The Cult of the Lamia

The man sat, in his chair. He was cold; he couldn't remember what it was like to be warm. The cell was damp, and full of noise. Dripping water. He was naked.

He could remember the food, and the drink the Chosen had given him. He was awed to be in the presence of one of the God's Chosen ones, but he was scared too- this one had captured him as he was trying to find a suitable candidate for the sacrifice. He wasn't behaving in the way that any chosen male ever had in the past; mostly they just came to the Brotherhood, searching for answers, searching for themselves.

He fought to keep the location out of his mind. He knew the Chosen male wanted it, wanted to find out where they were, and for some reason he felt he should not give it to him, either by word or by thought. The males were always more proficient at the mental arts; the Chosen females simply were sex for men, and had no need for the level of mental powers this one displayed.

Don't think of it, don't think of it...

"It's no use," Mark said out loud, Michelle looking on expectantly. Both the hospital and the police force had settled, and Mark now was beyond rich. He had purchased a large house with a basement; suitable for him to start his search for the Cult.

He had found this one fairly easily, scouting out the local pub. The cultist had almost closed on his target, the cloth wet in his hand, when Mark reached out with his mind, and stopped the cultist. Having memories of hell was, very occasionally, useful.

He had made the mistake of letting the cultist know about his lack of information, and the manner of his capture had made him reticent. He didn't want to tell Mark anything, and was far more adept than anyone he had ever met at shielding his conscious mind. Mark had tried injecting thoughts of rapture; bevies of amazing women, some of them even stretching Mark's imagination. He had tried horrors, and ecstasy. Nothing had worked, the man before Mark quiet as the grave.

The mind technique Mark used was his last resort; the last time he used that he had ended up almost killing three students. One of them was capable of being turned, and it was her that Mark was most threatened by. Cassie.

She was short, barely even 5.3. She was dark, her hair brown but only just, and it shone in straight, perfect waves down her back. It reached down, past her shoulder blades, to her magnificent ass. It was perfect, in every conceivable way. Her face was gorgeous, huge, full eyes, a dark blue, the sea just before nightfall. Her lips were just a touch too full, her bottom lip almost perpetually set into a pout, but it was not a sullen expression on her.

Her face was the shape of a heart, her fringe cascading down past her cheeks, setting off her eyes. She was shapely without being large, but she had an unconscious sexuality that made every male in the immediate vicinity turn his head. She gave the impression of a storm on the beach, and had a mind to match; she was volatile, and it was largely due to her that her friends had gotten involved with Mark.

The sex had been fantastic; the other two were blonde, and just what you would imagine from hearing that. They were both taller, but not quite as tall as he was; one was platinum blonde, the other had layers. They both were singularly unremarkable, compared to their friend. He had turned his mind on the brunette, but she had a strange mind, pushing his desire at both her friends. They melted under the force of his mind, and he focused on them. He made them build, their desire mounting. Cassie was unconsciously aware of her friend's orgasms, given that they were quiet.

The night had ended with them all at a motel, Mark and the three girls lying in a tangle of limbs and moans. He could not tell where his own desire began and the others ended, all of them close, so very close. He was embedded deep inside one of the blondes, her cries barely audible over the screams Cassie made as he devoured her pussy.

He licked at her as he knew she liked, her taste making him want to spear her as hard as he had ever. He built up their want over and over, not using his mind this time, linking his thoughts to theirs, melding each of their desires as one. He did what they longed for, and he finished with them, his own orgasm building with each one. His hands and his cock throbbed, every fetish and desire the girls had fulfilled. He had been drinking their desire almost constantly, all conscious thought gone. He felt their lives in his hands, the threads of their essence trembling as he gave them pleasure. He could feel Cassie, part of her in him, part of her wanting more, wanting his orgasm inside her, now, now, now. She wanted to be changed, wanted a life of more than she could get any other way.

He came to himself just in time, strumming the girl's final orgasms, preparing to take his last thrust. He was deep inside Cassie, his hands and mouth rubbing and teasing. He was more aware of his own power than ever before. He held back, and built the students orgasms higher and higher.

Their screams mingled as they all came, and he grit his teeth, holding himself and hell inside.

Cassie had managed to pry from him his mobile number; she was the only one left conscious after that night. He had paid for the motel room, and for breakfast, and the only way he could get rid of her was to tell give it to her. And, while he was reluctant to her face, he wanted to know where and how she was, and wanted her to have a means of asking him the question. While he may not ever say yes to Danielle, he would struggle to say no with Cassie.

"Hello-oo? Earth to Mark?" Michelle said, waving her hands in front of his eyes. "How are we going to get him to talk- sorry," she said, giggling, "Been watching the Sopranos on TV, it's catching!"

He smiled. "I'm just thinking. I couldn't have said no to the succubus who made me..."

Michelle's smile faded a little. She did not care if he fucked around, but Mark knew that she wanted to be a succubus, with everything she had. She was smarter than he was, so she probably knew why she couldn't become one; she wasn't... compatible, not for him to turn her. Not every girl could become a succubus.

"So, who were you thinking?" she said, her gaze penetrating. "The student, or the lawyer? Or have you found another already?" He turned to her, looking for any bitterness in her expression. She laughed at the look on his face; he caught her mentally rolling his eyes.

"I don't want to be a succubus that badly, Mark. I am aware that you feel you cannot turn me, and I'm fine with it. I just want to help; even when I met you, you were... good to me. I hated my life, and you not only took me out, but you gave me something worthwhile to do. And I get a look at the big picture too?" She smiled, and it lit up the room. She was good at that, when she was happy. "I wouldn't miss this for the world, Mark. Not for anything."

He turned away. He willed an image at her; emotion. Happiness, longing. Her eyes glistened when it hit her, and she smiled wider.

"So..." she said, recovering, and replacing her glasses, "Who will you turn? You have only found two so far? Danielle, or Cassie?"