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

A Visit From Saint Michael - A Halloween Story

... quiet moments he smiled again at me and said in an almost child-like voice, “She spoke in English. I know she did. She said very clearly and distinctly, ‘Saint Michael, save me.’” He paused and his voice became not much more than a whisper. “I mocked her with her own words.” Then he spoke in a mocking, sing-song voice, “‘Saint Michael, save me. Saint Michael, save me. Saint Michael, save me.’” He stopped and suddenly looked around the room as if in terror of what he might see. “That’s when he first appeared... or at least that is when he first spoke. He may have been standing there in the darkness for much longer than that, but it was not until he spoke from the darkness behind me that we knew of his presence. “It was a very pleasant and polite voice. ‘Thank you Mr. Summerfield,’ he said. ‘A single voice may call upon me a thousand times, and I am helpless to act, but when the seventh voice calls my name for the third time on the day of the dead, I am bound to intercede.’” Marvin sat very quietly with his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly upward. He was seeing something in his memory as he spoke. “He was a very handsome young man... and very polite. He said that since it was now after midnight, it was the day of the dead and he could act to bring vengeance and justice. “‘You must choose,’ he said.” “‘Choose what?’ I replied. “‘Which young woman,’ he answered. ‘The vengeance I bring is this, you must change places with the one whom you have harmed.’ He turned to point ...

... at each of us. ‘Each of you must choose.’ “‘And if we don’t?’ Harold said defiantly. “‘The choice will be made,’ he answered. ‘If not by you, then by me.’” Marvin Summerfield’s eyes were now wide and almost pleading. “None of the others would choose. I knew that we were doomed, and thought perhaps I could lessen the intensity of my punishment by my choice. ‘Number four,’ I said quickly, remembering that she had, at least received pleasure from her pain. The others remained silent. “After a long silence the polite stranger spoke. ‘So it shall be,’ he said. “Suddenly I was against the wall... but I was not me. When he had said, ‘change places,’ I thought that it would be done to me as I had done to her, but it was more than that. I was her. It was me against that wall, but I was in her body. The entire evening was replayed as if it were some demented movie.” He stared at me with wide open eyes. His face quivered. Again a memory was going through his mind, but this memory he was not savoring. “And then it repeated... again, and again, and again, and again. Seven times I was stripped. Seven times I was fondled. Seven times I was raped. Seven times I was lashed with the snake’s tongue. Seven times I was forced to orgasm by my thirst for pain.” His voice had climbed in intensity and pitch as he spoke. His words again dissolved into that hideous, maniacal laughter which had been bubbling under the surface throughout the interview. It seemed to go on for hours until it finally faded ...