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From: Steven Bockman <S_Bockman@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Satan's Sex Slave Ch. 3 {2/6} (mast, MMf, anal, yng, nc, inc, ff)
Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2000 05:10:04 -0400
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WARNING: Explicit sexual material below; do not read
if it's illegal for you to view adult content where
you live. The following is a work of fiction; any
similarities between actual persons and/or events is
entirely coincidental. And finally, the author does
not condone the acts portrayed in this story. As a
work of fantasy, it may be interesting to read, but if
he were to find it in a newspaper he would be sickened
and appalled.
**
Author's Note: Full permission is granted for this
story to be distributed, as long as the text is
unmodified, the above warning remains, and my e-mail
address (S_Bockman@Hotmail.com) appears somewhere in
the document.
**
visit my site at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/The_Lazy_Cup/www
for more stories!
**
Satan's Sex Slave
the third tale from the lazy cup
by S. Bockman
Chapter Three: Daddy's Dick (Part 2/6)
(masturbation, MMf, ff, anal, incest, non-consensual)
It was two o' clock before Franklin was standing
in front of Steve's door. It'd taken him awhile to
track the guy down, just as he'd thought it would.
About a year ago his whole family had died in a
strange series of events-his father had apparently
murdered his mother, his sister had killed the father,
then that same sister had taken her own life.
Franklin had known Karen Feebs pretty well. They
weren't close outside of school, but in his freshman
year they had shared an English class. He liked her, a
lot in fact, but not in a romantic way. There had
always been something about her that made him nervous,
so he'd kept a distance. When she killed herself, he
grieved even more than most of her close friends,
except Wendy, because he blamed himself partly for her
death.
He didn't know Steve that well, except that he'd
been "in" with the Goth crowd for a while before
becoming more mainstream. They'd shared a P.E. class
together when Franklin was a sophomore and Steve was a
senior-the guy had kicked his ass several times on the
wrestling mat. The fact they got along at all was due
to the fact that Franklin never held grudges, and
Steve had admired that.
He knocked on the apartment door marked J11, and
waited. There was a rustling sound from within, then
silence. Franklin stood patiently. He glanced down the
hall to his left and right, marveling at the absolute
dire condition it was in-stained carpeting where there
was any, cracked walls, dripping ceiling.
This place should be condemned, he thought.
The door opened. A man about two inches taller
than Franklin but incredibly lank of frame stood
there. He looked like a walking skeleton. His skin was
shrunken back like he hadn't eaten well in months, and
his hair was long and frayed. Franklin's eyes went
wide involuntarily at the image. It was Steve, all
right, but not the Steve he remembered.
"Yeah?" Steve asked shortly. There was alcohol on
his breath.
Franklin swallowed slowly, trying to think of
something to say. "Steve... do you remember me?" It's
all he could think of.
The skeletal looking man squinted his eyes and
looked the stranger up and down. He shrugged slightly.
"Franklin... I'm Franklin Rodsberry, from
Churchill. We had a gym class together..."
Steve stared blankly for a moment, then the
corners of his lips curled up and he snorted. He took
another, more casual look, then chuckled out loud.
"Yeah, yeah man," he said, sniffing. "I remember you.
I used to kick your ass in wrestling."
Franklin smiled slightly. "That's right. Can I
talk to you for a moment?"
Steve didn't respond, but turned back into his
apartment. Franklin took that as an invitation, so he
followed him in.
The place was a shit-hole, Franklin thought. Only
one piece of furnishing, a ratty black couch,
decorated the main room. Against the opposite wall sat
a small twelve-inch TV with a surprisingly nice VCR
set up next to it. The floor was littered with dirty
clothes, old newspapers and magazines, and all other
kinds of trash. There was a stench in the air that
made Franklin's stomach do a somersault.
"So whatta ya want?" Steve asked, plopping down
on the couch.
Steve tried to find a clean place to stand
without looking obvious about it. When he couldn't, he
replied, "I wanted to talk to you about Joe and
Craig."
"They burned up," Steve answered quietly. After a
short pause he smiled. "This place is a real shit-
hole, isn't it?"
"It could definitely use some cleaning," Franklin
responded.
Steve clapped his hands together and whooped.
"That's what I remember about you! Your gift for
understating the obvious. Good shit, good shit! Aw... so
man, you got a smoke?"
Without batting an eyelash Franklin tossed him an
unopened pack. "Take 'em," he said.
Steve stared at them, then glowered at Franklin.
"I don't need charity," he spat.
"It's not charity. I'm buying something."
Steve raised a withered eyebrow. "Yeah? What're
you buying?"
Franklin paused, taking a moment to light a smoke
of his own and gather his thoughts. "I need to know
about them. Stuff I don't know already."
Steve nodded, slowly, then began packing the new
pack of Marlboro's. "Okay man, yeah. Alright. I used
to hang with them back in my Goth days, but only for a
while. They weren't as hard-core back then as they
were before they died, you know? But they talked shit,
that's for sure."
"What do you mean they talked shit?"
He ignored Franklin as he rummaged through his
sofa for a lighter. Finding one he lit up a smoke,
leaned back, and rubbed his forehead. "That's good...
fucking A. Been too long since I had one of these."
Franklin let him enjoy his smoke for a minute. Finally
he continued. "Yeah man, especially Joe. I mean, both
of them were fuck ups and all, but Joe really stole
the show. Craig was more of his lackey than anything
else."
Franklin waited patiently while Steve remembered.
"Yeah, Joe. I remember one time he got into all this
Satanic Bible shit, you know? The rituals and spells
and all that. Hell, I read 'em too, but I knew they
were bullshit! That's partly why I stopped being like
them, right?"
Franklin nodded.
"Yeah," Steve continued, staring blankly at the
floor. "Joe was one demented motherfucker. He used to
talk about sacrificing animals and shit. I remember
one time he got me to be in some old spell he found in
some fucking book he got at Barnes and Noble." He
smiled. "Barnes and fucking Noble. Can you believe he
thought that shit would work?"
"What was the ritual?" Franklin asked.
Steve shrugged. "I can't even remember now, my
man. But I remember what it was supposed to do." He
locked eyes with Franklin and smiled. "This little
hotty in his third hour was supposed to suck him off
everyday from it. Heh." He glanced away, eyes staring
blankly. "Didn't work, though."
"Strange thing to have a ritual for," Franklin
remarked.
Steve shot him a look. "Not if you knew Joe, it
wasn't. That guy didn't give a shit about money, or
power, or good grades or any of that shit. He wanted
sex eight days a week. He was the horniest guy I
knew." He paused. "Ironic."
"How so?"
He didn't respond for a long moment. He seemed to
be remembering things again, bad things. He was even
beginning to look a little upset, but he shook it off.
"You know, I should've gotten a shit load of cash when
my dad died. He had life insurance, and plenty of it."
"What happened?" Franklin asked.
"Fucking cops," Steve glowered. "Froze my assets.
'Ongoing investigation', they told me. About his
death, and Karen's..." At her name he stopped.
"That's fucked up. That shit all happened a long
time ago," Franklin said, trying to empathize with
him.
"What do you know about fucked up?" Steve
snarled. "You come in here concerned about those
fucking losers? Shit. You ever stop and notice that
fucked up shit happens in this town every day?"
"I've noticed some things," Franklin nodded.
"Take your fucking blindfold off, man," Steve
jibed. "It's all around you. Everyday, everywhere. And
it affects people you'd never think."
"Like your sister?"
Steve paused. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and he
jumped up. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled. "What
business is that of yours? Why would you even give a
shit?"
Franklin didn't budge, although Steve was now
standing toe-to-toe with him. "I guess 'cause my
blindfold's coming off, man."
They stared at each other for a long moment, then
Steve turned away. He started pacing. "No man, you
don't know the first of it. Not about Karen, not about
Joe, not about any of them."
"Then tell me!" Franklin demanded. "How the fuck
can I know what I don't know?"
Steve stopped. "Remember Wendy?"
Franklin nodded, perplexed. "Yeah, so?"
"She still in the hospital?"
"Last I heard she was in Lane's Grove," Franklin
replied.
"Yeah," Steve nodded frantically. "And why did
they send a rape victim to the nut-house straight
after intensive care? Huh?"
Franklin shrugged. "Fuck, I don't know. She had
problems, from what I heard. Threatened to kill
herself."
Steve smirked. "Yeah, I'm sure she did. She was
obsessed with my sister. But that's not the point. She
got locked up because her brain got fried."
"Fried? How?"
"From a drug," Steve said slowly. "One that even
you've never heard of. Yeah, I know all about your
little wanna-be drug empire, Frankie! Don't give me
that look."
"What drug?" Franklin persisted.
Steve shook his head. "Now that's the question,
isn't it?"
Franklin paused. Thoughts were racing through his
head. "Jodie," he said slowly.
"Huh?"
He looked at him. "Jodie... you don't know her.
She's changed."
"How so?" Steve asked knowingly.
"A lot... like overnight. And now her best friend
tells me Joe had a thing for her."
"Maybe she's just upset," Steve said, grinning.
He seemed to be playing with him.
"No, it's not that," Franklin dismissed quickly.
"No... it was like... not sad, but happy! Upbeat, and
outgoing... she even dresses different. She used to be a
stick-in-the-mud."
Steve smiled, and nodded. "Then she got it."
"The drug?"
He continued nodding.
"What is this drug?"
Steve didn't respond.
"Come on, tell me!" he demanded.
"No," Steve said. "I'll show you. Hang on a
second." He ran through the main room then, and opened
a door to what appeared to be his bedroom.
A moment later he returned with a notebook.
"Here," he said.
"What's this?"
"Karen's note..." he said slowly. He locked eyes
with him. "Her suicide note."
Franklin nodded. He watched as Steve turned and
sat on the couch, and realized that was his cue to
leave.
Just when he got to the door, however, Steve
yelled to him, "Hey Frank!"
"Yeah?"
"Don't... don't think too low of me after you read
that, alright?"
Franklin stared at him intently. "I don't judge
people."
"I know man," Steve murmured. "That's why I trust
you with it."
And with that, Franklin left.
**
Jodie sat in front of her mirror staring at the
reflection. She was looking good.
Damn good, she thought.
And yet she wasn't smiling. Something was wrong,
but she couldn't figure out what.
"Are you in there?" she whispered, reaching out
an extended finger towards the mirror.
She stopped. "Fuck!" she exclaimed, snapping out
of the fogginess. She got up and began pacing.
She was naked because she still hadn't decided
what to wear. She'd be going to the drug-dealer's
house later that day to see if she could score some
weed and maybe even some acid so she could start
making money. But something was bothering her.
Not her sister. She'd been acting weird after
church but that could be taken care of. It was her
father. He was a loose-end she was going to have to
tie up eventually... preferably soon. But what to do
with him?
She had some new powers of persuasion, so perhaps
she could slowly bend him to her will... but that would
take too much time, and her powers weren't that
practiced yet.
Mental note, she thought, I need to take care of
that.
Besides, the guy was pretty religious. He wasn't
just one of those people who went to Church every
Sunday because he feared dying, but he actually
believed the Church's teachings. He was a good man,
pious, righteous.
"Fuck," she exclaimed again.
Then an idea occurred to her, and she stopped.
There was something where all men, even the righteous,
were weak...
"Could it work?" she asked herself out loud,
looking again at her naked body in the mirror. She
began smiling. Dante trotted over to her and stared up
with a questioning look.
"It's all right, boy," she soothed, "I know what
to do."
**
Ellen Samson was sitting in her living room
wearing nothing but a long damp T-shirt. She had just
showered and was feeling more relaxed, but the
stresses of the last few days still weighed heavily on
her shoulders. Ever since the Test, as Father Rickle
called it, began Ellen had been busy. He had put
her in charge of studying the new Witch, to discover
all she could about her powers and how they might be
used to further the Church's own ends.
It was an honor to be given so much
responsibility by her patron; it showed how much faith
he had in her. But at the same time she didn't feel
ready for the task at hand. Her powers were still
unpracticed and undisciplined, and she didn't trust
herself to carry out the assignment as well as it
should be.
That's why she was relaxing this Sunday
afternoon. She'd found in the last few months that
allowing her mind to rest a while sometimes meant all
the difference between success and failure.
And Ellen Samson hated failure.
The doorbell rang, distracting her from the
television program she was watching. Her mother was
gone for the weekend with her new boyfriend, Charles,
and her brother was at a Church Camp sponsored by
Father Rickle-it was part of his training. And so
Ellen was alone, but she wasn't worried, and she
didn't feel the least bit self-conscious about walking
to the door wearing only a wet tee.
"Good morning, Father," she greeted her patron,
who stood outside the door. She couldn't remember ever
seeing her teacher outside the confines of dusty old
St. Beckett's before, and certainly never during
daylight hours. She held the door open as the old
priest invited himself in.
"We have work," Father Rickle said in his raspy
voice. He walked into the kitchen, a small out-of-
style one in the older home, and took a seat at the
table.
Ellen followed. "What's going on?"
Father Rickle stared at her intently. "Your
subject came to confession today."
"Oh?"
He nodded. "She had some... interesting things to
discuss."
"I'm sure she did," Ellen said lazily, taking a
seat across from the old man. "It's all in my report."
"Is it, now?" Father Rickle said, raising one
bushy eye-brow. "There's more going on than her
attempts to corrupt her family and friends."
"How so?" Ellen asked, lighting a cigarette.
Father Rickle sighed. "Suffice to say she's
making mistakes. She's new to this power and hasn't
learned the proper... respect for it. She moves too
quickly.
"She'll draw people to us."
Ellen froze. "That's not possible," she said in
disbelief.
The priest shook his head. "It happens even now.
Indirectly, anyway, I can feel someone or... well, it
doesn't matter. The point is she's being careless. She
could ruin everything."
Ellen considered for a moment. After thinking
carefully she said, "Then we should... take care of
her?"
The priest nodded.
"And," Ellen continued slowly, "use her first... to
handle this problem you speak of?"
He smiled. "My most cherished student," he said,
standing. "My thoughts exactly."
"What do you want me to do?"
The priest made his way towards the door to
leave. "Watch her, watch her... this will be your final
exam. If you deal with it correctly, you'll pass."
"And if I don't?"
The priest snorted. "Well, then, I guess you'll
fail."
Ellen thought about that for a few minutes after
he'd left. She eventually came to one conclusion.
That she had just been warned.
**
End of Chapter Three part 2 (of 6)
**
For the rest of this story please visit my web-site at:
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/The_Lazy_Cup/www/
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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