by David Kempf
“Oh… baby….”
“This should be just fine, doc…”
He looked at her, while she played with his penis. Her beautiful, lovely legs, her remarkable hard ass and the beauty of her clean-shaven legs… This would probably prove to be one of the best sexual experiences of Wells’s latter-day life.
“What do you think?”
“I think that your vagina is fucking awesome!”
“You better believe it!”
It was. It was a lovely shade of dark. Her eyebrows (which most men admit it or not knew was the reflection of what ladies refer to as down there).
“Yes….”
Wells had been going down on women for longer than two average life spans. Her “down there” smelled good.
It was no small miracle that young ladies referred to Wells’s office as "the orifice…"
“Eat me…”
“Baby….”
This was so delicious. The ultimate prize for looking up a short skirt…. It was damn near frightening. Other men, lesser men, God damn them, refused to provide this erotic service to the most opposite of sex.
Not Wells.
He loved women.
He loved to fuck them.
Christ!
Her juices were flowing and the fucking bitch really knew how to jerk a gentleman off…
He came…
She came…
He devoured her up and down and hit her beautiful clit. It was an emergency; this young lady had not had an orgasm in a very long time. This old man gave the young beauty an invasion into her most private area. Wells did his best to make her feel at home. Well, so to speak…
“I love you,” Wells said.
“No, you only think you do.”
“What?” he asked.
“I better warn other young women who go to school here.”
Wells’s smile quickly turned into a frown.
“You’re a self-centered monster, Wells, you only love yourself….”
There was a pause.
“Yes, that’s probably true…”
Wells could see that the young lady appreciated his admitted selfishness. This made him grin even more broadly.
“Glad you see things my way,” she said. She got dressed again in front of him This God damned near gave him another erection. He looked down at his crotch. It didn’t happen.
What a pity.
Fucking was always better than blowjobs or hand jobs.
“Hope you’re not disappointed, doc.”
“No,” he said flatly.
The lovely young woman nodded at him softly.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Shucks.”
“Do you want to go back to my place?”
“Thought this was your place…”
He smiled.
She smiled back him. Sarah Nolan, fictitious character and all around knock out babe who he was seriously starting to enjoy spending office hours with. He didn’t know what the game was, but he’d play along.
“Well?” He paused. “My place, Sarah?”
“Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”
“You really want to meet the man of your dreams?”
“Sure. More than anything in the world and with all of my dark little heart.”
“Then please let me take you to my place so I can spend more time using and degrading you. I really enjoy it.”
“Wow! You’re so romantic…”
“Indeed…”
“How can I resist?” she asked sarcastically.
“You can’t resist. That’s the whole point, my dear. Think of my lust for you as practice for eternal damnation.”
“Practice?”
“Yes, you are so close to the kingdom…”
“What kingdom?”
“You’re smarter than that and you know full well of what I am speaking of. The kingdom of Hell, my dear: you will be its queen. You’re a lovely fallen angel with a heavenly body.”
Sarah said nothing.
Wells went on. “The man of your dreams is the father of nightmares and the one who drove Eve to eat the apple.”
“You’re funny.”
“Perhaps, but that was no joke.”
Wells, no sexual novice was growing aware of the sexual tension between them. This was the part of the game that he particularly enjoyed.
“Are you for real?” she asked curiously.
“Yes.”
“Because sometimes it seems like—you aren’t,” she said.
“I am realer than you will ever know. You would not believe what I’ve seen, what I’ve done or the dark forces that have guided my life.”
The woman pretending to be Christopher’s Sarah now felt a tinge of fear. Within moments, the fear grew stronger. With damn good reason.
***
When “Sarah” arrived at the home of Dr. Wells, she was surprised at how it appeared, just in terms of plain size (much like the professor himself) and it was more like a mansion than a house.
Dr. Wells knew she would be speechless or at least impressed.
She was beginning to be happy she came if only just to see it once.
And in some weird way, Sarah was beginning to like him; he might be a scumbag, but the masses liked the many scumbags because they were famous. They often had no other admirable qualities.
“Christ, what a homestead,” she said.
“Be it ever so humble…”
She scoffed. “Neither you nor this house are humble.”
Smiling, he showed her around.
The gates, the drawing room, the parlor.
He showed her the gates.
He showed her the gardens.
“This is amazing,” she said.
“This is nothing yet,” said Dr. Wells.
“Really?” she asked.
He took her into his library, which was, of course, extensively filled with the classics and all sorts of dark fiction. Shakespeare and Stoker could both be found, and not far from each other.
“Aristotle and Jonathan Mayberry all in the same collection,” the pseudo Sarah said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Good taste,” he answered respectfully.
She shook her head at him.
“Well, that’s my best answer…”
“And a damn good one…” Sarah was surprised not to see more sexually explicit material in his library. A sexual predator like Wells should at least have had something from the Marquis de Sade. Obviously, he knew what he liked and that’s what was on display in his immense library.
He was honest.
But he was not pure.
“You are a fascinating man,” she said but adding to herself-highly suspect.
She had heard too many crazy stories about him, the ones he told and the ones passed on about him like some primitive oral tradition told around the campfire to terrify the tribe.
My God, they might just well be true, thought Sarah Nolan.
There was something unnatural about a man who was both sophisticated academic gentleman and savage womanizer claiming access to the spirit world.
“So you can introduce me to Satan?” she asked him, as casually as she could.
“Perhaps,” he answered her.
She thought for a moment.
“You said something about cheating death?”
“That wasn’t exactly what I said, darling.”
“You said you had an unnaturally long life, right?”
“Yes, love”
“Tell me all about it. I want to know everything,” Sarah said.
If you are obsessed with Christopher’s book then you know my real name. David Proctor.
“Listen, baby, you are afraid and therefore not ready,” David said.
“I still have to know. Besides, I sense that you are terribly afraid yourself. Even now.”
“Yes, my love, I am very afraid. I am afraid to die.”
“I see. Isn’t everyone on t
he planet afraid of that?”
Wells walked a few steps away from her.
“I was a servant of the Jinn and I just talked to the Devil about certain things that could be worked out in the future.”
“Like immortality, Dr. Wells?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” he answered.
“I don’t see things like you do but I want to,” she said.
“Such as?” he asked her.
“Truth from myth, “she said. “It’s a thin line.”
“Not with me, baby,” said Dr. Wells.
“You knew there was something strange about me. That is why you are here. He added to himself whoever you are.
“I wish that the Jinn and the Devil were true but I find them very hard to believe in.”
“I don’t go on drunken tirades, baby, I simply state the facts…”
“I just want to come out unscathed and ….”
“Not necessarily, undammed?” she asked.
The professor suspected there would be a dark adventure ahead. One that could potentially bring him to what he feared most.
Natural death…
“Sarah” was beginning to realize she was right that dreams could come true and she could learn to cheat death.
But at what price? She wondered…
She was truly afraid now. To conceal it, she folded her arms and scowled at him.
“Why the hell should I believe anything you say?”
Wells stared at her in curiosity. Why would this person come to his home, have sex with him, and then put on this act?
“You may believe the things I say or not. It’s of no consequence to me, my dear.”
She smiled.
“I wish…”
“Careful what you wish for,” she said, waving a cautionary finger at him.
“I wish that the things I need to tell you were not true, but they are. I wish they were no more than horror stories written to frighten my lonely, intelligent readers.”
She grimaced.
He hid a smile. He liked this brash interloper. Wells wished she was the real Sarah if such a young lady ever existed at all.
She said, “I like your love for poor folks. I saw that organization…”
“United against Philadelphia Homeless Youth?”
“Yes,” she said.
Wells frowned. He knew she was making fun of him.
She leaned forward, dropping her playful manner. “You’re a lying hypocrite. You live in this damned mansion and when you are not fucking young girls during office hours, you pretend to be Albert Schweitzer!”
He smiled.
“What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?” she snarled.
He paused and then gave her a sarcastic smirk, saying nothing.
She said, “You don’t go into the inner city and witness poverty, violence, drugs and despair. I find it gravely offensive that you pretend to care about others.”
He smiled a more sinister smile.
Sarah shook her head in disgust at him. She was genuinely outraged.
The smile vanished from his face. “You, who pretend to be a character from my greatest student’s novel, you lecture me about not being a hypocrite or a phony?”
“Yes!”
“Where you get the balls to do that?”
“Look up the Universal Declaration of Human Rights; it clearly states you can be any religion or ethnicity of your choosing. I don’t see why that would not include being any fictional character of your choice.”
“That’s pure madness. Listen whoever you are…”
“No,” Sarah answered.
“I never claimed to be a vampire or a super villain from a comic book. I must confess I do identify with Faust but that is not the point. I am who I am but I must hide it from the world in order to survive.”
“Fine but don’t pretend to be a humanitarian.”
“Baby, if you pretend to be human, then you must pretend to be a hypocrite. This is especially true if you play the part of a tenured writing professor at Donnis.”
To his surprise, she laughed.
“What in hell is so funny?” he demanded.
“You are human now. A mere mortal who is getting pretty close to the grave.”
He smiled. “Come,” he said. “Let me show you something,” and took her by the hand. They walked down a long hallway filled with paintings of beautiful naked women. To Sarah, some of them looked oddly familiar. Suddenly, she realized that she had gone to school with at least five of the girls in the painting. Then towards the end of the hall, she received a shock when she saw one painting that looked like her late grandmother. Sarah had never met her but she had heard rumors of her having an affair with a Donnis professor.
Now Sarah was very afraid.
He seized her and drew her to him. She did not resist.
“Come with me, fallen angel,” he said softly.
He realized her and they continued to walk and. Sarah was no longer afraid, the fear had morphed into pure terror.
Tenured professors made decent money but how could they afford this? This was a mansion, not just a nice house in the suburbs.
Family money, she decided, that had to be it. The man wrote so naturally that he could have easily made, was making, a career of his skills by teaching some of what he knew to eager students attracted by his fame.
But no. The man was an arrogant prick. Writers could get this kind of blind god-like praise at press conferences and book tours.
Did he genuinely want to help others who wanted to write?
No but he did like to fuck young girls and what better way to do that?
Then it dawned on her.
A wealthy man could get all the girls he wanted even without office hours.
“Did you know my grandmother?”
After a moment he said, “Yes, in another time.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“We are almost there, baby. Just one or two more turns.”
She was now more curious than afraid.
“What do you want from me now?” she asked.
“A little bit of that…”
They stopped. Sarah and David were not in what could only be described as a weird room. Shadows and nightmares seemed to flow out from the door as they opened it. In a ceiling in the center of the room was a window in the shape of a pentagram. A small safe sat on the floor below it.
“What’s in the safe?” she asked.
“Iftah ya simsim!”
“What?” she asked nervously.
“Open Sesame!” Wells shouted.
Sarah watched in shock and horror as the safe’s door slowly swung open. It could have been a cheap parlor trick and Wells could be some sort of magician. This was not merely a game like she had played with other lovers.
“What’s in there?” she asked.
“Nothing. And everything…”
Sarah went to the safe, against her better judgment. Inside was only one small thing. She took it out and held it tightly with both hands.
“It’s a crystal and it’s beautiful!” Her face lit up.
“It certainly is,” David said.
“What’s it for?”
“To bring you everything you have ever wished for,” he said, smiling.
“Does it work?” she asked seductively.
“Yes and no. When it works its Heaven, when it fails, it’s….”
“Hell?”
“Yes, Hell or damnation, same difference.”
“What will I see?”
“There is enough of that old witchcraft in it for you to see my life and all my stories.”
“I understand,” Sarah said.
“No you don’t—but you will.”
Sarah held the magic crystal very tightly.
“It’s so beautiful,” Sarah said again.
“Yes, it is. More beautiful than the brightest ghost.” Wells said.
“Red, blue, yellow, a spectrum….”
“Yes
, a dark rainbow of damnation.” A knowing smile played on his face.
“I want to know who and what you really are,” the girl said. “And what your stories reveal. I want to see…”
“How the Jinn make one’s dreams and nightmares come true?”
“Yes,” Sarah answered.
“When you see my life…”
“Yes?”
“You will see, when it comes to those scheming Jinn, there is always more to the arrangement than meets the eye…”
“I see.”
“No but now you will!”
David grabbed Sarah by the hair and pushed her face against the crystal. To her astonishment, it had suddenly grown very warm.
“Come see my life with your own eyes,” he whispered.
Wells’s life was a nightmare. The man was Faust incarnate.
He hadn’t sell his soul to the Devil because Satan was unavailable at the time. Christopher’s book was not dark fiction; it was dark reality….
Now Sarah saw things with a terrifying clarity.
Never sell your soul to write a bestseller…
But that’s what David Proctor had done. Sarah saw him as a young English youth, struggling through a painful childhood. His only escape, his natural talents for reading and writing.
David was a natural born writer.
He didn’t need the Devil to bring his greatness to fruition.
But he did need the Jinn. She saw them and tried to cry out but could not…
David slept with an almost unbelievable number of women.
He fought against and killed Sarah’s descendants and to add insult to injury he fucked her grandmother and painted her in the nude to decorate his hallway.
Intense…
The Jinn were the anti-Christ of their own day. They were pure evil that seduced the very hearts of the fallen creatures known as men. They were evil and sneaky. These horrors really knew what men would sell their souls for. Sarah already had a grand price on hers. The fear of natural death and his own grave had driven David to the Jinn and now to Satan himself. All the dark stories came alive in Sarah’s head as she gazed into the black magic of the crystal. She knew of a certainty that this man would cause the inevitable destruction of mankind with every word that he wrote in his dark fiction stories.
And David was now beyond all redemption.
Sarah saw it…
Sarah saw it all…
In her mind’s eye, Sarah saw a novel called Dark Fiction by Christopher Wisdom. Chris brought the Jinn down and his wish ultimately led to them being exterminated them like rats.
