The Ship of Souls

She matched each forward thrust with her own undulating roll of her hips until he was on the verge of explosion. He gripped her hips and lunged deeper still, until their combined momentum created an audible slap of flesh against flesh. His cock released a gush of warmth, then swelled and discharged itself, releasing a powerful surge of thick, ropey fluid inside of her. He grunted and grimaced, while his body was wracked with spasms of pleasure for being so liberated, yet deeply ensconced in her fleshy sheathe.

His fingers were clamped into her flesh like steely vices, leaving their imprints on the soft cheeks of her ass. For a moment, he silently wished he had been more restrained and had chosen instead that more forbidden avenue to travel within. There was that same tinkling laughter he remembered from a year ago. She was mocking his ravenous desire; willfully taunting him again with an enticing sway of her upturned hips.

"Who are you?" he demanded with a growl of impatience. Already, his penis was straining for more attention and the chance to exorcise his own inward demons. He abruptly withdrew from her and sealed it up against the temptation of her beckoning backside. She sighed with a similar degree of frustration for his refusal of her invitation.

She lowered her gown and smoothed it in place as if she had just descended from a less amorous exploit. She turned to face him and gave him a remote look of interest. "I am Lillith," she said as if expecting some sign of recognition from him.

"Lillith," he echoed, seeming oblivious to the implications of her name.

"Yes," she admitted with a defiant air. "I am she who was before all others," she went on. Seeing his look of blank comprehension, she sighed again. "I was the chosen one, made for man's pleasure and desire. Until I was banished from the exalted one's sight," she explained. "I am an immortal."

"You don't mean The Lillith?" Ian gasped in disbelief. She nodded, a slight smile of satisfaction curling upon her lips at his sudden dawning. "But, you are a myth!" he sputtered in denial.

"I'm hardly a myth, Ian. As you can see and feel for yourself, I'm quite real," she purred as she seductively entwined herself around him again.

Ian was dazed and confused by her sudden revelation. "But, this is insane!" he blurted again. If he had, even for a moment, entertained the idea that the woman might be an apparition, he had never bargained for the possibility that she might be some form of immortal demon. According to legend, it was Lillith who occupied the position of help-mate to Adam, before her rebellious nature brought about her banishment and the creation of Eve.

It was Lillith who seduced the serpent into the temptation of Eve, and induced the original sin of mankind. Ian's mind reeled with the speculation of it all. He made a feeble attempt to extract himself from her arms, and failing, he stared down into those hypnotic eyes. She was a seductress, and in the mirrors of her soul, he could see all the men who fell victim to her spell, including his own reflection. Their souls were all hopelessly trapped behind those entrancing mirrors.

In a brave effort of resistance, he spat at her, "Go back to hell, Lillith!"

"Are you sure that's what you want, Ian?" she purred while stroking the front of his pants. His penis flexed itself at her touch, rising and struggling for a new release. "I seem to recall you sealing a bargain of sorts with me. All you asked for then was the freedom to enjoy my body in its entirety for that one night. I gave you that. In exchange, I required your soul. Would you deny me that now? Or, should we renegotiate?" she asked. Ian hesitated to answer.

"I know the desires of all men, Ian. Even yours," she cooed softly, while unzipping his trousers again. She reached inside and wrapped her fist firmly around his cock. She gave it a squeeze and pulled it free from its encumbering confines. "Imagine having all of me at your will, to do with whatever you like, as often as you like," she coaxed.

Ian felt his resolve crumbling under her inducement. "For how long, Lillith? A night?" he grumbled begrudgingly.

"Forever, if you like," she purred. "But, forever is a long time in hell, Ian," she warned. "Unlike you, I'm not bound to the underworld. Or, to any world, for that matter," she taunted. Ian recalled Madame Legendre's warning. She had called Lilith 'the one who could not be bound'.

"Without you, a day anywhere would seem like eternity," Ian muttered under his breath as his penis bobbed with excitement at her touch.

"Think of it, Ian," she cajoled. "I would be all yours, exactly as you see me now. I can be anything you want me to be. This body will never age," she urged. "I could be your play-thing; your slave if you like," she added while slipping to her knees and lapping rapidly at the head of his penis. He groaned in admiration of her talented tongue lashing.

"My slave?" he asked with reticence. She bobbed her head up and down on his cock in silent reply. He grasped her hair and thrust deeply into her throat. She made an overt attempt to struggle against his jabbing organ and he reluctantly relaxed his grip, allowing her the freedom to speak again.

"Yes, Ian. You can put me chains if you like. Force me to obey your every command. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Ian? Whipping me into submission?" she pressed coyly. "I would serve only you, Ian. I could even be a virgin for you," she added slyly.

He scoffed at the very idea of it.

"It's true, Ian! I can be whatever you like; however it pleases you to perceive me," she explained.

"Everytime?" he asked, his interest now peaked.

"Yes!" she nodded in earnest, her immediate service to his penis temporarily forgotten. "I have the ability to transform myself into whatever form you would find pleasing." She paused before adding, "In time, I could transform you as well."

"Into what?" he snorted with contempt.

She shrugged at his disdain. "I could make you immortal, too!" she insisted. "You'd never age or be sick again. You'd have the strength of ten men, Ian," she rushed on.

"But, I'd be living in hell forever, right?" he snorted.

"No! You could come back here, if you wanted to," she replied with urgent appeal.

"And, what's the price for all that, Lillith?" he asked.

"A year," she replied. "Just one year of this life in the underworld, in exchange for an eternity of existence."

"And, there's that little catch about my soul belonging to you, too," he reminded her with sarcasm.

"Of course, but we would be bound to one another forever," she argued. "If I transform you, then we are bound together. There's no way around that, Ian. I thought that's what you wanted; to be with me."

"It was," he sighed heavily. "I mean it still is," he hastily interjected.

She climbed to her feet and clasped his hand in hers. "Then, come with me, Ian. Come with me now so we can be together," she entreated, tugging at his hand with urgency and leading him towards the ghostly barge.

**********

Madame Legendre's keen and watchful eye witnessed Ian's disappearance into the fog. History had long ago taught her not to intervene in the free-will of others. She no longer involved herself in such matters, except to occasionally give advice to those lost souls she perceived to be in need of guidance. The lure of temptation was greater than any reason mankind was born with. In the grand scheme of things, mortals were fragile creatures easily manipulated and broken by their insatiable greed for power.

The shame of it was that most mortals never understood the mysterious principles of nature. The source of all energy, strength, and sovereignty lies within itself. In the end, it was all a matter of consequences. Ian had made his choice with blatant disregard to its consequences. Madame Legendre sighed heavily and repeated in a barely audible whisper, "After the dance, the drum is heavy."

She turned her attention to Frank Miller, who had, as yet, taken no notice of Ian's absence. The entity Papa Ghede who had mounted his body had a second side to his nature, as do most souls. Ghede had long been enamored of a certain feminine force known as Erzulie, the feminine side of Papa Legba.

Like Aphrodite, the goddess of old, Erzulie was a mystie of great beauty and grace. Loved and admired by both her worshippers and her fellow spirits, Erzulie had rejected the advances of Papa Ghede as being coarse and crude. She was far more discriminating in her tastes than to align herself with such an indecent lover. It was Erzulie that Frank, as the vessel of Papa Ghede, set his sights on.

Frank had lost in his battle with the spirit of Papa Ghede. It was Ghede who controlled his actions now, and while Frank was consciously aware of all he did, he felt powerless to intervene in any way. The mystie manifested itself as an evocative need that began in the pit of his stomach, and radiated an inexplicable heat which rapidly spread to his groin. His member bobbed flagrantly with fiendish anticipation.

He approached the woman with stealth and cunning, soundlessly pouncing and seizing her by the wrists. Although, taken by surprise, she was quick to mount a defense, kicking and flailing about with all her might in an attempt to free herself of her impending doom. Nevertheless, she was dragged from the porch of the shanty and into the midst of the revelers who clapped and jeered at her predicament. A few turned their faces away, ignoring her frantic appeals for rescue.

With heightened resolve, she was flung face down on the ground by her adversary. Her wrists were awkwardly twisted behind her back and pinned, while her silk dressing gown was split from the neck to hem, completely exposing her bare flesh. Ghede leered greedily from above at the sight of her luscious bounty.

Frank's manly instrument danced wildly in mid-air, intensly excited by the sight of the secret vault which would soon become its burial chamber. The entry remained well oiled, but was not greatly prepared to be breached, except by solid determination. The woman still struggled futilely in resistance of his intent to prevail himself upon her. But, her reluctance to submit to his control was not greater than his own resolve to master her.

He was convinced that her virtuous defense was little more than a façade. He held her steady while he wet one finger with drool, and wedged it between her buttocks. In one smooth motion, he pierced the puckered aperture and began rhythmically stroking the inner walls. She howled loudly at the aphoristic assault and stiffened in response. Her anus constricted tightly around his finger in an effort to repulse the invasion. His penis reared itself upright in response, straining for a fair-share of attention.

He abruptly withdrew his appendage and spat into his palm, smearing the monster generously and stroking it to a full state of readiness. Its bulging dome plowed a trough between her mounds of flesh as it steered a critical course for the hidden stargate. Initially, the portal rejected his demand for entry before it was pried open, and the monster slowly squeezed its way inside. Erzulie's pathetic wail heralded her unconditional surrender and she ceased her struggling.

Aware of her sudden capitulation, Ghede released his hold on her wrists, relieving her of the strain and allowing her a free range of motion. She moaned softly in gratitude and adjusted herself to rest more comfortably on her elbows. He grinned lecherously at his triumph, snaking one arm around her waist and posing her to suit his needs. With her hips now raised, he was able to make a more thorough exploration of the abyss within.

Under his control, the monster snaked its way between the inner walls, slipping deeper with each thrust, and pausing only briefly between each partial extraction. It savored every involuntary contraction, rearing its head and jerking upwards in response. The walls tightened around it, increasing its pleasure, and boosting its momentum. It was driven by its insatiable need to be appeased as it edged towards its impending release.

The two entities occupying one vessel, Ghede and Frank, each battled for control. Ghede was intent on retribution for Erzulie's constant contempt of him. Frank wanted nothing more than to absolve himself of any wrong doing. His own earlier observations echoed in his mind. 'Possession is no defense of the law,' tolled like a bell ringing inside his head.

In the end, it was the monster who prevailed when the body of Erzulie suddenly quivered and shook. Her muscles tensed and her skin exuded a flow of salty tears. With a loud cry, she contorted and trembled, meeting his final thrusts before she was filled with a boiling infusion of living semen. Both Ghede and the monster were assuaged by the same means, and in that moment, Ghede relinquished his hold on the body of Frank.

Frank blinked hard and shook his head to clear his mind. Under him, Erzulie was still contained in the vessel of the woman. She writhed about before rearing her torso upwards and twisting herself about to look directly at her attacker. Her previous appearance as the docile and feminine goddess was altered. Her eyes were glazed by a bluish film and the pupils were no longer round, but rather elongated, like tiny verticle black slits. Her arms blended with her torso and her legs molded together as if they were one.

Frank opened his mouth to speak, but uttered no sound before the hideous entity hissed loudly, and spat directly in his face. The venom burned like acid, and he instinctively clawed at his eyes, screaming in agony. The last image he witnessed was that of woman transformed into a snake, before he collapsed on the ground unconscious.

**********

Frank leisurely roused himself to the sound of a soft, feminine voice. It was soothing, somehow comforting, like that of angel. He groaned and tossed his head from side to side while something wet and cool wiped his brow. He abruptly came to his senses and surrounded by darkness, he sat bolt upright in a panic. He frantically felt for his eyes, finding them sealed behind a thick layer of what felt like gauze bandages.

"Shhhhh," the voice cooed as a firm but gentle hand gripped his shoulder and pressed him back down onto a down-filled pillow. "You'll be alright, Mon Ami. Your sight will return in a few hours," the voice assured him. He recognized his angel as Madame Legendre. He groaned and relaxed against the pillow.

"Where are we?" he croaked. His throat was dry and his head swam the way that it usually does when one suffers the effects of a terrible hangover. "Where's Ian?" he asked almost as an afterthought. He was already planning his escape from this place and a swift return to New York. Madame Legendre hesitated to respond immediately.

"You are safe. We are inside the hunting lodge," she explained cautiously. "We are alone here. Your friend is gone," she added gently.

Frank sighed heavily. "Where in hell has he gone now?" he demanded with irritation. "He better get his ass back here in a hurry, because I intend to be on the next plane out of this place."

"It's hard to say, Mon Cheri. But, your friend won't be back anytime soon," she shrugged indifferently, pausing to apply a fresh compress to his forehead. He blindly swiped the cloth away.

"It's that woman, isn't it?" he huffed. "He's run off someplace to be with her, hasn't he?" he demanded impatiently.

"I'm afraid so," she replied.

"Well, where did they go? I'll go find him and drag him out of here if necessary. He promised! He swore we could leave today and that he would go back to his writing as soon as we were back in New York!" he complained loudly.

Madame Legendre seemed to redirect the conversation. "How much do you remember about last night?" she asked gently. Frank paused and pondered her question for a moment. His memory was fogged, but it resurged at her prompting.

He shrugged with embarrassment. "Most of it, I suppose," he admitted. "The girl? Is she alright? She isn't hurt, is she?" he asked with genuine concern.

"She appeared to be fine when she left," she answered. "I don't think she remembered too much of what happened. She made no complaints to me, anyway," she added. A smile spread slowly across her lips. "I think she rather enjoyed it!" she giggled with some delight.

Frank almost smiled in return before he groaned with despair, "I feel just awful about it. I don't know what came over me! One minute, I was just watching her, and the next thing I knew...well, you know," he shrugged sheepishly.

Madame Legendre shook her head and clucked her tongue at him. "Still, you do not believe?" she asked in dismay.

"You mean, about being possessed? No, I suppose I don't. I was drunk and I behaved badly. That's all there was to it," he answered firmly.

"For now, we will just have to agree that you were not quite yourself last night, and let it go at that. Shall we?" she asked brightly.

Frank's silence indicated that he was willing to let the distasteful discussion rest. "So, where can I find, Ian?" he inquired again.

"You can't find him, Mon Ami," she said shaking her head and frowning. "If you still have doubts about what you experienced, then you will not believe what I am about to tell you."

"Well, try me, anyway," Frank said wryly.

"Ian left with the woman. That, you already surmised," she replied. "As for where they went, Ian was given the choice of returning with her to the underworld, or staying here. He chose to go with her," she said firmly. Frank snorted in response.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me," she said sounding hurt.

"The underworld!" Frank scoffed again. "Well, if you will just remove these bandages and point me in the right direction, I'll just take a taxi and go find him!" he insisted. "Where on earth is this underworld, anyway?" he jested.

"It isn't on earth, Mon Ami. It is, as you would call it, purgatory, or perhaps even hell," she replied almost too smoothly. "It's a place of the dead. It isn't for the living."

"Well, if Ian went there, then I should be able to find him soon enough. May I remind you that Ian isn't dead?" he argued sensibly.

"No, he isn't," Madame Legendre agreed. "At least not yet. But, his choice to go there with the woman has placed him on that path. And, he will soon become one of the unliving; a creature of darkness and not of this world any longer. You cannot pursue him without placing your own soul in jeopardy. It's a matter of free-will, Mon Cheri. In order to save him, you must sacrifice yourself," she said sounding worried.

"It's a journey you should not untake. I know. I made the journey once, long ago," she said whistfully. "For the sake of a child," she added.

"Well, last time I actually looked at you, you seemed okay to me. You're quite beautiful, you know," Frank said with sincerity.

Madame Legendre smiled sadly. "Yes, I still look just as I once did, when I was young," she said sounding humble. "But, in truth, Mon Cheri, I am over two-hundred years old," she confided.

Frank snorted at her claim. "That's ridiculous! How can you be two-hundred?" he chided.

Her voice grew soft and she leaned closer to explain. "Once, when I was young, and somewhat mindless, a man came to me; a wealthy white man whose child had recently died. His wife was inconsolable at their loss. So, she begged her husband to elict the help of another priestess in order to bring the child back to life. To appease his wife, he did so. And, the child was returned to the arms of her mother, after having been buried for several weeks and then exhumed from the grave." Frank tilted his head, listening with interest to her recollection of the past.

"For a few weeks, the parents were happy. They had their precious child back, and nothing else seemed to matter to either of them," she droned on. "But, then, suddenly, the child began to change. She began to not only act the part of a demon-spirit, but her body began to deteriorate as it would have if she had rightfully remained in the grave. One day, her father, unable to contend with the evil one any longer, brought her to me. I made the journey with the child, returning her to the underworld where she belonged," she explained.