Great Old One Pt. 07

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In an evil church, Lord Bloodstone has dark plans for her...
1.3k words
4.16
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Part 7 of the 10 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 09/06/2015
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***Thanks to everyone who has commented or given me feedback! I am humbled by the kind words and admiration!

...there is more to come, perhaps 1-2 more parts. Keep letting me know what you think!

-QP***

*****

Annika was in a room, large, with the same bluestone walls and high arching timber ceilings. It was undeniably a church, yet it had been transformed, for other means. At the altar, a large circular pit gaped darkly in the ground. Lord Nicholas Bloodstone and a group of men in black robes, including the old tall man, stood at its mouth. In the dark wooden pews facing the altar, townspeople sat solemnly. Some turned to view Annika as she was nudged from the elevator from the three washerwomen. Most of them did not look at her. They were dressed in black, serious, still. They seemed like mannequins. Annika thought it was like they were attending a Christian funeral and this realisation chilled her as she passed pews, taking it all in, wide-eyed.

Besides the elevator which seemed to replace the confession boxes, the altar was perhaps the most modified part of the church. The yawning abyss, perhaps two metres wide, lined with a bluestone lip, was concerning. It sat in the middle of the altar, close to the pulpit, which had black curtains and a gold symbol with what looked like a monstrous octopus embossed on it. Annika stared at it, thinking about what Chris said about the sea stories. Her imagination conjured a tentacle beast, redolent of a Kraken, desirous of human sacrifices and she cried out, "No!"

Annika was close to the pulpit and the grey-clad washerwoman with the blunderbuss hit her in the ribs, trying to silence her. She barely noticed the sting and she fell to her knees, staring at the priests, at Nicholas, who towered over her, menacing and powerful. She gasped for breath, looking around at the people in the pews, who seemed to be under a spell or within a trance. The moment was horrific, surreal. Her temples pounded and she wanted to be sick.

"Annika, my dear," Nicholas said, his voice like silk, gliding towards her with his hand extended. He was so tall; perhaps six foot nine inches in height and this added to his presence. At his feet, Annika gazed up, submitting. She allowed him to help her to her feet; cognizant that she looked wretched, with her hair tangled, her dark eye-make up smudged and her oddly fitting white antique dress. The Lord who had fucked her - perhaps against her will, but perhaps she had enjoyed every moment - took her hand delicately. She grasped his elegant white hand in both of hers and she wet her lips as she recalled how his long fingers had been skilled at rubbing her clit to an earth-shattering orgasm. She remembered him licking her and she was amazed at how composed he was, how statuesque he was in front of her. His cold black eyes regarded her with pity - and Annika loosened her grip on his hands as she saw a cruel smile curve his mouth. He was enjoying this! And a hot jolting instinct shouted at her that there was worse to come.

"Interpol have been notified," she hissed at him. "If you let me go now, I won't tell them that you touched me. Your little game is no longer amusing! So release me right now! Or else!"

Nicholas chuckled. "The whore threatens me," he mocked. "She wants to cry rape, although she clearly wanted it. But I need to be nice to you now. You are chosen, after all."

Annika glared up at him. "I want you to let me go. I want to see my husband."

Nicholas smirked. "You will see him. Afterwards."

"After what?"

He laughed softly and turned away from her, looking at the townspeople in the pews calculatingly. "They're all here to bear witness to you, Annika. They need this."

"What?" Annika cried out, confused. She chose this moment to try to run and then Nicholas grabbed her. He was very fast and now in his huge arms, pressed against his big hard body, she realised that there was no escaping whatever was coming.

"Don't make me tie you up again, Annika," he murmured in her hair. She was angry to feel his hardening cock digging into her stomach as he held her. This was arousing him!

"Just tell me what you're going to do to me," she said, wetting her lips nervously.

He ignored her. Suddenly, every person in the pews rose to their feet silently. Shaken, Annika took her eyes off Nicholas and twisted to look at them, observing their zombie-like gait, bulging glassy eyes and stoic faces. They seemed hypnotised? Half-asleep? "Hello?" she called to them. "Can anyone help me?"

The people started to chant in a low murmur- it wasn't Spanish or English, Annika was sure it was Latin. They stared ahead, still, lips moving. Annika looked back to Nicholas, who was smiling benevolently.

"Come on, Annika," he said gently, kindly. "I can promise you Chris is fine. And your new friends. They are being cared for. They will be cared for as you will be."

Annika swallowed. "They're not being harmed?"

"No," he said softly. "Far from it. They are with a chosen one. This has happened before, the authorities will be turned away and when it is over, you can all leave. I promise you."

This made little sense but it gave Annika some hope. "Promise me?" she asked, looking up at him.

"If you are a good slut," Nicholas breathed and before Annika could protest, he pressed his mouth on hers, kissing her hungrily. His big tongue pushed into her mouth, invading her and pressing in deep. Despite her terror and anger, Annika responded, feeling her pussy grow wet and warm, allowing his hands to cup her face as he intensified the kiss. His hands ran over her body and he moaned appreciatively. In her ear he whispered, his breath on her neck, "You will like the sex, Annika. They all do...but you, you especially will."

Annika stared at him in shock. "What?"

Nicholas gave her one of his arrogant secretive chuckles. "Get on your knees and face the pews."

Annika looked at the priests, the Lord and then the washerwomen, considering rebellion but finding herself getting to her knees and facing the pews. The white lace skirt splayed around her on the black carpet and her bare knees ached, the ground was very hard through the floor covering. The black clad crowd stood still, their blank faces watching her impassively. "What has been done to you?" she whispered, watching them with pity and fear.

Nicholas placed his hand on Annika's head and recited some words, which the people robotically repeated. A priest walked over with a gold and emerald chalice. Nicholas dipped an elegant finger in and rubbed the briny clear fluid on Annika's forehead. "What was that?" she whispered.

He placed his hand on her head, ignoring her question and reciting more Latin. Then he grabbed a rough handful of her long blonde hair. "Stand," he commanded and she did. He said some more words, not Latin, they sounded old and strange. Nicholas was looking her in the eye, his black stare pinning her to the ground. His white hand still had her by the hair, forcing her to crane her neck and look at him. Annika tried not to let her pain and fear show. She met his gaze steadily and then he unexpectedly leaned in, grazing his lips against hers. He looked pleased and he whispered, "Sweet dreams...I will see you on the other side, darling slut."

Before she could answer, protest or do anything, a black hood was drawn over her head again and in the confusion of the stuffy blackness, she felt something hard strike her on top of her cranium. She lost consciousness, only vaguely aware of her body crumpling to the floor.

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