't ever challenge me again or I'll leave you." The bluff was successful: "Oh no, Matthew, please! Don't say that. I couldn't bear it if you weren't in my life." *** Helen really had no clue as to why her addiction to the destructive force of Matthew was so strong. She had no reason, for there was no rational explanation for his hold over her, to crave his presence so desperately. All Helen knew was her overwhelming desire was to have Matthew close by; his manipulative, destructive force only rarely impinged on the possessed woman's psyche, and on the infrequent occasions that a hint of Matthew's true nature slithered across her conscious thoughts he somehow sensed the danger and exerted his own peculiar brand of manipulation. Helen was a bee encased in amber; a prisoner, captive until Matthew had finally finished with her. Only then would her mind be free, but the question remained, what would that freedom bring?