The Cult of the Lamia

"Mark..."

He was in a pit, a pit of invisible fire and blades and pain. Over and over he felt himself die.

"Mark... can you hear My voice?" He thought he was imagining things- nothing spoke here, it was all darkness.

"Mark, do you still wish for the life that was taken from you?"

He nodded his assent, then curled up as he was lashed with crippling agony.

"Then go; find those destined to be my brides, and bring them to My embrace."

He never saw the speaker, as he rose through the darkness to reach out to his carcass, and to breathe again.

There was a light directly above him. A cold, white light, of the sort found in hospitals.

He sat up. He was completely naked still, and he was cold. But it didn't affect him like it would normally; where he would normally be shivering he was perfectly comfortable. He got up off the metal table, and walked towards the exit.

The door opened before he got to it, and the gothic on the other side hit the roof. She screamed, the sound more piercing than anything Mark had ever heard before. His hearing was better; he could hear her heart beat, but he was even more aware of other things. He could tell that she not only thought that he was attractive, but that the fact that she thought she was dreaming meant that he could get away with anything. He knew she liked sex without foreplay, rough and hard, with no thought as to the consequences. He also knew the she was going through a dry patch, and if he asked, she would say fuck yes.

He felt hot, hotter than he ever had before. His cock stood hard up against his body, and he looked down at it in astonishment. It was at least one, if not two inches bigger, and his girth was roughly the same. Both of this combined made him look huge, more like a pornstars cock than his own. He caught her looking too, and she blushed.

She was good-looking, if a little thin. Long fake dark red hair, added to translucent skin. Her eyes were huge, but that might have been the circumstances of this meeting. Blue. She was average height, but she was so thin as to ethereal. Before, he tended to like girls with a bit of shape, but he could appreciate how attractive she was. Her tongue bolt was not something he could see; it was just something that he was aware of. He had caught a stray thought of her running it under the head of his cock. He pulsed at the idea.

Someone came running, an orderly and two doctors. They both looked aghast at seeing him alive.

"How did you get in here?" one of the doctors snapped.

"He was one of the stiffs; I saw them bring him in earlier. They were going to cut him up, because he... well he didn't look half this good." The orderly said. Mark caught what he looked like now from their minds; it was him, but him several inches taller, with muscle not roping or bulging but present. His face, never his most attractive point, was still his own, but with certain aspects of his features increased and lessened to make him handsome. But his eyes, they were exactly the same; hazel, but with more green than brown.

In short, he looked like either a movie star, or a sportsman.

"Are you saying that one of the bodies we brought in here was alive?" the other doctor asked, his tone faintly disbelieving. "Because if that s the case, we had best get a lawyer down here pronto. This gent would be well within his rights to sue us for everything we've got."

The goth snorted. "Come on, let's get you some clothes. Not that I think you need them." She muttered the last quietly, so that no-one else could hear her. Mark let her lead him away, to a private room. She turned around, and shut the door.

"Don't worry about them; they were a bit thrown off, you know, but the fact that anyone who is meant to go into the morgue is meant to be... well, dead."

Mark looked at her, his gaze questioning. He was horny, but didn't want to impose. He absently cupped his balls, and saw her eyes follow his hand. She wanted to do the same, and more.

He walked over to her slowly, giving her every chance to move away or to reject him. When he was next to her, he looked down at her face, smiling slightly. Her breathing had become laboured, and she wanted so much from him.

"That must be one hell of a dry spell you're going through." He said. She flushed.

"How do you know about that?"

"Michelle, I know everything. I could recount for you every partner you have ever had, and what you did with each." He didn't know why he said it, but for some reason it was necessary. He had to warn her. His nature dictated it. He knew what he was, without telling.

"I am what you need, what you crave, when you go to sleep unsatisfied. I am who you dream of, after you've had sex but not come, because the guy was nothing but a boy in men's clothes."

She swayed, and he felt how wet she was through her clothes, without using his hands. Without words, he dropped to his knees, and lifted her skirt. She said nothing, helping him pull off her stockings and take off her panties, and he savoured her flavour in one lick. She moaned out loud, grinding her hips into his face. His tongue was unnaturally long, and he found he could delve within her as deep as he wanted to. He hit the places of pleasure inside her, while using the bridge of his nose to rub her clit. She loved it, humping his face for all she was worth, oblivious to the amount of noise she was making.

She came explosively, and he sipped her energy, just a little. Nothing she couldn't recover from. And certainly not enough to kill her, or doom her to His service.

He backed away, and stood up. She was breathing hard. "My god, you have the longest tongue I have ever... well, felt." She flushed at that last, smiling awkwardly. He smiled at her.

"You're gorgeous, Michelle. Don't let anyone tell you different. But you don't really want me to do that which I can to you. You have guessed what I am, haven't you?"

He had heard the snatch of a word in her mind, just before she came, and again as she recalled it. Incubus.