The Curse Revisited

https://www.literotica.com/s/the-curse-of-marie-laveau

This is in response to Chymera's story about a poor, unsuspecting guy who was cucked by his stupid wife. She was hit with a spell and used, screwed, blown, and tattooed, as they say, without knowing it. But there were other things that neither she nor the prick who enchanted her knew. You'll see.

The Cast

Ben and Marge Carson- the main characters

Wayne Wimbley-the Cajun 'manipulator' who caused it all

The Voices of Robert and Francine Carson- Ben's parents

The Voices of Ralph and Stella Carson- Ben's Gram and Gramps

This will get complicated, and a tad screwy, but trust me, you'll see.

And now, the story. This is told from Ben's viewpoint, with allusions to the others. I have Chymera's permission and full support to publish this. Please, enjoy. I hope.

I am Ben Carson, a fairly normal guy (at least I thought I was) married to a very attractive woman, Marge, for the last 7 years. We were happy- at least I thought we were. But about four months ago, things changed. The problem was I never knew it. She stopped having any kind of sex with me- none at all. And I never realized it. This will change now that I have been made aware of this fact. You'll see.

It was a Thursday in early March when I came home from work, and she informed me--yes, she informed me--that I was to come and meet a very good friend of hers this coming Saturday at about 1:00 p.m. His demand.

I guess I'm going.

So, background- my dad is a lawyer, and my granddad is a retired bank president. Dad and Mom live in California, and Gram and Gramps are living in high style in Cancun. We live in beautiful downtown Houston, Texas. I haven't seen them in a while, but we are fairly close. Not to mention the fact that my Dad and Gramps can 'touch my mind', so to speak. That's right, they broadcast their thoughts. Not continuously, and usually not unless it's extremely important.

For instance, the last serious time my grandfather did so, was in the bottom of the ninth in my high school state championship baseball game. We were trailing, 3 to 2, bottom of the ninth and down two outs. I had just gotten a double and was leading off second, watching the third base coach give me the steal sign.

Their pitcher had a wicked pick-off move to third, so I was surprised to see the steal sign, when my mind twigged 'Don't go, buddy. They are catching the signals, and he's got you dead to rights. I know you don't believe me. Fake the move and watch.' Mentally I said, 'Are you sure, Gramps?'

'Trust me, buddy.'

So, I nodded to the coach, and then faked the move, but stopped. Grandpa was right. He was already throwing to the base. But his normal throw was high and wide, going past the rapidly closing third baseman and to the wall. I didn't hesitate but raced to third and stood there. The next man up faced a now rattled pitcher. Two pitches, high and outside and he then took a 2-0 count deep to left field and we won,4-3.

'See?', was my Grandpa's mind quip. 'Told you so!'

So that is my life. Up until today. My Dad would contact me, mentally, a little more often, but not to intrude. Just to check up on me. (Better than a cellphone)

Now, I'm being summoned.

Saturday rolled around (still clueless, it seems) and we were driving to our rendezvous. My wife was dressed semi-provocatively, in a nice yellow sundress, showing some cleavage, (and 3"heels), and was smiling snarkily as she gazed out the side window of my pickup. That's when my world changed profoundly and permanently, forever more.

My Dad's voice popped into my head.

'BEN! Are you there yet?'

'UH, no, Dad. How did you...?'

'Never mind, son. Just listen and pay attention. Don't say a word to Marge, understood?'

'OOKAY. What's going on...?

'JUST LISTEN. Gramps and I will explain everything.'

'GRANDPA??'

'Hey, buddy. Just listen to your dad and do as he says.'

'UHH, sure. But what...?'

'PAY ATTENTION! Now, we're going to open up your subconscious. It will speed things along. Trust me.'

All this trust. I'm an engineer, not some liberal arts major.

Now I do have a 'spidey sense', which usually serves me well, but of late it was on vacation, I think. Not even a twitch in the last 4-5 months, about anything. So immediately, my 'spidey sense' morphed into Tarantula status, with a couple of scorpions for escorts, and a growing pressure exploded in my skull. My mind expanded and I began to fantasize, in my subconsciousness. At least, I thought it was fantasy. Swirls of stories and legends intermixed with snippets of historical background on my family and ancestry. And we're talking ANCESTRY! Back about 2000 years or more and touching on all sorts of magical things.

I LOVED IT!

Well, that was my subconscious. My conscious mind was not having such a good day.

Can I go back to my subconscious and hang out for a little while??

'Pay attention, son.'

'Yes, sir,' I thought.

You see, my conscious mind was filled with videos and audios of my used-to-be faithful wife being fucked, sucking, being sodomized, and swallowing copious amounts of cum from a fucking Cajun-looking and sounding prick who was bad-mouthing me all the while. Yeah, and the video was bad enough. In color, hi-def. But the audio.

Can we go back to silent films, please??

'Son. It's necessary.'

'Yes sir'.

She was moaning, groaning, and screaming out her orgasms like it was going out of style, begging him to fuck her harder, longer, deeper, just like a good porn film. She was laughing about how good he was compared to her 'limp-dicked cuck of a husband'.

I was boiling mad. I was pretty sure this prick was a dead man if I got the chance- and I WOULD get the chance.

'Steady son. This guy is your worst enemy. But he has no idea who you are. And neither does your wife. Now pay attention to her.'

I turned and looked at the slut and wondered why I didn't kick her out of the truck right here. But she was rambling about the place was right up here on the right.

"Park right in front, there will be a spot for us."

'Ignore her, son. Drive on about a block and a half more and park, get out, walk around, and open the door, and, after she gets out, close and lock the truck up, then ignore her and just start walking towards the shop. Don't take her hand or her arm, or anything. Got me?'

'Little extreme, don't you think?'

'Trust me. It is necessary.'

I found the indicated space, parked, and did as he suggested. As I walked away, Marge choked and blew up at me.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

But I kept walking, ignoring her. So, all she could do was hustle after me on her 3" heels and catch up. She tried to take my hand and talk to me, but I wouldn't have it and kept ignoring her. Meanwhile, my Dad continued the update.

'You are a descendant of a long line of Warlocks, White wizards if you will, and you....'

'WAIT! WHAT??'

'Calm down, son. Now, when you were born, at your naming ceremony, your mother pleaded with me to bind you.'

'My DAMON!! I have waited so long.....'

'MOTHER??' O.K. this was beyond weird.

'Esmy, not now. I'm trying to explain'.

'WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE! WHO'S ESMY? AND WHERE IS MY MOTHER??'

Dad sighed, and Grandpa chuckled.

'Alright, Esmy is Esmarelda, your mother's real name. You are Damon, after her father. But you were bound. She had probed your life and found you in love with and eventually married to Marge. Five years into your marriage, she determined that, for a mere mortal, Marge was perfect. She convinced me that you should be 'bound' and enabled to live life as a mortal. I love your mother, so I acquiesced, and you were given the other name, Benjamin, and bound. You would never know of your 'alter ego', so to speak.'

There was a stone silence in my mind. You know, crickets, nighttime noises, severe quiet? Then-

'Unfortunately, she didn't look far enough ahead. That brings us to the present set of circumstances. I have released the spells that secured your mind, and you now know the truth of your being.'

'I'm sorry sweetheart. I only wanted the best for you two.'

But I was still catching up.

' So, Dad, do you have a different name?'

' Yes, son, my birth name is Magnus.'

By now, we had reached the door of the shop, and Marge finally succeeded in grabbing my arm and spun me around. I faced my very irate 'wife' (well, for the time being, she is).

"Now you listen to me, BENJAMIN! We are going in there and you will meet Mr. Wimbley. You will behave, and act respectfully. Do as he says and we will get past all this 'Bull'. Do you understand me, HUSBAND??"

I stared at her, dumbstruck. My Dad nudged my mind.

'Agree with her, son. The rest will play out. Understand that you are in control. The piece of shit is no match for you.'

I sighed. "Sure, WIFE! Whatever you say."

She seemed mollified. She smiled and said, "That's more like it. I knew you would understand."

'More and more every second, bitch,' I thought.

As I grasped the door handle and pulled, ushering my wayward spouse through ahead of me, I caught three intakes of breath from my assembled consciousnesses. We entered and the normal early spring afternoon outside immediately morphed into nighttime darkness and flashes of lightning.

As we entered, my parents and grandfather breathed a sigh of relief. My mother's voice whispered in my ear,' I knew it. I just knew it. I knew she had nothing to do with it. I am so happy.'

The store's interior was dim, hardly any of the overhead lights turned up. Like some low-grade horror film set. The small bell over the door announced our arrival, and my eyes immediately adjusted.

'This 'heightened awareness' thing is pretty cool,' I thought. At the back of the shop, a beaded curtain parted, and my nemesis entered. Marge immediately brightened and preened, like she was getting ready to ravish him right then. Her sex was leaking, and the smell was rising. The smug look on Wayne's face said it all.

Dad intoned, 'Lock the door, and lower the blinds, son. It's game time.'

'Got it.'

My mind flipped, and the front door locked, and the shades and blinds came crashing down. As an added touch, I mentally caused the little sign to flip to 'Closed'. Now we were secure.

But Wayne Wimbley was not amused. He furrowed his brow, then said, "Ah, mon Cher, you are arrived. And this must be your little friend, no?"

"Yes, my lord, this is my husband, Ben," she breathed almost cumming.

"And you're the piece of shit who's been fucking and sodomizing my wife for almost five months." I turned to Marge.

"I would have thought you have better taste than this, bitch!"

Look up shock in the dictionary and you come close to my wife's expression.

"BEN! I told you to behave and don't make trouble!"

That's when shit-for-brains spoke again.

"It's all right, my sweet. Where is the doll?"

With a look of disgust for me, she reached into her cleavage and pulled out the dreaded charm. Yeah, she kept it against her breast. We'll deal with that, too.

As he reached for this, I took over.

"I've had enough. Put your hand down, asshole."

His left arm immediately snapped back to his side, and, in utter amazement, he gawked at me. I had an edge here. I looked at my wife and said, "Hold that. Don't let it go."

It got bad right away. I stared at the doll and it burst into flames. The fire consumed the doll and her hand, starting to burn her arm before I stopped it. The smoldering remains fell to the floor.

She freaked, screamed and the wail and tears from the pain ripped the shop air and got to me. Even though I was repulsed by what she had done (hell, I HATED her), Yeah, I still loved her. She was starting to fall when I grabbed her arm, raised it, and kissed my right fingers, wetting them with my spit, and touched the smoldering, charmed remains of her hand. Miraculously, her hand returned to its pink, normal, healthy self. She stared, hiccupped, and passed out. But I gently eased her to a small stool nearby and turned back to the stunned prick who was gawking at the spectacle.

"MON DEIEU! Who are you?" As he said this, his right hand was starting to make a mystical wave.

"Oh, no you don't." I gestured and his right arm slammed back to his side. He was borderline apoplectic now, staring incredibly at me. But I was not done with him- by a long shot.

"I'm just coming up to speed with what's going on here, but I am a quick learner. So, let's be clear. THAT IS MY WIFE! And you've been fucking her for almost five months. I don't like it. Not one little bit. So, this is going to end."

Wayne, good old Wayne, bowed up.

"And just what do you think you can do, little man? Just who are you that you think you can act like this?"

"Maybe you should do a little more research before you pick your next 'prey', huh? "

That's when my grandfather broke in.

'This young man is descended from more than two thousand years of Wizardry. He is heir to a high Warlocks title, and he has only recently been 'unbound' and made aware of his ancestry, and some of his powers. And he IS a quick learner.

'I have been in touch with your ancestors, and they are VERY, VERY disappointed with you, and mad at your actions. And they're dead. Your living relatives down in the bayous are more scared about what Ben will do to them in revenge for your actions. You've been disowned and very publicly shunned,' Dad chimed in.

"Yeah, you're pretty much screwed, shithead."

About this time, Wayne was thunderstruck. His eyes were bugging out, and his mouth was slack-jawed.

" Who is that speaking, and where are they??"

"That's my Grandfather and Father. They are my guiding lights right now." I looked at the ceiling, and added, "I'm pretty sure my Mom is here somewhere, too."

'Right here, sweetheart.'

"Who is the woman?", he stammered.

'Not your friend, fool, that's for sure!'

'Easy, Esmerelda.'

'Pardon, My Lord.'

"I've heard enough, little man. Release me at once and I will overlook this display of....."

"Yeah, you're right. I've heard enough too." I gestured and his mouth slammed shut. I squinted and it looked like his lips were sewn shut. His eyes bugged and he tried to scream.

"Now, I think we can do away with these appendages, don't you?"

With that, both his arms shook, spasmed, and shriveled up to the shoulder and disappeared. A small ball of green slime appeared in front of him, shimmering and pulsing, about the size of a tennis ball. His body started to shrink and spasm. I smirked. I was starting to enjoy this.

'Concentrate, son. Pay attention.' My dad.

'Gotcha, pop. Don't worry.'

I was grinning.

"Now, you seem to be a little too big for your britches. Why don't we just trim you down to size, shithead? Or is it Monsueir Shithead?" I gestured with my left hand. I was getting the hang of this, and subconsciously I heard my Grandfather chuckle. The asswipe's legs below the knees spasmed, shriveled, and disappeared. He floated there in space as his body continued to shrink, slowly and the green ball of slime grew to the size of a baseball.

I stared at him. "No, I don't think that's what I had in mind. Stand up, shithead.NOW!" He dropped with a thud onto the remainder of his knee joints, and if he could have screamed, well, you understand. The tears running from his swollen eyes were more than enough satisfaction for me.

"That's better. You're much shorter now."

About this time, my erstwhile wife regained consciousness and bolted upright.

"Ben, what the hell are you........?"

"Shut up, bitch. Not another word from you. If I want to hear from you, I'll ask. UNDERSTAND?"

She quailed and closed her mouth.

"Now then, where was I? Oh, yeah." I motioned with my left hand, and Wayne's clothing disappeared. He was left naked, and ravaged, his pathetic genitalia hanging out. I turned to Marge.

"THIS IS THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH TO CHEAT ON ME WITH, SLUT?" She moaned and collapsed in tears.

"Well, that's going to end." A thought formed in my mind, and his balls and cock immediately disappeared into a cloud of black smoke. He winched and the tears were renewed. The baseball-sized mass of green-grey slime swelled slightly.

"That's better."

Marge was beyond stunned, as she stared open mouth at the destruction being wrought on her paramour.

"Now, what's left?"

My mother's voice intruded.

'His heart. Remove his heart', she whispered in my subconscious.

'Seriously?'

'It must be done, to complete the spell. Just will it and, and don't touch it.'

'But won't that kill him?'

'He's been dead for a few minutes. He doesn't realize it yet. But he will.'

I sighed and concentrated. His chest split and his pulsing organ rose to eye level.

'Now destroy it but make no claims on any part. Vaporise it.'

Done. The red piece of flesh flashed and vanished.

Mom continued.

'Now remove the rest of his body and get his soul.'

'Seriously??'

'Do as your mother says, son,' intoned my dad.

Okay. Done.

He was reduced to a small emaciated shriveled head, with a small black balloon-like appendage hanging from the remains of his neck.

'Grab it, squeeze it, and stuff it in his mouth.' I don't know if I'll ever look at my sweet mother the same way again. Meanwhile, Marge had relieved herself, then puked, but she was still conscious- barely.

I did as I was told, gestured for him to open his mouth, and stuffed his miscreant soul into his mouth, then sealed it up again.

'Now, stick this piece of crap on that nail up on the wall. We're done with it.'

Dad again.

My eye was drawn to a gleaming spike sticking out of the molding behind the counter. So, I gestured and his essence impaled itself high up on the wall.

'Now' thought my mom,' to clean up. Get that little table over here and a bowl.' As the thoughts came into my mind, a small end-type table skidded across in front of me, followed by a mixing bowl. The now softball-sized sphere plopped into the bowl and started to roil, gently.

'Now', said my mother, 'this will be a bit nasty, and slightly painful. Have Marge bite your hand, hard enough to draw blood, and drip six drops into the bowl. Then bite hers and do the same. You can heal her like you did. Your hand will heal itself.'

I shuddered, but I turned to Marge, and told her, "Wife come here." She rose and approached. I stuck out my hand and told her to bite it, hard. She did, and I cringed, then said, with all my heart, "HARDER, BITCH!" Her eyes widened, but she bit down, and I could feel the pain. I pulled my hand away and there was blood. I squeezed six drops into the bowl, then at Mom's behest, wiped six or so tears into the bowl, from my face. The tears leapt off unbidden and fell into the liquid morass. My hand almost immediately healed, and I dried my eyes. Marge was practically hysterical, but she couldn't do anything.

'Now do the same to her. It will be easier to get her tears after you bite her,' said my mom.

I did so, and she was now weeping hysterically. Her tears followed into the bowl with the blood, and then I kissed her hand with my tongue out and her hand healed. She sagged and I gently got her back to the stool. Then Istared at the swirlinmess and bit my lip, causing tears to form. i cotributed them to the mixture, and there was an immediate bubbling bowl full of-something.

'Now comes the hard part,' said my Mom.

'REALLY?' I replied sarcastically.

'Settle down, son. It's almost over,' said my Dad.

Mom came back.

'You have to reaffirm your love, so reach under her dress, into her panties, and get your hand covered with her juices. Drip it into the bowl. Then, you have to make your donation', and add it to.....'

"OH, COME ON, MOM! YOU CAN'T BE REAL!!!'

My mother whispered calmly, 'It is necessary to save your marriage--if you want to.'