A Visit From Saint Michael - A Halloween Story - Sex Stories

A Visit From Saint Michael - A Halloween Story

... into silence. “And then it was morning,” he said flatly. “The others were screaming and holding their heads. Jane ran upstairs screaming and yelling in absolute terror. Harold clutched his chest and fell to the floor. Marie, Frank, and Sharon fell to their knees and began pounding their heads against the floor and screaming until their voices finally failed them.” He was suddenly very calm and looked almost normal as he said to me, “People said I was lucky to have survived.” Then he laughed, not quite so crazily this time, and said, “Jane and Harold were the lucky ones. It was over for them. “In a way it was also over for Marie, Frank, and Sharon. Their minds were totally gone. They have spent the past four decades basically unaware of their true punishment. Even if they remember as our punishment comes to a close, at least all they must endure is the memory of that night.” He looked at me with pleading eyes. “For me it has been more than a memory. I became her, and when I returned to being me, I had more than the memory of her pain. I brought back into myself her thirst for pain... her need for pain... her addiction to pain which I had released within her that night.” He held out his hands. There were bruises around his wrists. “Sometimes I can go a week before the hunger becomes too great,” he said in a shaking voice. “Sometimes it is every night that I must succumb to my addiction. When I can stand it no longer, I order my maid and butler to tie me to that wall and lash me ...

... with the snake’s tongue until I finally find release.” He wept. These were tears of despair not mania. “I do not want it. I do not desire it. But I need that pain as surely as a heroin addict needs his daily fix.” He snorted, “They have come to enjoy it. Sometimes as I am hanging there afterwards, I can hear them having sex in the darkness behind me.” He drew in a deep breath. “Seven years for each of the six girls. That was my sentence from that terrible angel of vengeance... seven years without release from the hell I, alone, had created.” He paused and smiled again. “I will be released soon. One more year and I will be released. One more year and then you can tell my story. Remember, one more year... but not until then.” He sat back in his chair and became silent. The morose butler appeared by my side and said quietly, “I think it is time that you should leave.” I picked up my cell phone and recorder from the table and followed him to the entrance. As I left the mansion my heart was very heavy. I had more than enough for my interview. It was not recorded, but I have a precise memory. I could write out what was spoken verbatim when I got home... but would I? What purpose would it serve? No one would ever publish it! No one would ever believe me. And why should they? After all my hopes and expectation, all I had were the delusional ramblings of a sick, old man. To my editor and others who knew that I was coming here tonight for an interview, I would explain that it had been ...