“Who says I don’t have remorse?” Cora said, indignation causing her to cross her arms.
“You once were a creature of great compassion. The lonely puppy syndrome. You had it bad always trying to help people, to fix people. But choice after choice resulted in always missing the mark. You’re growing bitter and hateful and consumed with lust for power…of any kind. And that will serve you well in the business world on earth.”
“I still care, about people…” she said. She stopped herself. Did she care? Where were the people? Who were the people? She had been alone so long that sometimes she didn’t think there were other people at all, just robots all over the world performing the bidding of a select few madmen. Did she care one iota about Hazel? Or Ed?
Was she one of the madmen now?
The queens watched and waited. The demon continued with his fawning over the queens.
“I remember the first queen I brought here, to this special place.” He wrapped his arm around a tall thin woman with a hard face, scars lining every inch of her body, piercings and tattoos telling tales from her earthly life. “I remember the last. I remember all of the in-betweens, even the ones who no longer view this level of hell as their home.”
“And what of us?” asked the oldest queen, warily eyeing Cora.
“You are welcomed. We all welcome you. We enjoy the special part of hell you’ve created here. I have now found a leader to rule all of you here in the underworld. You’ve created the perfect place where no one can bother you as you create spells, and do better mischief than torturing you for eternity would.” Demon looked at Cora. “No one knows how to get here unless they have the secrets. No one even knows this exists. It’s just a rumour, a whisper once uttered and forgotten. Now this can be a portal where Cora can whisk between worlds, luring in the new souls, the new hungry leaders, the new damned.” Demon looked at the queens who all seemed hesitant yet relieved.
“Hail Cora, queen of the underworld,” one of them cried out. Others took up the call and they chanted, bowing before her one by one.
Chants became singing as the queens whirled by her in a maze. The snakes writhed in celebration. Demon threaded through the dancers, and kissed woman after woman, queen after queen, drummer after drummer, who in turn kissed each other lustily. Demon wove his way through everyone again, observing as they fell into more lusty kissing, laughing, greeting, as if he were hosting a dinner party.
The drummers continued to drum and chant, moaning melodic seductions as bodies folded into bodies, hands on breasts, cocks in pussies. They all rolled together, lips pressed against lips, the demon inside of Cora, around her skin melting metals, melting bodies, liquefying, the circle they danced in now their cauldron. As her body melted into the others, her mind flew through the portals of hell, saw the sights, the mysteries, the pyramids and Stonehenge. She saw everything about man, the good and the evil. She understood it all. She absorbed it all. The human rituals, morals and philosophies, the triggers for greed and addiction, the ache for love and companionship. Each portal of hell revealed a new truth, the lust for power that cripples nations, the indifference to suffering in the quest for earthly delights. All beginning with that simple golden glow. The copper, the steel and the gold that sparked the exchange of human souls. So pretty, the golden coppery swirls of energy she became as her body cooked with the others in the giant cauldron now containing them on the stage. The cauldron tipped and the melted metal poured out, covering the stage and dripping down among the snakes who slithered back from the running river of essences steaming along the floor.
Cora sat on her private jet, surveying her team in the seats around her. Her seven underlings were clean cut and powerful, dressed to the nines, hired to do her bidding. It was all falling into place as Demon had promised. After only a few short months, and the odd disappearances of the president, Henry Thomas and Hazel, she was quickly promoted. She was now vice president and she couldn’t be happier. It had been assumed that the president, Henry and Hazel had stolen a few million and fled to a tropical paradise to live their lives. Many people knew they were involved in sex parties, so it wasn’t a huge scandal to the inside track.
Whatever people thought, there was no connection between her and any of them, except as a devoted employee. She clicked on her laptop, sneaking peeks at the young lady across from her. Candace Flowers was new and didn’t fit in with the others. She was fresh faced and had a squeaky clean record along with a squeaky clean white pantsuit where Cora could see her hard little nipples and the strap of her G-string. Candace was a hot little number. Eager to learn. Pliable. She also had secrets. Dark secrets.
Candace slid across to leave her seat and as she stood, Cora took a moment to admire her firm, round ass. Cora crossed her legs—the curse of bargains could be intrusive. Something fell to the floor from one of the seats. Candace turned to look at it. Cora looked too. It was a penny. Cora scratched her arms, her pussy throbbing in anticipation. Candace stared at the coin for a minute, hesitated and then picked it up. Cora nearly swooned as Candace’s tightly wrapped white-clad round ass cheeks were nearly in her face, the cute little G-string creating a small line. Cora imagined her tongue licking that ass. Then smacking that ass, leaving red handprints beneath the thick white layer of her pantsuit. Candace saw Cora watching her and sheepishly grinned as Candace held up the penny.
“I figure if we’re on a plane, we need all the luck we can get.” Candace smiled in that making-small-talk way that executives used on long trips.
Cora smiled as if she were just noticing the lovely woman and her actions. Candace tucked the penny into her pocket, her fingers disappearing into a fold of her trousers and then slipping out again. Cora wiped her lips, horrified that a drop of drool might have leaked out.
“A penny saved is a penny earned, especially on a business trip, don’t you think?” Candace asked.
Cora nodded, basking in Candace’s youthful beauty, the clear unblemished skin, the white perfect teeth, the enthusiasm that was so necessary in both business and pleasure. Cora crossed her legs again, nearly making herself come in her seat, right under Candace’s gaze.
“I think it’s good luck,” Candace said as she watched Cora shifting the laptop around on her lap.
“It is,” Cora agreed. “It is.” Cora snapped shut her laptop and pulled out her headphones. Candace made her way to the restroom and Cora pretended not to be studying her tight little body as it navigated the turbulence on the tiny aircraft.
Cora pulled the headphones over her ears, just as the attendant brought her a second glass of absinthe. Cora sipped it, remembering sweeter times such as the goth days, and she understood for a moment how Henry had been sidetracked from his mission when he discovered her and their shared passions. She wondered if he too suffered from eternal horniness as she had ever since she gave Hazel’s soul to the demon. If he had, then she could understand why he kept Cora alive so long instead of sacrificing her as planned. Cora was beginning to wonder if she would be able to sacrifice the round tits and sparkling eyes of Candace when it was time. She turned on her personal TV and clicked until she found Gilligan’s Island.
Candace returned from the restroom and Cora looked up at her, trying not to stare at the cleavage that was suddenly in her face.
“What are you watching?” Candace asked.
“Gilligan’s Island,” Cora said.
“That’s such an old show. I tried to watch it a few times, my mom watches it, but I don’t think it’s funny at all.”
“There’s a certain nostalgia for some of us older people,” Cora said.
“I don’t know,” Candace said as she stood up. She brushed a piece of her blond hair from her face. The gentle wave of her finger made Cora wonder how it would feel up inside Cora’s own pussy.
“What is it? ’Cause it’s so old?”
“No, I think that it’s not funny at all. I think that it�
�s hell. Trapped on that island everyone is an idiot. They keep trying to get off but it never ends.”
“’Til it got cancelled.”
“You’re watching it right now. Gilligan’s Island is eternal. It’s hell,” Candace said firmly. She looked at Cora’s face, as if she knew she was pushing a bit too far.
“You aren’t afraid to have an opinion, are you, young Candace?” Cora said.
“No. And I sure hope it’s not going to get me fired. It’s just a TV show and obviously you enjoy it.”
“You have a point, though, Candace. Maybe part of the appeal to me is as you said, Gilligan’s island is hell but none of them know that. But still, there are funny moments.”
Candace’s thighs were nearly in Cora’s face as she turned around, brushing her face with her gorgeous tight ass, to return to her seat. Her cherubic expression was sullied as it pursed in thought, no doubt turning over in her mind if speaking up to the boss had been the right thing to do. Candace fiddled with her own TV until she settled on a soft rock music channel. She didn’t look over at Cora as Cora continued to stare at her. Pouty lips, a dimple in her chin, a long neck leading to the cleavage just hidden behind the tuck of her white shirt, and one stray button undone. The way she curled her hair around her pen at meetings, before piping up with an idea that floored the team. The way Candace’s quick mind could calculate the amount of product needed for any event.
Cora imagined that mind, that force, that enthusiasm, that same tongue of wisdom licking her aching pussy. That same tongue that dared to negatively share observations about her beloved Gilligan’s Island. Cora sighed. It was just a TV show, but Candace had disagreed with the boss.
Candace would need to be punished.
About the Author
Sèphera lives in Toronto near her sons. She is the author of over twenty books in various genres and under various names but her first love is horror. When Sèphera isn’t writing, she dabbles in acting and can be seen in Gregory Lamberson’s Slime City Massacre and Killer Rack.
Sèphera is also a tarot reader and often goes by Mistress Ariana, Mistress Scariana and even Madame Something. She gives free (almost) monthly astrology advice on her YouTube channel for all the signs.
Follow Sèphera on social media:
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Look for these titles by Sèphera Girón
Now Available:
Captured Souls
Flesh Failure
Experiments in Terror
Can science create the perfect lover? Or only a living hell?
Captured Souls
© 2014 Sèphera Girón
Dr. Miriam Frederick is a brilliant professor at a large university. But her latest experiments are decidedly unsanctioned and far more chilling than anyone could imagine. She is determined to answer questions that have plagued mankind for millennia. What is love? What is lust?
Her first specimen is an author with a gift for language. Specimen Two is an athlete with amazing endurance. Specimen Three provides physical beauty. But once she has trapped her subjects, her twisted attempt to create the perfect lover will have unexpected—and nightmarish—results, not just for her captives, but for her as well.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Captured Souls:
Notes and Journals of Dr. Miriam Frederick re: Experiment 698
Journal
In examining the human experience, one realizes that perfection appears in many forms for many people. What is perfection for one may not be perfection for another.
Beauty. Brains. Brawn.
Honesty. Loyalty. Intelligence.
Flawless flesh. Physical symmetry. Sexual stamina.
Quick wit. Compassion. Lust.
What are the qualities that define perfection?
Perspective?
In the end, if there were a type of mate one could have, one could choose, perhaps create, that human being would likely encompass enhanced qualities of intelligence, beauty and physical stamina.
Almost any human has a wish list and I think we all have the same one. How we view the potential candidates on our wish lists is somewhat subjective, although intelligence and stamina are measurable. Physical beauty or handsomeness is a more subjective commodity.
Is it even possible to find one human being with enhanced qualities of intelligence, beauty and stamina?
What lengths would I go through to find such a mate?
Would it ever be possible to create one mate out of three or more? Or would it be more preferable to have a polygamous arrangement to satisfy each facet of desire as it arises?
What would I provide in return? After all, there needs to be an exchange to keep the universal laws of equilibrium in balance.
My undying love and loyalty, a home, financial stability and endless nights of ecstasy would be part of their own personal paradise. I think it could be an equal trade if I find the right specimens.
My journals and observations will record the emotional and physical progress of my latest experiments.
This journal will contain my more subjective observations. There is another book filled with my detailed calculations, charts and formulas. The two books remain separate in case of damage or theft.
So my new quest begins.
Experiment Number 698
Specimen 1
When I first spied him across the room, I suspected he would indeed be a worthy candidate for experiment number 698. It was indicated by a punch in my solar plexus. The visuals were perfection, no question. Until I met him, exchanged verbiage with him and interacted with him, I couldn’t quite be certain if he would be as intelligent as I anticipated. There he stood, long and lanky, in the doorframe that connected the party room to the hallway, his shoulders slightly slouched as he drew on a cigarette, blue eyes staring directly at me.
He watched me, hypnotic, glittering eyes observing my every movement. Calculating. Predatory. The idea of it amused me. His youth was intoxicating. The fact that anyone dared to smoke inside at a party anymore was also an indication that this rebel with a pen could be just what the doctor ordered.
The chattering noises and laughter of our mutual academic friends drinking around us faded from my consciousness as I saw only him.
Lion to prey. Tony to Maria. Dr. Frank-N-Furter to his Rocky. Dr. Miriam Frederick to Author Scott Gravenhurst.
I walked towards the honored guest, prim in my three-piece, grey skirt suit and sky-high stilettos, a predatory slink in my gait. He kept his stance in the doorframe as I stepped past him, lightly brushing his chest with my elbow on the way through to the patio.
Summer air was warm on my face. A light breeze rippled through the mature trees that lined the gardens of the faculty building.
He followed me.
“Dr. Miriam Frederick,” I said as I held out my hand to him. He took it and instead of shaking it, he lightly brushed his lips to it.
“Charmed,” he said and released my hand. “Scott Gravenhurst.”
“Ah, yes. Our visiting guest,” I said, pretending to stare around for someone more important. I waved towards a nobody and turned my attention back towards Specimen 1.
“Yes, I’m here for a few days,” he said. His gaze traveled from my carefully slicked-back bobbed hair, my full red lips and then down my sleek figure.
When his attention returned to my eyes, he stammered. Very slightly. My green contacts were working their ethereal magic.
“Mmm…Ms. Frederick,” he said.
I licked my lips, breathing in the sweetness of the nervous sweat underneath his Jimmy Dean persona.
“Yes, Scott,” I smiled, coyly.
“Isn’t the m
oonlight lovely tonight?” he led me out farther onto the patio.
“Toronto is beautiful this time of year,” I told him. “We have the most beautiful summers. Can you hear the leaves whisper?”
“Yes, they’re telling me that there are many secrets to be shared.”
He smoked his cigarette as we both stared at the stars and the moon. The murmurs of people farther in the gardens mingled with the light classical soundtrack that filled the ancient halls of the old faculty building.
He began to recite a poem. I joined in and we laughed together.
After several poems, we stopped and the distant murmuring and tinkling of glasses became backdrop ambiance once more.
“I guess another drink is in order,” he said, noting my empty glass.
“Most definitely,” I said and slipped my hand through his as we navigated through the clumps of people. I was as tall as he was, my shoes were so high. The view of people giving me darting glances was easier to see elevated above most.
There were a few raised eyebrows aimed in my direction but I didn’t mind. My nights with various colleagues left different imprints, even years later. I stopped mingling with my cohorts long ago as it became apparent that some people can’t split their alliances to the different compartments of their lives. Complications and emotional drama only waste time that can be better focused on making progress in one’s field.
Even wives can’t seem to forgive me, even though I never wanted their spineless wonders for more than a few hours. But my importance to the university is incalculable, so the disenchanted put up with my idiosyncrasies. If not for me and most of the people in this room, there wouldn’t be grant money for parties, studies, renovations and home laboratories. Behavior Systematic Neurological Studies is in big demand in these times of psychopaths and terrorists. So we all keep our secrets and each other’s.
A Penny Saved Page 11