This is when I should've put some distance between us and them, but found out the hard way and far too late …
The exploratory foreplay had gone far enough as the two them collapsed into one another so much more completely. With his initial push into her the emotions of love, passion, and sex exploded within them in all directions, and then outward from them. The candles in the room barely flickered, but I was blasted through two rooms of the house and onto our collective ass. Just as I stood back up I was pulled back through those same two rooms and nearly into the now melded passion of Vic and Vin. Their emotional and sexual energy was now drawing from all the energies around them, spiritual and otherwise. Lights in the other rooms were dimming, the candle flames in their room bent and stretched to reach them, and we were suddenly pulled into their sex whether we wanted to be there or not. Like we had previously been with Vic’s parents we were now again with Vic and Vin. Unlike with Vic’s parents there was no sense of being able to simply stop if we wanted to. We were snared and trapped for the duration.
As before we became embroiled in the emotions and sensations of the act, but unlike before a great deal of the physicality of the act seemed to fall away and expose the far greater pleasures being experienced between the two souls … two souls … almost more like one at this point. We could feel the feminine and masculine influences, but these pleasures and other sensations made those aspects seem moot. Soon the souls of the Book of the Damned could no longer take the barrage of this act and we acquiesced, quite literally, and emerged ourselves one and all into the torrent of seemingly impossible emotions, passions, pleasures ... love.
I know not if our orgy of the damned influenced anything Vic and Vin were doing as had happened with her parents. We were too deep within the emotions and pleasures to keep track. We were all lost in the most glorious ways and completely at the mercy of their emotional and physical inferno. We were their captives until their fires subsided.
And then all went bright white and supremely peaceful, but just for hours, or days, all in an instant, before all the familiar sensations of being one of the damned flooded back, and hunted us down mercilessly.
A tear streamed down one of Vic’s cheeks as she smiled at Vin, and another fell from one of Vincent’s eyes upon her breast as he rested his head upon her chest spent from the preceding event.
We found ourselves somewhat entangled with Vic and Vin on the bed. Quietly we slipped out from their post-coital bliss and attempted to stand. Without any thought on our parts our human-ish form suddenly collapsed on the floor in book form and we collectively blacked out.
It was three days before we had the strength to reform from book to our human likeness. We had to keep making excuses to Vic as to why we weren't up and moving about as usual. Not sure she bought into them though.
I really hope Vic never finds out her first time with a man, the love of her life apparently, was an orgy.
Unfortunately this isn't the only secret we keep from Vic so far as her mortal life is concerned. She and Vin will be separated soon …
One night, just a couple of months ago, we were at Vincent’s house where the two of them studied in his room. The two were unaware Ms. Johansen was visiting with Vin’s parents shortly after he and Vic had excused themselves. Almost like a foreshadowing in a bad Greek tragedy I overheard the plans and trouble his parents and Ms. Johansen were going over to get Vincent into … arguably the best private college in Europe. Ms. Johansen, whom I have no doubt about, being the original influence behind this plan to send Vincent away, was mentioning the head of this school being very impressed with Vincent. So much so he had arranged for a large scholarship to be waiting for Vincent, along with his own private boarding rather than residing with the rest of the freshmen in shared rooms.
Vincent’s parents were ecstatic with how things had come together for their son with the help of Ms. Johansen, and they decided to keep this as a graduation surprise for him, again at the behest of Ms. Johansen. We've seen how melodramatic teens get when something doesn't go their way. We know there's going to be an explosion of emotions over this situation becoming known, but we also understand in far greater detail and seriousness of the dangers Vic could be facing, and the liabilities significant others will pose.
Now we are only a week away from that news becoming public, and for the second time since coming into servitude to this young woman, we feel helpless despite all our combined knowledge and abilities. Once again she is going to lose a love, and once again she will be alone, save the souls of the book.
Journal entry XXVIII
Victoria confronted me today and asked that I tell her of my own lifetime, prior to going to Hell. I suppose it was out of some romantic sense that she’s been caught up in since she met Vincent. We should've foreseen this years ago when we showed her the heavily filtered and sugarcoated versions of our lives before our damnations.
At first I was quite reluctant to fulfill her request. Then it dawned on the bunch of us that soon she was going to be losing a great love, possibly the greatest love of this life. What harm or help would come to her was she to go through this thinking her loss was the greatest of all losses? Better she know beforehand that others have had it worse. Much worse.
We sat quietly in her room after her studies were completed, and without any ado I thrust my hand into her mind and revealed to her that which I’ve so often wished to never again remember, but that a soul never forgets.
Together our minds, as well as the minds of those within the book, sped back through the times of our contemporary surroundings, through our time as the Book of the Damned, and across great bodies of water, land, and changes innumerable, until time came to a halt and began to progress forward again. The lands I traveled were old, covered in sand and, for the most part, very barren.
Mine were a simple nomadic people. Almost perpetually we traversed the ranges with our livestock, traveling to markets and oasis and back again throughout the years. I was still very young when my parents, relatives, and most of my friends were killed, raped, and left for dead by a large band of nomadic men and women who pillaged what they wanted and needed from nearly any whose path they crossed. I was eleven years old when I watched them behead my father and take turns raping my mother until she could fight them no more. They left her twitching in pain and at Death’s door lying next to my father’s body and severed head when last I was able to catch a glimpse of her. All that remained of the people of my village were the younger sons and daughters; those whom the marauders took to not only do the chores they needed done in their campsites, but also to carry supplies from site to site without the aid of a camel or even a broken old ass to help with the labor. As the young ones died en route to each location, their bodies were simply left where they fell, and any provisions they were carrying were divided up among those of us still alive to carry instead. The asses and camels often carried less than we did.
None of that was the worst of it though. Starting the very night our village was destroyed each of us was claimed and raped repeatedly by the various members of this hideous group. It mattered not boy or girl since we were traded from tent to tent as nothing more than part of the goods they had claimed from our village. Their women were as ruthless as the men, maybe more so to help keep from being victims as well. Perhaps they were victims previously and simply adopted this way of living as normal. A detail we’d never know. We were forced repeatedly into having to satisfy the whims of the women as well as the whims of the men, sometimes both or several at the same time. One of the boys from our village tried to resist at one point; he was a bit older and it had been decided his first coupling was to be with a woman within this band. He could not bear the thought of being with her and was unable to perform. Instead he only provided considerable resistance and gagging. He was led to the center of the campsite where the drunken celebrating was the loudest and she stood him before all of us to see. She made him face the roaring fire blazing against the night’s full m
oon in all his shamed nakedness so everyone could see, and then she began cursing and insulting his fear driven impotence before everyone.
“This boy thinks me to be so hideous he insists upon splashing the contents of his belly all over me. Well, so be it!” Then she unsheathed a thin blade reached around him from behind and quickly slit his belly low and from side to side, and then his throat as deep as she could. The boy’s insides spilled into the bonfire before him as the band of criminals looked on and laughed at the fear and anguish carving into his face.
I’ll never forget the terror and panic in his face as he looked to me in his fading strength, and we were both unable to utter a sound. He was quickly growing pale as his blood flowed from his wounds and splashed onto the fire. The night’s breezes shifted just a bit, and suddenly I could smell and taste the smoke heavy with odor and flavor of his cooking flesh and blood. Just before his spirit left him the old bitch kicked him from behind sending the boy forcefully into the fire. He twitched and struggled from the burning pain for just a moment as he barely had life in him as it was. We spent the remainder of the night with the smoke in our faces. We didn't sleep. By the first morning light of the fire was just smoldering ambers and the boy’s body was just a charred skeletal jumble within the remains of the charcoal and ash.
He was my older brother.
As the months passed the numbers of the young from my village dwindled dramatically. Only a few of us seemed strong enough to endure the cold nights bound hand and foot with a leash around each of our necks tied off to the tent stakes. We could not move to untie ourselves and the leashes prevented us from being able to do much more than sit or lay down. We were barely allowed enough slack in our bindings to be able to expose our bottoms to the sand around us to shit and piss, which we were also punished for since they'd walk us like dogs each night to the community shithole before bedding down for the evening. If we didn't relieve ourselves at the hole we weren't supposed to relieve ourselves until taken back to the hole the next morning. Our only saving grace was about once a month when we were so ripe with stink and grime that we were permitted to bathe in the waters of whatever oasis, river or stream we had camped at. Of course we grew to hope we would camp at a source of moving water since our masters bathed before us, and they did so with all the manners and sophistication of common livestock relieving themselves when fortunate enough to pass through a body of water. Sometimes it was better to not bathe at all.
By what grace I do not know, but at about a year’s time from being taken from our village there were nine of us still alive with all the dignity of a common house pet; less actually. Only nine from more than thirty were strong enough to somehow survive, though more often than not we preferred we hadn't.
We witnessed more and more of the pillaging, more and more despicable acts of this group from month to month, year to year. Repeatedly I held back my tears and remembered something my mother and father had told me: There are many in the world who would cause you harm if given the chance. If you do as they do, even in an effort to save another from their cruelty, you will be no better than they. Why would they say that? So often I may have had the opportunity to make a difference, but I was struck by the guilt of just thinking like them long enough to be free of them.
I nearly forgot those words the night I watched my brother die. I nearly forgot those words every single time another one from our village perished because of those animals treating us as though we were their livestock; their entertainment. But I swore every single time I would not be one of them, and I went on.
By the end of two years there were four of us. By the end of five years there were two of us. By the end of seven years of barely existing within the shadows of those pathetic individuals, there was only myself. Over and over I prayed and wished and hoped that somehow these people would be stopped, captured or killed, even if I was to be killed along side them. That time finally arrived.
One of the younger members of the group decided to challenge the leader for control of the clan. He and numerous others left to prove he was worthy of the position by retrieving some special prize from one of the nearby cities. But he wasn’t strong enough, nor were those who went with him.
Shortly before dusk he returned with fewer of his men than he left with, but with a sizable catch in the way of food, clothing, other material possessions, several children of varying ages, but no great prize. His group encountered another group of nomads between our camp and the city they were going to sneak into. Full of themselves they crept into the other camp and brought back the meager bounty before us, but not without resistance.
The new children he led into the camp were strong yet obviously frightened and upset over everything they had just been through. One of them, a little girl, had immediately caught my eye. She was no older than I was when these beasts took me, and she was the mirror image of me that very day. I knew I couldn’t allow this yet was unable to make myself do something to stop it, at least until I saw something which shook me to the core more so than when it happened to me.
Upon taking me into his possession my slave master knew from my age I had not yet been bedded. Obviously. The very night I was abducted by these people he broke me, seemingly over and over as each time his erectness seemed to find yet another way to invade, poke and prod. It was his same plan for this new young one, and I could not allow her the suffering I had been made to bear.
Immediately he took the girl to his tent and stripped her of her clothing as he had with me. Physically it was obvious she wasn't mature enough to be with a man, but that was not a detail this slave master stopped to consider or care about. I approached him as he brought to bear his weight upon her, and pinned her hands down and her legs spread, and he made no fuss for me other than to grab me by my hair, spit in my face and yell that my time here was finished and he had a new pet to train. His grip pulled my hair from the nape of my neck as he threw me from his tent like trash. I quietly stepped back in and saw him cornering the girl and preparing to mount her. Just within the opening to his tent were his belt and scimitar which I unsheathed as quietly as I could. In a numb rage I crept up behind the animal who so often referred to me as his pet. I mustered all the strength my underfed body could find and raised the blade as high as I could. I cared not that I was about to do that which I had grown to despise seeing done to others so often. I let the blade swing down from above my head and not until I heard the cracking of his skull did I realize I had held the blade aloft with the spine facing forward instead of the edge. The yalman cracked his head open like an egg and embedded itself! His blood and brain seemed to start seeping from the gaping wound in his head as yolks being poured into a frying pan. Fortunately it was enough damage to keep him from calling for help. He just fell flat on his belly and twitched wildly.
The girl had started to cry out but those who could hear her assumed she was being broken by her new master and simply dismissed her screams. I covered the child’s mouth with my hand and she looked at me with horror in her eyes. I realized she was under him when I bashed in skull and his blood covered her. I quickly explained to her this was not a place she wanted to be and if she did not want to be hurt any further, or worse, she would listen and do as I say, but her face was puzzled as I spoke. Just then we could hear one of the boys who had been taken being raped and made to do whatever was forced upon him. Though this girl could not see what was happening to the boy his cries were enough to convince her to pay attention to me and do as she was being instructed. This had boiled down to hand signals and charades as I couldn't discern if there was a language barrier or if she was just daft.
My master had finished convulsing and twitching and now lay peacefully. I quickly removed the scimitar from his head and rolled his body onto his bedding. I arranged the bedding to look disheveled, covered the back of his head with a pillow, and closed his eyes. I then instructed the girl to lie with her back against him and make believe she was sleeping. I tried explaining to her that if she broke this
façade for any reason the pain would be worse than she’d experienced thus far. I patted his sweaty, hairy belly and pointed to it, she reluctantly huddled up to him with her back against him, and his arm made as a makeshift pillow under her head. I gently pressed my fingertips to her eyelids so she’d close them, and at that point I knew her life was entirely in my hands. I covered the two of them and exited through the front of the tent to stand watch as I had to so many times before.
For several hours I knelt at the opening of the tent, watched, and listened to other boys and girls who were taken from this last village being raped and violated in every way these bastards could imagine. But not the child I harbored; she was to remain safe. Several times I bowed and answered to others as they came to my keeper’s tent inquiring to swap their own half-dead child for the one my keeper had taken to bed. Over and over I humbly replied my master had taken this one as his new favorite and had exhausted himself breaking her in. Quietly some of them would peak into his tent and see him lying peacefully with the young girl cradled against him. They walked away laughing and joking that my master no longer held his stamina and was now the broken one rather than the breaker. I dared not laugh with them to avoid catching the back of a hand across my cheek.
At one point I even gave into the prurient desires of one who believed since my master had found a new favorite I was now up for the taking. Take me he did on that spot in front of my now dead master’s tent, but he was too drunk to perform and passed out face down in the dirt, snoring before he could try to perform.
Legacy of Judas - Book One Page 17
