Animal Spirits

It took a moment for it all to sink in for Jennifer. So much for this trip to London England now it was a write-off. Her boyfriend Simon hadn't wanted to see The Tower of London so she'd done the tour alone and then come back to find him with another woman in their hotel room. She was going to show him she wouldn't take this lying down. No sir. He was history and she'd sent him packing back to America where he belonged and she, she was going to really show him what it was like for someone else to have her. He'd begged her forgiveness but not a chance. She was in the driver's seat now. Bastard. However, now There was something more: it wasn't simply that Simon was gone; things were worse.

The bank back in America had stopped all her cards as a "precaution" because the last cash machine she'd used to withdraw a few pounds was "suspect" according to the annoying customer service rep on the phone. The manager too was no help. Jennifer was frustrated about the money and angry that her cell phone bill would be massive when she got home now that she'd spent three fruitless hours trying to sort this out on the 24 hour help line. There was no one back home to call—she was in her late 20's and single. Her father had left her mother years before and her mom could barely make ends meet. She couldn't think of a single friend to call in this crisis.

What a cold reality. The summer rain had stopped on Oxford Street a few blocks from Picadilly Circus as Jennifer made her way past the high street shops wondering what to do next. She'd been staying in a small hotel near the British Museum just outside Soho and would have to pay for the week's stay the next morning. With no credit, how would she do it? Earlier she'd thought the hotel would understand her predicament, but the desk agent and the manager both told her if her credit card was no longer good she had to come up with another form of payment before leaving and not after. Surely there was an easy way out of this. She couldn't think of anyone back home to call and besides, it was the middle of the night there.

After waiting at a traffic light she took a step onto the street only to jump back after being reminded by the words "look left" on the pavement. It was a good thing because a taxi flew by the next moment, almost brushing her honey blonde hair. That was the last straw. She had to sit somewhere and think, somewhere to find both the money and a man. That shouldn't be too hard should it? Jennifer turned right up a small street and walked into Soho past neon signs that weren't yet lit and found a pub where she sat down heavily on a bar stool and cursed the world. It took a while for her to remember she was usually an instant magnet in bars back home. The hair drew men in and her legs, delicious ass, curvy breasts and symmetrical face with blue grey eyes held them. Not that Jennifer minded in most circumstances. She had been sexually active for some time and selective. She'd given herself to Simon for over a year now, but she remembered before that when at times she liked to size up how a man was hung after judging his confidence level and maturity. Sometimes she had gone to bed to dominate; sometimes she had gone to bed to yield to a man who knew his way around a woman's body; sometimes she simply teased and didn't go to bed at all. This evening she was decidedly in the mood for revenge.

The barmaid in the oak paneled pub seemed pleasant enough while Jennifer ordered a rum and coke along with fish and chips. It was a meal she wouldn't dream of ordering at home, but, well when in Rome. Besides, she had a secret love of tartar sauce with its tangy thick whiteness. It reminded her that she liked to swallow, something men apparently loved. She could see their eyes closed in ecstasy, their bodies reduced to putty. Her tongue watered with the need for a good dill sauce.

Looking around, she did undid her hair and shook it out in an attempt to look a little sexy. She closed her eyes, feeling the stress in her bones and every muscle as tight as a cork in a bottle. Breathe, she said to herself, elbows on the bar and hands on her chin. Making a small O with her lips she let the air escape slowly, willing the world to melt away, for London to disappear and for either good-old home or a sexy man to appear when she opened her eyes. At least this place seemed comfortable. She kept her eyes closed and listened. A group about her age sat in a booth somewhere behind her. A middle aged couple sat closer and she caught snatches of conversation: they bought and sold antiques and were plotting how to obtain a table and chairs from an old man in Devon. A group of three or four young women sat against the far wall; there was constant chatter and tinkling of glasses coming from that direction.

"'Ere you go miss," said a deep voice. She opened her eyes to see a muscular middle aged man behind the bar place her drink on a coaster. His hair was uncommonly black except for a white stripe that merged into gray above his left temple; somehow she was reminded of an aging prizefighter. "Are you all right miss?" he asked confidentially, closer to her ear. "You look as if London's taken a piece out of you today."

She took a sip from the black straw while looking into his dark brown eyes. There was a glow behind them as if fire burned somewhere inside this man. His fingers on the bar were as thick as country sausages and she had a momentary vision of a huge finger rubbing her in an intimate place, his will pitted against hers in some kind of animal ritual. She felt weak, weak enough to throw her self against him and say "let's go somewhere", but she held back, instead looking him straight in the eye with her reply.

"My visit to your city was going wonderfully well until this morning, when it all seems to have gone down the tubes. And I don't mean your London subway."

His lips parted into a smile that included a gold lower front tooth that glinted faintly against the neon signs hung in the pub. He stroked his strong chin thoughtfully for a moment with those big fingers and then put a hand on her shoulder.

"American huh? By the look of ye, it's not a love problem ye've got. It's a money problem, isn't it." His touch sent electricity coursing down her shoulder. He was creepy and at the same time exciting: raw and unbridled like a big stallion that had never been ridden bareback. Should she reveal her problem to him? He could undoubtedly take advantage of her. On the other hand, she knew how to take care of herself and had extricated herself from some dicey situations before.

"You're half right, uh, what should I call you?"

"They call me Fullcock, miss, on account of it's my surname."

"Yes, well, Fullcock you're right I need some money before I fly home tomorrow, so it's a bit urgent. And no, there's no love problem anymore. He's history. By the way, I'm Jennifer." She stuck out her hand.

Mr. Fullcock took her hand in both of his, and it almost disappeared. "If it's a few hundred quid you're looking for, I know a way you can earn it tonight, though you need to have a strong constitution, which by the looks of it, you do."

"What does it involve?" Jennifer took another sip of her drink to calm her shaking insides. She knew that outwardly most of the time she came across as in control, but this time she felt far less in control than usual. She wanted it to involve sex, but she didn't want to tell him that. She wanted to get revenge on Simon so she could tell him how insignificant he was compared to another lover, any anyone. She wanted something wild, something crazy.

He looked around. "I'll 'ave to get back to me job in a moment, but it involves a ritual, miss. There's an ancient society that meets tonight in the bowels of London, an well, their ritual needs a willing young woman to take part in it."

"A sexual ritual," said Jennifer in a deadpan voice, trying not to show her mix of revulsion and eagerness.

"Well yes, that it is," he said, moving back and picking up a glass and wiping it with a towel. "With several men, though you will not see their faces. There's no blood or cutting involved in this ritual." He leaned in again. "But you'll need to firmly agree to take part if I'm to advance you any money."

"How much?"

"Two thousand quid, half in advance, half on completion."

She felt like whistling but didn't. Part of her felt like dropping her last ten pounds on the bar and running but another part of her was up for it. Bring it on! She knew this was taking a risk, a risk no woman in her right mind should take but she wanted Simon gone from her mind. She wanted something so horrific it would take his place in her mind for her memory of London. She didn't care this was an insane thing to do. She watched Mr. Fullcock wiping out a glass with a single finger in a cloth, carefully cleaning it and hanging it on a rack above them. Half the money in advance was all she needed to settle her bill at the hotel. Perhaps she could find some way to give this guy the slip after she got the money, but she felt as if she wouldn't be able to; no—she didn't want to. Somehow those dark eyes would follow her until the deed was done. She crooked a finger at him to bring him close again.

"You get me the deposit, and guarantee this ritual will be finished by morning light, and I'll do it."

He nodded, finished drying one last glass, turned and left the room for the kitchen. He glanced back at her before the door swing closed with a look that made her thighs moist. Fill me, she thought. Pound me until Simon's been pounded out of me for good.

* * *

It was night. He had blindfolded her and led her to this place in a taxi and they had entered a doorway at ground level; He removed the blindfold and now led her down a stairway below ground level, descending not one or two but what seemed like a dozen or more flights of stairs. The steps were made of stone and smelled of ancient dust and accumulated subterranean moisture, mixed in some strange way with a hint of sulfur as if somewhere below the fires of hell had burned.

The stairway ended with a long, dim hallway at the end of which was a heavy oak door. Affixed to it was a huge brass shield with the face of an old man with a flowing beard cast in the center, and rays radiating outward all around the face to the edge of the shield, which was polished to a brilliant shine.

Fullcock, who walked ahead of her, produced a large key and slipped it into the door's lock and turned it with a click. The huge door swung on its hinges silently as if it had recently been oiled. Behind it was a darkness so keen it could be felt and the air was clammy as if a breeze of humid air had recently blown and had stopped dead in dread of what was to come.

He struck a match and lit a torch, setting it in a stanchion on the wall. They were evidently in an enormous cavern deep in the earth since only the near walls were illuminated, receding into darkness.

"You've signed the release," he said. "Are you ready?"

She nodded.

He produced the blindfold once again and bound it tightly over her face so that even the torch was invisible. She felt a dizzy separation mingled with stomach tightening dread because at that moment, the sound of distant whispering was heard followed by a deep chant as if a monastery of ghouls awaited their entrance.

He led her firmly by the hand down a ramp and across a flat place where it felt as if there were flagstones under foot. They marched forward until the voices were all around her and she felt strong arms picking her up and placing her in a reclining position on what felt like a bed. Rough fingers and hands removed her clothes with amazing speed before she knew what was happening, and then strong arms tied each wrist and ankle so she was spread eagled and naked. The blindfold was removed and replaced by a mask held firmly in place on her head. The mask had holes in the eyes and mouth, allowing her to breathe and see what surrounded her: she was on some sort of elevated platform on a four poster bed with no canopy; each of her limbs was tied to a post. The bed was surrounded by elevated torches so that her flickering body was completely exposed: shoulders, torso, breasts, legs and thighs; the latter were spread revealing the pink of her inner thighs. She assumed the masks that looked like the faces of bulls with accompanying horns were the met who had tied her down. They wore flowing togas and she could smell the scent of their hungry bodies glistening with desire. The whites of their eyes could clearly be seen through their masks and she could feel the lust in the way they breathed and the way the eyes looked her up and down, all the while chanting in Latin words and mesmerizing gothic tones.

Further away Jennifer saw other masks: there were bears, goats, bulls and lions, each in a toga, all pawing the air in supplication to some unknown god or demon. Slowly she became aware that their chanting had changed from something like Latin to English, and the words spoke of the seasons: winter, spring, summer and autumn, in a slow rhythmic guttural song. With each stanza the masks closed in until they were around the bed with both hands raise in a shout that shook her psyche, and then they moved away in a circle around the bed. She saw that the number of participants were twelve, three of each animal mask and that every time the bears passed her in the circle, they flashed their togas to the song and she could see their hairy bodies and erect phalluses as they watched her nakedness.

As the next stanza of music began in a low chant, one of the bear-masked men ascended the bed where she lay and mounted her, and the participants chanted about winter with each thrust he made inside her. His shaft was thick although not particularly long, but with each thrust she felt his thickness stretch her because he thrust deeper with each shout of the participants. Their shout ascended louder and louder until he climaxed and she felt his wet semen pool on her belly. He whirled away with a swirl of his toga and another bear ascended in his place, and the low chant began again. She was wet with the first man's penetration and, heart beating, she began to thrust against the second. His member was similar to that of the first, as she heard the chants about winter rising once again, as torturous as this was, she couldn't help wish his cock was longer. He again spewed cum into her belly and withdrew for the third bear, who took her in the same manner. She remembered her request of Fullcock and savored each waiting head, each thrusting shaft.

The animal men danced around her in the flickering torch light for several minutes and she began to wonder how long it would be before she would be laid by a fourth beast. Presently a low chant about spring began and a goat-masked man mounted her. His organ was noticeably larger than any of the three bears had been, not only thicker but over seven inches of sinewy shaft drove into her, to the rising chorus of those below. She realized now that none of the bears had looked into her eyes, but she saw the goat's eyes through his mask, watching her as his hands grasped her waist so he could thrust to the full. She was beginning to let go and felt her body getting close to orgasm when he withdrew and let loose a stream of steaming seminal fluid onto her belly. In no time the next goat was upon her and he, too looked into her eyes and his cock again was decently large. She matched him thrust for thrust and cried out with a pulsing orgasm before he too emptied himself. The third goat was no different but grasped her by the waist and screwed her pussy deeply to the rising chant of spring and he too added his cum to the pool on Jennifer's glistening torso. The mingled scent was making her horny rather than afraid and she wondered to herself if the experience was turning her into some kind of a nymphomaniac. Surely the next set of cocks would be larger still, and what of the cocks of autumn?

In anticipation, Jennifer waited as the bears, goats, bulls and lions whirled around her, and her breathing relentlessly increased its pace. She watched the first bull each time they went around the circle, knowing he would be next based on the pattern. And so it was. The chanting of sexual congress rose again and the bull rose up to mount her. She had expected his penis to be large, but not this large. Its head was the size of a baby's fist and the shaft was almost as thick as her wrist and a good nine inches long. Surely the lions couldn't be any bigger than this? She felt the first thrust and her wet thick muscles were stretched taught by this beast, and he drove into her as if a relentless pink piston were pounding her again and again. His huge black eyes bore into her, and she almost fainted, her eyeballs rolling a little. She gripped the sides of the rope that held her, and hung on as she climaxed with wave after wave. His sperm came in a torrent and this animal spurt onto both her belly and breasts. The scent was like salted earth, like the beasts of the field. The second and third bulls were at least as big if not larger and she watched as their long shafts disappeared inside her; she felt the big head like a shock absorber against her cervix as if they were gigantic animals to be sated. By the time the bulls were done, she looked out at the lions and wet her lips which were becoming dry with fear. Surely no men were bigger than these bulls. Summer held the biggest of them, surely. These would be smaller.

After many minutes she began to think autumn would never come. She thought back to documentaries she had seen in school. Mating season, when heads butted and animals rutted. Lions roared. The first lion sprang upon her and open his toga. His scrotum held two objects the size of pool balls, and his erect cock leapt out in its huge glory. She was reminded of some kind of instrument people used to throw a ball to a dog, with the huge round end where the ball would go. He put his enormous cock head at the opening of her pussy and plunged it into her. It felt so big she thought she would burst, but he pressed it home and began to thrust his huge flesh inside her. At first it wouldn't go in all the way, but she felt it pound up to a depth she had never known, to the shouts of the men circling in the darkness lit by flickering flames all around. She came repeatedly as he ground into her but succumbed to exhaustion by the time he pulled out. He spurted pungent, steaming semen not just on her belly and breasts but into her lips. His ejaculation tasted of the savanna, a wild raw sense of open spaces, of the hunt. She wanted to close her eyes but dared not, as the second lion was immediately on his way. With difficulty he, too entered her and screwed her with the lusty power of a man whose testosterone knows no bounds. The ascent of voices lasted so long she thought he would never come but finally, with a roar in his throat he exploded over her body and again into her lips.

And then she saw him, the final lion, a man who must have measured seven feet tall.

He bounded on to her bed-throne and threw open his toga to reveal the king of cocks, a massive member that quivered in the torch light. He slapped it onto her belly, into the midst of the mingled seed of each animal that went before him and then, without warning, the giant head slid against her lips. It was as large as a mandarin orange and slipped inside. His cock was far to large to thrust the whole thing into her throat, but after beginning to gag she got a hungry second wind, and sucked and licked at the mingled cum, tasting that gigantic head and sucking on it until she felt the lion quiver, shake and then empty himself between her lips. His hot white fluid spurted into the roof of her mouth and onto her tongue as she lapped him up. The eyes of the lion were wild with frenzy, and before he was done, he thrust inside her pussy and stretched it to the limit. She forced herself against him until there was no strength left in her to push back, and she yielded her body to his, convulsing in a scream as he satiated himself once again to the rising voices all around.