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91
complete stories! |
The Curse of MacMahoon Manor
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Scotland, 1924 Another wedding day. The bridesmaids are in the next room, the groom preparing down the hall. I crash the blinds shut, take the light from the room, cool the air, steal her voice. She is startled, frightened. Her naked body trembles. She drops her dainty underthings before she's had a chance to put them on. Her lips are luscious, her breasts young and firm. She is ripe for my eternal revenge. I push her to the ancient bed—my bed. I reach for her heat as she tries to right herself. At my touch, her senses cross the veil: confusion and fear, shivers and goosebumps. Looking back at my shade, alarm, helplessness, horror play across her lovely features. Her muscles strain against my unearthly grip. Her scream is silent to the living, but I hear the music as I push in, opening her for the first time. I stab thru the barriers of life and death. Her vitality suffuses me as I take her. I taste the tears on her cheeks and whisper into her delicate ear. "Take my seed, lass. It will avenge me." Thrust by thrust, I force the curse into her mind as I force my essence further into her body. Her terror already crosses the realms, but her blood runs as cold as mine as the truth of it takes hold in her. She tries to escape, but this moment was inevitable from the hour that she entered the MacMahoon lands as one betrothed. But her virgin virtue is rudely stolen now, and I control her. As my cursed seed courses from my realm to hers, she gasps, astonished at the rough pleasure. Her girlish breasts shake, her womanly sex quivers. She shuts her eyes and whimpers. She is bound to conceive, to bear, and to keep silent. She will keep it from her husband, raise my changling as his, and help me in my quest. Our child's fate is sealed. May he succeed where eight generations have failed. |
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