In the dream (or was it a dream?), a warm wind swept across Alma's body, like fingertips grazing her flesh, kneading her breasts and thighs, caressing her moist crevices. Strange feelings took hold of her, an unexplainable passion. An invisible force seemed to beckon her. A phantom voice made sounds of pleasure, moaning low as she writhed about on her bed, recalling the joyous celebration of her thirtieth birthday hours before with friends at the Mariner sea food restaurant. She missed her mother who was away on a business trip.
Far away, ritual drums could be heard, celebrating the night of the summer solstice. The primitive beat, the rhythmic pulsations made her blood race, her cunt to quiver. It was just past midnight, the house was very quiet. Alma suddenly became aware of voices in the room chanting, invoking the Lord of shadows to hasten his arrival, to embrace them, to teach them the pleasures of darkness. "What the fuck is this? Am I going crazy? She thought. The room was bathed in bright moonlight from the full moon.
The flame from a votive candle flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. But there was no one there. Alma recalled a saying by her mother who once dabbled in the occult and paranormal phenomena. "The solstice night of the Litha Sabbat, is a night when shadows speak and darkness whispers; when the guardians of the night come out".
A deep voice called out to her. "Come to me Alma, come worship the creator of passion little one. Love the night! Worship it! Give yourself freely to joys others can only dream about"
Could this really be happening she thought as her body trembled and a rubescent mist suddenly enveloped the room? Soon she would be consecrated to the Lord of shadows as his handmaiden, said the voice. But somehow she was unafraid as she slid slowly into the realm of shadow, lust and madness.
The mist turned vermilion covering the room as the night wind moved upon the entire bed, caressing Alma, stroking her tumescent clitoris, licking her cunt bringing her pleasure. The voice was still a formless shadow, a phantom lover. Was it madness or Hell, this state she was in? But she was unafraid of her fate, she imagined herself a vestal virgin at the holy shrine of night and a prisoner of unabated desires. She felt like she was chained to her bed, her body lethargic.
Soon the sound of organ music filled the room, a symphony of evening songs and funereal music. She could hear the cries of creatures echoing thru the night; the lullaby of rustling leaves and swaying branches in melodious cadence. It was both eerie and erotic at once. Her cunt continued to quiver insistently, her juices running down the crack of her ass, her body racked with deep desire. She resigned herself to the caressing melodic strains.
Alma suddenly became aware of two older women in the room. "How the fuck did they get in here" she thought. She stared at them bewildered. Somehow they resembled the reclusive sisters who live in the cottage by the old graveyard, who'd been accused of satanic practices but never proven. They wore sheer, diaphanous knee length caftans that displayed their full breasts and large nipples and thick, black pubic hair that coiled over their cunts. Their necks and arms were festooned with beads, and amulets; their complexion, burnt sienna, their eyes sunken. "Who are you? What do you want? How did you get in here" Alma asked The women were mostly silent, grim-faced, gazing upon Alma's darkly bronzed naked body; lush yet slender with firm breasts and a magnificently luxuriant bush between her hairy thighs and legs, the hairs spreading over her flat taut belly, all the way up to her navel; the thick bush of her underarms. They noted her pierced nipples and clitoris, the tattoo of a dragon on her left breast. "She is the chosen one alright", said one of the women. Alma tried to get up but was restrained by the women who offered her a drink of spiced Soma wine in a chalice, then fondled and caressed her gently, one woman massaged her cunt, her clitoris while the other stroked her breasts and belly, preparing her, all the while chanting "Let her body be penetrated, ravished and consumed with black radiance this holy night"...Alma felt a little light headed, like she'd smoked some pot.
It dawned upon Alma then, the playful voluntary offer she, her lesbian lover Kitana, and other young women spectators made at the Beltane, the Pagan / Wiccan May Day celebration by the Ishtara Coven a few weeks before, to become the "Handmaidens" of El Noche, the Lord of Shadows. El Noche is supposedly one of the deities in the pantheon of paranormal deities of the otherworld. A maiden was described to them by the High Priestess Vulvina Veneris, as "She who is one unto herself; virgin, but not necessarily chaste; independent, joyous and untamed. She is the mistress and protectress of wild things". Alma had laughed and thought then that it was all in jest, a joke and totally crazy when Vulvina selected her as the chosen one...Well; was she mistaken!
Suddenly a form appeared in the room and with it came a strong musky odor...It was that of a lean but muscular mauve-skinned naked creature. His face looked like a gargoyle's, with puckish ears; his eyes obsidian. His curly hair was greasy black and two gray horns curved upward from his temples. His lower body was covered with thick animal fur, his sturdy legs ended in cloven hooves; and he brandished an enormous, burgundy-colored erect cock bulging with thick, ropy veins, at least 15 inches long and thick as a toddler's arm, jutting out like a club, with testicles the size of grape fruits. And around his neck hung a green bandana. His body seemed to glow in the moonlight. "Holy fuck!" Alma muttered. He was truly a fearsome being to behold...Surely a demon from the bowels of Hell, thought Alma shuddering.
