The Sexorcism of Miriam Flack (The Reluctant Exorcist)

by Graves, Violet

  On occasion, if the victim’s pain threshold is high (or the interloper a pure sadist) the specter will inflict injury on loved ones. Watching through eyes unable to close against the nightmare, some victims will submit without question to stop the torment and bloodshed literally caused by their own hands. In ancient times, men and women accused of consorting with demons were the recipients of violence from subjugated family members. Many of my own kind died that way, torn to shreds by possessed loved ones forced to do the bidding of the courts, before the Enlightenment. Unable to use their talents on blood relatives or children, they would submit to death. These legends were the nightmares of my youth.

  “You would die for a woman you’ve never met?” The demon paced the end of her chain. “There is no record of your face in her memories.”

  “I do not intend to die.”

  She stopped pacing and took a good long look into my eyes. “I beg to differ.” She sniffed the air as though nihilism were something she could scent. “Have you lost your faith, dead man?”

  “I have no faith to lose. I believe in the natural order of things.”

  “Am I out of order?” she asked. “Am I unnatural?”

  “You are as natural as the rats in the walls.”

  “You are worse than the clergy.” She spat to the side. “I have no respect for a godless man.”

  “You are a creature of pure boundless energy that, in ignorance, clings to this corporeal world. I offer you freedom from this mortal cage of flesh and bone.”

  My offer was honest. Graduation can be difficult; former students of life often wander the halls, seeking solace in the familiar, unwilling to shed their corporeal weight in exchange for the vast, dreamlike, and overwhelming freedom of the afterlife.

  Her demeanor changed as I spoke. Her face softened and her shoulders slumped as though burdened. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her trembling lower lip pushed out. “Freedom?” Her whisper was barely audible.

  “Yes. Let me help you.” I took one step forward, almost within her reach. “I can set you free.”

  She sniffed, once. “I’ve been alone for so long.” Her soft voice shook. “No hand to hold. No lips to kiss. The afterlife is so very cruel and so very lonely to souls like me.” She lowered her head but raised her eyes to look at me. She extended her arms out for an embrace. “I need a hug.”

  I sighed and removed my watch.

  “Oh, come on, give me a hug,” she insisted, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, leaning forward and pulling the chain taut. “Just one hug—I won’t squeeze too hard.”

  “Your Highness.” I began to unbutton my shirt.

  “Okay, maybe just hard enough to pop out one of your eyeballs.”

  The boredom of captivity must have trumped her hunger. She was enjoying our interaction. I wondered if she had gleaned something of my weaknesses through mere observation; her wicked playfulness could easily put me off guard. I kept my voice stern. “This body does not belong to you and-”

  “If not for me, this body would not exist.” Her voice deepened with a thread of masculinity. “If I hadn’t spread the legs of that black-haired Irish bitch over a thousand years ago, this pretty little green-eyed creature wouldn’t be here. She is the lucky recipient of my royal blood. We had an arrangement. She is my progeny and my birthright. After the complete and abject failure of that whore’s entire bloodline, this bastard princess should be grateful that I found her worthy enough to catch my interest.”

  With that statement, the entity had answered several questions I might have about its origins. The Norsemen were busy establishing settlements in the Gaelic Kingdoms around the turn of the first millennia. Scholars suggest that a returning soul will rarely reenter its original bloodline through the natural course of things, as life experiences must be varied for reasons of spiritual evolution.

  Perhaps Miriam was in the company of an ancient and royal berserker king intent on rejoining the Swedish monarchy through nefarious means. As for the arrangement, either Miriam had participated in her own subjugation or someone else had bartered with Miriam’s soul. This was not my concern. The deal was null and void, by my reckoning.

  “You are nothing but an opportunist,” I said. I wanted to redirect her attitude, to morph her dark and disarming charm into anger. I was dealing with a masculine entity in the form of a beautiful woman and heightened ire would possibly make the creature less calculating. “You are a common familial atavus and any titles you may have held in your original incarnation mean nothing now.”

  “Common?”

  I squeezed the trigger harder. “Your sort is quite the household pest.”

  She refused to take the bait and instead ran her hands down the length of her torso, as though smoothing wrinkles from an invisible gown. “I am hardly common,” she said. “I am a princess, after all.”

  “You wear that borrowed body like sackcloth. It is a shame to see such beauty draped over such filth.”

  She lifted her hand, clawed her fingers, and suggested in a sweet voice, “Perhaps your eyes would be less offended if I plucked them from your head.”

  I toed off the heels of my shoes and kicked them away. “I hope to distract you with other offerings.”

  She licked her chapped lips with a dry tongue. “What sort of offerings?”

  I decided to expedite the removal of my shirt by pulling the front plackets apart with one yank. The remaining buttons flew and skittered across the flagstone floor. My skin flushed with heat, anticipating her eyes on my chest. “My power against your soul,” I said. “Winner takes all.”

  “And loser?”

  I shrugged. “Who cares? Neither of us have any intention of losing.”

  Chapter Nine

  Perspiration Slicked My Skin

  I was nude. Perspiration slicked my skin. The room had grown stifling hot and the breeze through the high, grated windows barely stirred the air. The creature paced the length of her chain. We were in a silent standoff and had been for perhaps twenty minutes. She was debating the merits of tangling with someone who claimed to be an experienced exorcist but who also promised the chance at unbelievable power. I was waiting for the proper time to step into the ring. I needed to intrigue her with the possibility of a sexual feast and to convince her that this was a battle she might win, despite my firm belief that she could not.

  The sting of her gaze trailed down my belly to my groin. My cock lifted and strained outwards, drawn by the ethereal touch. The time was growing close. Locking my eyes to her bare feet, I cupped my balls and then slowly trailed my fingertips along the underside of my penis.

  The energy generated by my pleasure fed the electromagnetic sphere of her power. The sensation was of static snaps against my skin and the lifting of my fine hairs. I heard her small intake of breath as she experienced a similar feeling.

  “You are a magnificent specimen,” she finally said. “You have shoulders that beg for a yoke.” Her eyes followed the path of my fingers on my penis. “And the size of your manhood is impressive.”

  “Together we can bring you great pleasure.” I wrapped my fingers around my cock and pointed him in her direction as though in introduction. I took one step forward. I did not cross the line of bloody footprints but I brought myself within reach of her hands. She smelled faintly of scorched metal and the heat of her body was intense. The red-lined metabolism was creating a fever within the princess. The superhuman strength and speed came at a cost.

  She took one step back to consider my motives. “You are certainly confident.”

  “I have the confidence of experience. You are not the first demonic atavus I have encountered.”

  “I thought I heard you say there are no demons.”

  “It’s a descriptive adjective for the more powerful among your kind.” Perhaps charm would work both ways.

  She puffed up at the subtle praise. “I will be your last demon. I have been deprived for far too long. Fear is sweet to sip but not easy to ins
pire in a man as mentally disturbed as yourself.” Her thick, chapped lips pushed out as she considered her options. “Perhaps I shall play your little game.”

  She lifted one hand and reached out with her long arm. I was within her reach and death was a possibility. I steeled myself for potential violence but she simply touched my chest with her fingertips and lightly traced the black ink of my tattoos. “What are these words?”

  “These are the names of those I have cast out before you.”

  “Why do you engrave them on your skin?”

  “In honor of their fight.”

  “Liar,” she said. “You do this to gloat.”

  “No. I have sworn an oath that binds me to speak the truth.” The oaths that bind the brothers and sisters are powerful because we are powerful. There was the possibility of mischief and mayhem if we were not bound. This did not mean I could not participate in role-play—cooperative pretense is not the same as deceit—and I was allowed to be vague. Silence was my friend.

  She made a noise of disbelief. “More lies. I do not mind. I enjoy seeking the truth.” She turned her finger so the ragged nail drew a thin, beaded line of blood along my skin. A shudder ran down the length of my body. She smiled. “I think you like this.”

  I held up my belt and then slipped the length of it behind my neck. I brought the ends together and pushed the tongue through the buckle. I pulled the loop closed so the end draped down my chest, like a leash from a collar. Before my hindbrain could interfere, I stepped over the crimson line of demarcation on the floor and dropped to my knees at her feet. “I submit my body to you.”

  She moved back in surprise and lifted one arm to ward off an attack. When she realized that I was supplicated before her, she demanded, “What trick is this?”

  “No trick, mistress.” I lifted the loose end of the belt and held it out, my eyes still on the floor. “My body is yours to command.”

  “This is like no exorcism I have ever experienced.”

  “I know this to be true,” I said, “because you are here with me now.”

  I lifted my head and met her eyes. I closed my fingers around my cock and gently squeezed. The light on her pale flesh brightened as my pupils pulsed wide with the adrenaline that surged into my blood.

  My body was priming for the task: to inspire pleasure within reluctant flesh, to submit to my own darkness, to fuck with impunity—without fear of crippling my partner with my powerful seed—to allow myself full release and banish the ache in my soul if only for a moment.

  This last thought made me growl. I despised myself for that weakness, that pathetic loneliness. The growl felt good, felt right, and drowned my angst in animal lust. Exorcism was the only time my release would not destroy the innocent because the wicked interloper would absorb the full brunt of my power.

  The creature pushed Miriam’s tongue through her chapped lips and sampled the air. “This is not fear I taste,” she said. “This is… desire?” Her tone was incredulous. “You want this?”

  I stroked the length of my cock. I closed my eyes and lifted my head higher so that she would see the rapt expression on my face. I licked the sweat from above my lip.

  The sound of her breath quickened. “Your tongue…”

  I opened my mouth and extended the slick, bifurcated muscle. I twisted the tips around each other like snakes and then brought them back in and closed my lips. I looked at the belt in my hand and extended my arm farther.

  “My body is yours to command. Please, your highness. I belong to you.” I curled my buttocks, thrusting my rigid cock through my loosely closed fingers with a soft whisk of sound. “Please.”

  The power was building within me, a flood rising behind the dam. I would break tonight. How I longed to be washed away. The possibility of oblivion was not distasteful—hence my lack of rational fear—but my desire to vanish into the ethers was balanced by my oath to protect the subjugated. The final judgment for my own past deeds was not mine to make.

  “You defile the skin of your chest and your manhood with ink. You cleave your tongue. You offer yourself up to certain death in such an eager fashion.” The creature’s tone was tinged with genuine disgust. “What kind of sick fuck are you?”

  “Sick or not, I am the best fuck you will ever experience.”

  She laughed and placed her hand on my head, tousling my hair. “How exactly does this work? Will you fuck me out of her?”

  Since I had been asked a direct question, I had the choice to remain silent or simply speak the truth. “At the height of human orgasm,” I said, “the mind opens a door for the soul to allow for unity with a lover. You will be pushed out through this door.”

  She stared at me, unblinking. She stayed silent for several moments. “This is a conundrum,” she finally said. “I’ve been effectively cut off from any source of power, human or otherwise, and what you are offering is enough energy to sustain me for a very long time… but you seem so very confident in your abilities. Either you are as good as you say or you have a death wish.”

  “I am as good as I say and I am not afraid to die.”

  She moved close and pressed the hot palms of her hands to the sides of my face. “That is not courageous. Death is not to be feared. It’s really quite painless, like drifting off to sleep,” she advised. “It is the process of dying that empties a man’s bowels.” Her belly was level with my eyes. A tiny gold bar pierced her navel. Her skin was tinted with swathes of grime.

  “I have led and I have sent many men to their deaths—some honorable, some otherwise,” she said. “Your death will be the latter. There is no honor in dying for the sake of a worthless whore.”

  Her scent was pure animal musk. I leaned forward, instinctively pressing deeper into the heady smell. The heat of her body was intense. Her metabolism was burning through Miriam’s limited reserves—further weakening the young woman’s tenacious grasp on life.

  “Look at me,” she demanded.

  I raised my face and pressed into her touch. Electricity crackled between our hides.

  “Why must you interfere?” she asked. “What right do you have to determine my fate?”

  She curled her fingers so they cupped my head. The touch was gentle but her threat was obvious. She could snap my neck with one quick twist. “You have no right to seek my banishment. This body is of my seed. This body is my creation and my right.”

  “Times have changed, creature.” My eyes were half-closed. I thrilled in the danger of her touch. “No longer are familial atavus allowed to run rampant through the lives of their descendents. No longer are children bred to house their own ancestors. There are laws.”

  “Laws are negated with the stroke of a quill.” She lightly traced a symbolic X on my forehead.

  “You cling to this world even though you are no longer of this world,” I told her. “I will set you free of this burdensome flesh. You will be, ahh-” I gasped when she slipped one hand into my hair and fisted her fingers.

  “You know nothing of burden,” she snarled. “You are blind to anything beyond the veil. When the darkness of the abyss is before you, then and only then will you understand. Souls that blame you for their unfortunate circumstances scuttle towards you through the dark, their claws sparking on the obsidian stone of the after-life.”

  According to the research, transition from flesh to spirit begins in a dream-like realm that can be nightmarish if one enters the afterlife in a state of dread or guilt; but that stage is a transitory experience. Avoidance of the phase could induce spiritual dementia; most atavii were demented—this case in point. I opened my mouth to speak but only a brief sound came out before she wrenched my head back.

  “Did I give you permission to speak?” She bent my neck until I gasped. She kicked my knees farther apart and stood between them. “Did I?”

  She stepped close and pressed the length of her thighs against my chest. Her hands slipped behind my skull and her fingers tugged my hair.

  I stroked my hands up her long calv
es. She did not kick me away. She seemed to understand the parameters of our game. I was a gift box that needed to be opened slowly so as not to damage the precious contents. She just might play by the rules—for the time being.

  She lifted to her toes and pressed her mons to my face. Her strong fingers dug into my skull. I opened my mouth and snaked out the tips of my tongue. They darted between her ripe cleft, seeking the clit buried within. She allowed this for a moment, rocking her hips forward to encourage my efforts. Then she stepped back before the prize was won and slapped my face with an open palm. Her strength was enormous and I fell to the side, bracing on one arm. My heart pounded in my chest, spurred to a gallop by another spike of adrenaline; then the muscle shifted to a regulated canter, settling in to cover the long distance ahead.

  “Stand up.”

  I rose to my feet. The sting of her blow had flushed warmth to my face and traveled down my naked chest and torso to feed my cock. She moved close again. Her skin was hot, dry, and powdered with salt. She wrapped one hand around my shaft and slipped an arm around my waist to press the length of our bodies together. My cock strained between our bellies. She inhaled the smell of my flesh. The surface of her skin shuddered and twitched. Goose bumps speckled her arms.

  “I smell another woman on you,” she said. “Perhaps I will find her when I’m done with you.”

  “She would like that,” I said. “She has expressed an interest in the art of sexorcism.”

  “Pity. I was hoping the thought might concern you.”

  “I know.”

  The creature’s touch was clumsy. She stroked and grabbed and pinched as though I were a slab of meat being checked for bruising. The woman was an inexperienced lover. No. I corrected this thought. The specter was inexperienced. Having been so long without flesh, this hybrid creature was still acclimating to the physical world.

  I breathed in deep, expanding my broad chest and increasing the surface area connection between us. The pulse of my cock thrummed between our bodies. She stroked him with her belly by lifting and lowering herself on her toes. The soft pelts at our groins seemed to cling and grasp at each other when they met, charged with static.