If you’re looking for a Halloween shiver, then take a few minutes to read “The Sisters”, a story I posted when I started this blog back in 2011.
In this piece of gothic horror, set in Bear Creek, Missouri in 1884, Jonas Kale, a dying man, tells of what happened to him when he became a man who had “rubbed himself against his desire for so long that he has worn away everything else he might have been.”
As recent events have shown, we still have many such men today.
Let this story be a warning to all of them. May The Sisters visit them soon.
This story is for adults only.
It contains scenes of violence and sex.
© Mike Finn 2011
My name is Jonas Kale. I am forty-six years old. I was married two days ago. By dawn, the Sisters will have taken the last of my breath from me and I will be dead. Most of my strength has already been drained away. The face I see in the mirror is that of an old man, hollowed out by life.
I have determined to spend my last hours recording what has happened to me. I know it will be difficult to believe. I ask you to remember that I am a dying man with nothing to gain from lies and nothing left to lose from the truth. I do not intend to rail against my fate. I am the architect of my own demise. I hope that by exposing the Sisters for what they are I may save some other soul from their clutches
The Sisters are the maggots curled in sleep at the center of our darkest desires. They are all the things our blood calls for and that our conscience cannot accept. They live in our dreams and our heart. They are the succubi of which legend speaks and they steal our lives one willing breath at a time.
I am not a fanciful man and, until recently, I was not a particularly evil one. I am a man of business of the kind you might meet in any small town in Missouri. I came west to Bear Creek fifteen years ago to make my fortune. Those first years were hard, lawless and sometimes violent. It is perhaps an indication of my character that I thrived upon the diet of struggle and pain that was fed to me. I built a tidy business selling necessaries to farmers. I worked hard and bargained harder and I did not squander what I earned on liquor or gambling as so many around me did. I was a sober, frugal man and proud of it.
My only vice was the money I spent on whores two or three times a year when I went on business to Sedalia. I had lived my life without the comfort of a woman in my bed. On those trips to Sedalia, I allowed myself the luxury of buying the services of women who were skilled and willing and wanted nothing more from me than the coin in my pocket.
My fall toward the clutches of the Sisters began two years ago when the new railroad arrived and Kale Food and Grain began to make more money than I had ever imagined possible. I was left with time on my hands and money in my pocket and like many a man before me, I allowed myself to be pulled into sin.
My visits to Sedalia became a monthly event, yet the increased frequency did nothing to sate my appetites. Instead, I plumbed into what seemed to be a bottomless well of lust and desire. I discovered that for enough coin, there was nothing these women would not do to me, to themselves or to each other.
I was aided in my downfall by two whores: Maude and Muriel; substantial women, well into their thirties, who compensated for their expanding flesh and diminishing charms with a lubricious imagination and a complete absence of inhibition. They knew my tastes and proposed to me a form of entertainment for which I developed an insatiable craving. I would hire the youngest, freshest whore available and have Maude and Muriel bind her and use her for their pleasure and mine for a couple of days at a time. I never used the same young whore twice but Maude and Muriel became constants in my life.
By the end of a year, my whole attention was focused on the time I spent in Sedalia. Even when I was back in Bear Creek, my mind was still in Sedalia. I hugged my experiences to myself, reliving them with the same lust a miser feels when counting his gold pieces. I used my memories like a whetstone, honing the edge of my appetite for the things that Maude and Muriel provided.
It was in Sedalia that I encountered the Sisters for the first time. I had only a glimpse of them but it was enough to make it clear to me that my actions in Sedalia were going to cost me more than coin. I awoke that morning with a beam of sunlight falling across my face. Motionless beneath me lay the bound, bruised, and bloody form of the small-breasted, narrow-hipped young whore who was our current plaything. Maude and Muriel sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled and mouths slack. The morning sunlight did not flatter them and for a moment they revolted me.
As I made to get out of the bed to find the po, the young girl woke. She discovered she was still bound and struggled most prettily to release herself. Then her gaze fell upon me and I saw fear fill her eyes. My flesh instantly hardened in response. I shifted towards her, her straining flesh calling to mine, and would have taken her with the cruel vigor of the morning, except that I caught sight of myself in the mirror that was positioned to reflect our frolics. What I saw there killed my desire.
My shape in the mirror was that of a ravenous demon, bent over its prey. I did not wish to see myself this way but that is not what deterred me from entering the girl. Behind my reflection, I saw two shadowy female forms watching me with night-dark eyes. I snapped my head around, snarling, but found nothing but air. I stared into the mirror once more and found that the forms had started to solidify and were not just female but comely. They smiled at me the way a wolf smiles at a lamb. I fled from the room, dressing as I went, filled with dread that the shapes would step from the mirror fully formed and hungry. I swore never to return to Sedalia.
I kept my word to stay in Bear Creek but it no longer felt like home; solitude had turned into loneliness and celibacy had turned into enforced abstinence. I was pleased when I hit upon what I thought was the perfect solution to my problem, I would take myself a wife. The Sisters must have been smiling at my foolishness that day. It was, in the end, the decision that sealed my fate.
I chose Faith Harper to be my bride. I had watched her grow from a long-limbed girl into a blossoming woman whom I found deeply arousing. Faith had just reached marriageable age, she was strong enough to work, healthy enough to bear children and shy enough to be biddable. I was not the only man to express an interest in her, but I was the only one to whom her father owed money and so a deal was struck in which Faith was given up to my avarice by her father’s weakness.
We were married two days ago. On the wedding night, I was in a state of high arousal, fueled by the thought of Faith’s fair flesh and fanned into flames by months of unaccustomed abstinence. As soon as we were alone in the bedroom, I fell upon her like a starving man at a banquet. Her maidenhood added something new to the experience but did not long delay me. Too much time had passed since I had tasted the delights a young body has to offer. My mouth and hands could not settle upon a single place but wanted to sample everything at once. I ploughed Faith long and deep and still, it was not enough. I had been at her for an hour before I was sated enough to notice her tears.
I wish I could say that I was struck down with remorse, that I fell at her feet and asked for her forgiveness, that I held her and comforted her and taught her to be my lover, but I did not.
Faith would neither speak to me nor look at me. When I forced her face towards mine her brown eyes were wide as saucers and there seemed to be no one at all behind them.
A dark wave of anger rose up in me and I brought it crashing down upon my bride: beating her, spreading her wide and pounding against her until my seed flowed hot and deep.
Only when the last of my anger had sprayed out of me did I let myself see what I had done. My anger blossomed as bruises on Faith’s skin, my rage was written in ribbons of her blood and my lust seeped out upon the crimson-stained sheet between her thighs.
I rocked back upon my heels, trying to take in the enormity of my actions. A man may, of course, chastise his wife, but I had treated my new bride like a whore on her wedding night, leaving her torn, bleeding and broken. If I were discovered I would become a pariah. That, of course, was not the worst. The worst was that I had enjoyed it. That I had needed it. That I knew that I would do it again. I had become a monster.
I cast back my head, opened my throat and howled.
No sound came. A hand, delicate but strong was across my mouth. An arm slid across my belly, pulling me backwards until I was leaning against the cool softness of a naked woman. I struggled to turn my head but was prevented by a second naked woman, sleek and glorious, who appeared before me out of a dark mist. She grabbed me by the hair and turned my head towards Faith.
“Look at what you have done, Jonas and understand what you are.”
Her voice was like an icicle pushing into my brain. I saw not just my broken Faith but all the young whores I had used, all the damage that I had done, all the pain that I had caused and then all of it coursed into me like lava flowing through my veins. I arched my back and struggled with all my might but I could not free myself.
The woman in front of me watched with a soft smile on her face. She traced her finger down my chest and my agony ceased.
“I am Meridiana. My sister, Naamah holds you in her tender caress. We are the succubi you have summoned.”
“I did not sum…”
Meridiana placed her finger on my lips and I found I could no longer speak.
“Do you need to be reminded of how you summoned us, Jonas?”
I shook my head, fearing a return to agony.
“Prepare him, sister,” Meridiana said, “while I see what may be done for our sister, Faith.”
I gave no thought to how I was to be prepared or what I was being prepared for. My mind snagged on the title Meridiana had given to Faith.
“Is Faith also a succubus?” I asked, filled with fear.
“All women are our sisters, Jonas,” Naamah said, her voice as soft as velvet. She clamped one hand around my throat, keeping my gaze on Faith, and stroked her other hand down my belly.
“If all women were succubi…” she said, wrapping her long fingers around my soft sex and making it immediately erect. “…men like you would be extinct.”
Meridiana was running her hands over every inch of Faith’s body, caressing her softly. Faith did not wake but she murmured wordless happiness like a babe in its crib. I found the sight deeply arousing.
“Even now he lusts, sister,” Naamah said, working her fingers slowly along my shaft.
“It is all he has left.” Meridiana replied. “he has rubbed himself against his desire for so long that he has worn away everything else he might have been.”
She stalked across the bed towards me on her hands and knees with all the ferocity of a puma and still, my arousal did not slacken. Meridiana mounted me as casually as I might climb into a saddle. Her sex held mine like a fist. I was filled with dread yet I could not help but sigh with pleasure.
“Faith bleeds inside,” she said, pressing harder at the point of our union. “She will die and the spark of life you have just planted in her will also be snuffed out.”
Naamah snarled and raked her nails down my back, rending my flesh.
I cried, not from the pain, not from regret for Faith but for what I knew must be the consequence; I would be hanged for this.
Meridiana licked away my tears and said, “Yes, Jonas. You are going to die.” She kissed me softly on the cheek. “We can make your death useful and pleasurable.”
Her sex pulsed around mine and pure joy shot up my spine.
“Give us your life’s breath, Jonas tonight and tomorrow night and we will use it to heal Faith. Do you agree to our bargain, Jonas.”
I am still not certain whether I agreed to save Faith or to redeem myself or simply to experience more of the joy the Sisters had to offer. Nevertheless, I gave my consent.
As soon as I agreed, Meridiana began to transform. Her mouth widened, her tongue lengthened and huge flesh covered wings sprang from her shoulders. Her sister moved backwards, lowering me onto the bed.
Meridiana rode me fiercely, It was a joy beyond all measure. At the point of climax, Meridiana rose off me, clamping her mouth over mine, and forced her long tongue into my throat. As my seed sprayed impotently across my belly, Meridiana began to suck the breath from my lungs.There was pain, excruciating, endless pain as if I were being separated from my limbs slowly on a rack.
Then it stopped.
I had time to turn my head and see Meridiana lie over Faith, kiss her gently and expel my breath into her lungs before Naamah mounted me.
By the magic of the Sisters, I was already painfully hard again. Naamah was slower than her sister, using her obscene wings to control her rise and fall on me, keeping an even rhythm that held me constantly on the edge of release. With each rise, she pushed one of her talons into my skin. With each fall she sliced a shallow channel into my chest. The pain was exquisite. When I reached the point of climax, Naamah dismounted and clamped her mouth over mine. While she sucked out my breath, she worked my sex with her hand, once more spraying my belly but this time rubbing my seed into the shallow cuts she had made.
While Naamah caressed Faith and breathed my life into her, Meridiana, squatted on my chest, wings extended, the talons on her feet anchored in my skin.
“Do not leave this room, Jonas. Do not touch Faith. We will return tomorrow at dusk, to finish giving your sorry life to Faith.”
As the sun rose the Sisters vanished. I fell into an exhausted sleep, not rising until the afternoon.
Faith was still not conscious but her skin was flush with health. I, on the other hand, had grown old and weary. I set about writing my last will and testament, leaving all that I have to Faith and her child. Then I commenced this document.
It will be dusk soon and the Sisters shall return. Already my flesh craves them and my flesh has always proved stronger than my spirit.
I swear on my eternal life that the above statement is true