Assumption

At first, the world froze.

I was home alone, so the only noticeable movement other than the rise and fall of my chest as I breathed took place on the twenty-four-inch television screen in front of me. My equipment was old enough and my luck that day was going just badly enough that when it stopped I assumed it was a problem with my cable.

It wasn't until I climbed off the couch that I encountered the real problem. As I stood, the empty space I moved through cracked like a thin layer of glass. Thick lines spiderwebbed out from where my body impacted the air, growing deeper as I continued to push forward, until finally the room around me simply shattered into pieces to reveal a black void hidden beneath. The further I walked, the darker the room around me became until I was swimming through a colorless sea flecked with bits of light that would have looked like stars if they weren't just big enough to make out what part of the scenery they had previously belonged to.

Fire came next. It seemed to flow out of me, its light reflecting on the substantial nothing that I had become lost in. My hands instinctively clapped across my body in an attempt to put it out and I would have stopped, dropped, and rolled, but there was no longer ground beneath me to drop to. Before I could rationally choose a better course of action, my lungs froze, and I could no longer inhale. I had never been so certain before in my life that I was going to die.

The light of the fire yielded to pitch black, and soon the darkness turned to a purple fog. I floated there momentarily until reality poured back in on me. My eyes took their time adjusting to the new surroundings, but when they did, I saw I was no longer in my studio apartment. Instead, I was lying on cold concrete in the center of an elaborate piece of artwork.

The whole of the design was contained inside a perfect circle spaced around three equilateral triangles; one in front of me and two behind, creating a larger triangle of their own. The one in front was plain and empty and pointed forward in the same direction I was facing. Behind me and to my right, another similar triangle was drawn, but with a short line across its forward vertex point, resembling the snow cap of a mountain. The last triangle, behind me and to my left, was identical to the first but pointed in the opposite direction. Connecting them was a series of rounded lines touching every point to every other point and merging into the outer limits of the circle. A few other shapes, impossible for me to describe in simple terms, were scattered about. Some yielded to the inherent flow of the work while others forced it to bend. It was equally simple and complex and must have taken a skilled hand hours to construct.

I reached out to touch it and felt its texture. It was rough but permanent.

"Look to us," a woman called out from somewhere in front of me.

I looked up. Twenty yards or so from the edge of the circle there was a ring of candles mounted in standing holders. This created a wall of light in an otherwise very dark room that I could not see beyond. I squinted at it anyway, trying to look past.

"Hello?" I called back. "I'm sorry, but I can't see you. Can you tell me where I am?"

"Quiet! We are in control of you now, Demon."

I didn't catch right away the name she had given me. There was so much going on that made no sense that it was difficult to focus on any one detail. I opened my mouth to ask for help again, but something had stolen my voice.

A figure stepped into the light and approached. It was a blond woman in a red robe. She stopped and crouched as far away from the circle as she could get while still being within arm's reach and extended a stick of chalk to touch the edge. She pressed it to the floor and dragged it as she walked backward toward the ring of candles, creating one long, straight line. Before reaching the edge of the light, she branched it out into a fork with three tines. When she was done, she disappeared back into the darkness only to reappear holding a chair.

Two other women came with her carrying chairs of their own. Each placed their piece of furniture at the end of one of the lines and sat down.

"Crawl to us, Demon," the woman in the middle commanded. This was the one who had been talking to me since I arrived.

My first instinct was to walk directly to them, but even though there was nothing visible blocking my path, I found it impossible to move past the outer line of the circle I was standing in. As I tried to step over it, something pushed me back. The resistance lasted just long enough to stop me from crossing and then immediately departed.

I tested the edge of the pattern, finding the same result until I came to the fresh chalk line drawn by the lady in red. Here I was able to pass, but the same force that had pushed me back was now pressing me down. In order to keep moving forward, I had to lower myself onto all fours, and once I did, I found I was no longer able to rise again. I couldn't even turn around or move backward to return to a place where I had a greater range of motion. All I could do was follow the line to my audience, and so I did.

As I got closer, I was finally able to see all three women clearly. They were older than me and softer, but that is where their similarities ended.

The blonde woman who had drawn the lines was seated in front of me and to my right. She still wore an expression of terror, bordering on panic, and gripped the seat of her chair like she was ready to jump off and wield it as a weapon.

On the left, sat a woman dressed in a green robe in the same style as the first. This one also seemed tense, though less afraid than cautious. She watched me carefully as if she thought there was a possibility that I might do something unpredictable, yet I don't think she was too worried about her ability to handle me.

The woman in the middle, the only one whose voice I knew, wore white. She had a very different look on her face. Instead of anxiety or caution, I saw, if I have to give it a word, amusement. As she watched me crawl slowly forward, following her command, she was visibly quite pleased with herself.

"Stop," the woman in white said as I reached the point where the path diverged. "We, three, have summoned you to this circle. We, three, control your fate." She spoke loudly, more like she was making an announcement than speaking to me.

The others echoed her in unison. "We, three, have summoned you to this circle. We, three, control your fate."

"Your path has led you to our circle. The path from the circle has led you to us," she continued. Again, her partners repeated her. "Now, your path has ended. Here, you will submit to our path." The echo came once more.

I understood the words they were saying, but my brain made no effort to process their meaning. It was still too occupied with trying to figure out where I was. I made eye contact with each woman in turn, trying to convey some message with a look that I was still unable to assemble into speech. There was no comprehension to be found in the stares that returned. Whatever was happening or about to happen, they were committed to, and it did not involve helping me understand my situation.

"To solidify this pact, you will take us into your being. Taste us and know, truly, the identity of your inheritors," the woman in white said. This line was not repeated. Instead, she waved me closer.

There was nowhere else to go, so I crawled to her, following the line on the floor that led to her chair. As I came within a foot of her position, she opened her robe and spread her legs. I looked to the center of her wide, matronly hips at what had been revealed before me. She was not wearing any other clothing.

It was a surreal moment. I knew I wasn't dreaming, but at the same time, there was no way that this could really be happening. I had been transported from my couch, where I likely should have fallen asleep watching TV, across unknown distances to a mysterious place where it looked an awful lot like I was being asked to perform oral sex on at least one woman so far and very probably three before it was all over.

If I told you that I wasn't turned on, I would be lying. This woman was quite beautiful. Her hair was either a very light shade of brown or a very dark shade of blonde. It was impossible to tell in the dim light. With every gesture she made it moved lightly against her face. Her eyes were brown, but not the plain dull brown that you find in more than three-quarters of the human population. They were the kind that reflected just enough of the candlelight to glow. Her skin, and there was quite a bit of skin for me to evaluate, was smooth and flawless. The curves of her body were perfectly proportioned and despite being at least twice my age, her body was firm and lithe.

She was the obvious leader of this group, and as I described her hips so did she stand out, in general, as the Matron. That is what I would come to call her, if only to distinguish her from the others in my mind.

I froze, waiting for something to happen that would reveal this was all some kind of prank. Her voice broke me out of my distracted chain of thought.

"Taste," she said firmly.

I wouldn't have considered myself submissive before that moment, nor did I even then as I found myself so eager to please on command. The only thing that really worried me, despite all the red flags I should have been picking up on, was that I was relatively sexually inexperienced and had little idea how to satisfy a woman.

The circumstances, and the Matron's increasingly demanding tone, made that concern easy to overcome. With no other way around the moment but through it, I leaned my head forward and reached my tongue out to touch her. As soon as I made contact, electricity shot through my body. This was not the first time I had performed oral sex on a woman. If I have to share and be one hundred percent truthful, my experience was only just enough to know that this was not normal. The surge of energy stunned me at first, and I paused there with my tongue resting against her flesh.

"That's right," she cooed, "Take all the time you need." I looked up, reminded suddenly that I was being watched. Her eyes shone with a smug satisfaction that suggested she would have been content to watch me tend to her all evening.

When I began, I was sure that it was going to take all night whether she wanted it to or not, but as I worked, I began to understand exactly what each motion I made and what each little contact with every inch of her was doing. It was almost as if I could feel what she was feeling.

I began to try new things. With the connection I suddenly had, I could tell what pleased and what didn't. It became clear to me that cunnilingus was more than just hitting buttons. There was a rhythm to it. Variety was nice, but a predictable variety was necessary to build the smallest spark into a roaring flame. Despite her telling me to take it slow, I was racing toward the obvious goal, and yet there was no sign she was disappointed.

Beyond the physical sensations, I was vaguely aware of her thoughts. It wasn't telepathy. I couldn't read her mind. It was more like an enhanced form of empathy. I knew her motivations more than her individual thoughts. What I was performing was less a sexual act than a ritual. I was not a man she had welcomed between her legs. To this woman, I was something else, giving myself to her and submitting to her will. I focused on this link, searching for more information.

As her body pushed closer to climax, I knew that if she came -- no, when she came, I would be giving up something that I couldn't reclaim. This was the start of something. She had plans for me and the task she was asking me to perform did not fairly represent them.

"Taste," she whispered again.

Her orgasm came in waves of ecstasy that flowed from her center outwards. Even though I felt them wash over me as well, I knew acutely that it was her pleasure, not my own. The sensations existed in me, spreading through my body and yet somehow removed from my nervous system. It was an echo reaching from somewhere deep inside her; intense, undeniable, but hollow.

Without saying another word, she slid her right leg up my body until her foot was on my shoulder and pushed back. I was still unable to turn and so instead crawled backward on the chalk line until I was at the root of the fork.

The woman on the left cleared her throat before speaking for the first time. "Crawl to me." Her voice was a touch deeper than the Matron's but still feminine.

Where the first gave off an air of patience, savoring the reward she felt entitled to after long, hard work, this one bubbled over with excitement. As I followed her command and crawled closer, she dug her fingernails into her thighs. Her robe was already open and had been before I even left my first station.

Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, slightly off-center to the left, just as her smile was crooked, revealing more of her teeth on that side of her mouth than the other. She carried the same extra weight as the other two but did not wear it nearly as well. Her face was rounder and her stomach jutted forward. As I crawled toward her, she had to slide forward to the edge of her seat and lean back to give me proper access.

With the flick of a single finger, she invited me inwards. "Come and get it," she sang, before throwing her head back.

I felt her body shudder as my breath touched her skin. She raised her hips ever so slightly, meeting me as I brought my mouth to her. Despite her obvious anticipation, her outer lips felt dry. I pushed my tongue against them, sliding between their delicate folds and it was there that I found the evidence of her arousal. Her juices flowed over my tongue as it penetrated her, and the taste overwhelmed my senses. Just as before, I felt electricity as I became aware of her on a deeper level.

Her hips jumped involuntarily, and I wondered if she felt it too. Whether she did or not made no impact on her mood. Where the other had been patient, this one wanted everything immediately. She was demanding, greedy, and spoiled. She was the youngest of the three and, I felt, the least mature. I titled her the Princess.

The Matron had been content to let me do all the work, but as the Princess got more into it, she began to rub herself against my face, at first subtly but soon more forcefully. She would then catch herself and stop completely, trying desperately to keep her rear end glued to her seat. Almost every fiber of her being wanted to take control of our contact but some more rational voice inside held her back. She wasn't supposed to. I had to do this on my own. That was important somehow.

Her orgasm was not sudden or unpredictable. From the time I began licking she had begun to moan, starting with a forced, high-pitched grunt which gradually became lower and longer. By the end, it seemed like she was no longer capable of inhaling, just breathing out a long, low groan of pleasure. Soon after, she lifted from the chair, almost knocking me down as she ground herself against my face, painting the lower half with her bodily fluids.

When the involuntary muscle spasms quieted, she relaxed back into the chair and pushed me away. I crawled once more to the start of the fork, only to be gestured over by the first woman I had met that night. "Crawl to me," the blonde said quietly.

This woman was older than the other two as demonstrated by the crow's feet spreading from her eyes and the frown lines across her forehead. Her skin lacked the tight elasticity of youth, but she was not without appeal, especially now that it looked like she was starting to relax. She had soft blue eyes and they contained within them a gentleness that made her seem out of place next to the other two women.

As I crawled to her, I was able to confirm the unease that had been present in her posture earlier was gone. However, she still would not make eye contact with me. She looked down at the floor between us and when I was close enough to fill that space, her eyes shifted to my right. I could hear her breathing, not quickly, but loudly. I knew I would not get the command from her, but I didn't need it. I positioned myself in front of her bare knees.

"It's been so long," she whispered, almost inaudibly, before leaning back and parting her thighs.

The blonde was the only one of the three that was wearing perfume, something simple but floral. I hadn't been aware of it from across the room, or even kneeling at the chair next to hers, but as I moved closer, it grew overwhelming. Putting my lips to her confirmed what I already knew, she had sprayed herself with perfume. The harsh chemical taste spread up the center of my tongue and outwards. I grimaced, but with her head tilted back and her eyes closed, she didn't see it. Despite the setback, I was not discouraged.

The other two women had required a kind of subtlety to coax them to climax. They were willing, even eager, but they were fastidious. There was a process to what was going on here, and maybe our link and my willingness to use it to find the pleasure in their bodies was part of it, or maybe I was just too immersed in my role as the demon or whatever it was exactly I was supposed to be, but I didn't get the same guidance from this one.

I was welcome. My touch was good, but it was all the same. She simply wanted the contact. There was nothing else involved or at stake. The goals of the other two women did not apply to her. The blonde was not there to make decisions. She was just the Follower.

She was wet, and I had hoped, with encouragement, her body would cleanse itself enough to release me from the bite of the synthetic substance that was burning across my taste buds, but she did not give me enough time between her legs to reach that point. In less than two minutes, she orgasmed suddenly.

Her whole body tensed beneath me as she squealed. I struggled to continue stimulating her as she stretched her legs out, forcing me to maneuver awkwardly to avoid being pushed away. She wanted me to lick through her peak, but her uncontrolled spasms were making that nearly impossible.

When she relaxed, I stopped and leaned back into a more comfortable kneeling position, but I could sense she didn't want me to crawl away. Even after breaking direct contact, I could practically hear her inner voice begging me to return for more.

The more confident voice of the Matron overrode her. "Come," she ordered, snapping her fingers as she pointed at the path in front of her.

My first thought was that she also wanted me to go another round and I was torn between my desire to rest my jaw and my need to get the taste of perfume out of my mouth. It wasn't up to me. As I was debating whether to follow her command, look for an exit, or once more attempt to voice my confusion about what exactly was happening here, I felt a growing need to move. This wasn't the same force that had brought me to a kneel and kept me from veering off the chalk lines. Something inside me was making me move back along the path to the Matron.

"Your task is complete, Demon," she said when I arrived in front of her. "You will return now to your realm of fire and pain with this piece of us inside you. This bond cannot be weakened or broken. It may only be strengthened. You no longer keep your own dark purpose. You attend us. You will serve." She flicked her hand toward me, tapping my forehead hard with her fingertips. "Away."

The last word echoed in my head as the world flew out from beneath me. There was no broken stillness this time, nor fire or asphyxiation. I awoke on my couch as if I had suffered no more than an unexpected nap. The only evidence I was left with to suggest I had experienced anything other than a dream was my vivid memories and the bitter chemical taste on my tongue.