by Gavin Graham
“You’re a very naughty but very charming man, Johnny Moffat…”
“You love it, you know you do…” he added with a false smile, playing her like a piano.
She just smiled back at him, although she tried not to, but she’d decided to accept his coarse attempt at humour and his playful, macho recklessness. After all, she’d never had that trait with her ex-husband, who’d been nothing more than a boring old fart.
Sometimes, she just wanted an Alpha male like him, to take her to bed and spank her. To dominate her and fuck her senseless. She wanted a man to talk dirty to her, belittle her, be rough with her…
He saw her need and upped his game.
His steely-eyed gaze became darkly sexualised as the wolf came to her door, fuelled with eroticism and the arts of the occult, drawing her to him in ways that were indescribable. She suddenly saw things in his eyes that she didn’t understand.
Powerful things.
Deviant things.
His confidence was off-the-hook as he turned on the magic, like a Mad Monk, like he was taking control of her mind and her body as he cast a spell with his unsavoury gaze.
She couldn’t concentrate as he played her like a fiddle, she wanted the feel of his hands and his erection as he humiliated and defiled her, raping her and abusing her in ways that all women feared.
The spell is making her want it…
He was willing it upon her, and she couldn’t understand what was going on, but she felt as though she was in the presence of a superior mystical force.
Am I The Devil incarnate?
Very possibly, my dear, and if you get too close I might just bite…
She wanted him badly and whatever he had in store for her, she would entertain it; one way, or another.
Chapter 12
Seduced by a killer
Seduced by a killer
Sex, like other forces, is purely driven by the laws of magnetism…
He could see how much she wanted him, to feel his touch and the length of his penis. Hot blood surged in that same organ and he enjoyed that glorious stream as the adrenalin spiked in his body. He was fully-hard, beneath the table, eager for the kill. He used his powers of mind control to communicate his erect tool and place a picture of it in the open aura of her stupid mind.
She was an unchallenging subject.
Easy to manipulate.
He smiled too as she picked it up, and she gasped, ever-so-slightly as a cool tingling sensation spread throughout her entire body. From the tips of her nipples and the butterflies in her stomach right down to the burning flame at the central furnace of her needing pussy. She felt the warmth and her own desperation. She felt the remarkable wetness of her fine lace panties, stained and soaked with subtle streams of her lively sexual fluids.
Moffat continued to seduce her by the magic of mind and he relished in his own powers as she fell into a powerful spell of lust, and the voluntary abuse that she would soon beg for. He was radiating his Alpha-masculinity onto her like it was a warm blanket of erotic shelter where she would want to take comfort and never ever leave.
She blushed, shocking herself by the nasty little fantasy that was running out in her head, of being anally corrupted as her throat got squelched under a seducing murderer’s hand.
Why was she having these thoughts?
Why was she wanting this?
She couldn’t understand it.
But, by God, she needed it…
He knew it, as soon as she had walked in the door that night, he’d smelled the desperation and her need to be dominated in uncouth ways. Some women have that aura. They don’t just want it, they need it.
He was the answer to all her dreams, and all her fears, and all of her dirty little fantasies. She wouldn’t be ready for this though, he was taking her to a place that she didn’t know existed. Tonight, she would know the joys of Satanic sex and the true glory of self-sacrifice. She would stare into The Devil’s eyes. Tonight, her sexual needs would be satisfied in unimaginable ways. She would fornicate to the ends of the earth and she would ride upon orgasmic waves as she was duly ridiculed by the Gods.
She knew it.
He knew it.
The Gods are waiting for her…
The air of anticipation and the promise of deviance was a thing to behold.
She studied his whole being, in its entirety, and she knew that his sex would be strong and fierce, that he would teach her and guide her and take her to heights that she’d neither sought nor explored. Tonight, her life would change, she would embrace her womanhood and know the secrets of all history and all the universe - as a sexual Goddess and an almighty whore.
He smiled wth a nod as she leered at him with an open mouth. Like an entranced soul. Giving herself, unwittingly, to the Grim Reaper. His boldness was immense, a frightening confidence that burned in his gaze. He was showing her that he knew, about everything. That he knew exactly what he was doing. That she was under his control now and that nothing would ever be the same again.
He was the power and the glory, of all things, of all kinks.
He was God, and The Devil, and an all-powerful messenger. He showed her with his smile and his magnetic pull how he would stroke at the insides of her thighs and put his wet tongue upon the hard tips of her erect nipples, before sucking them and moving down to taste her labia, driving her into a crazy state of wild ecstasy, before filling her chalice with all the sex she had ever dreamed of, and showing her his path, the secrets of the grail, and the finality of Hell. He was showing her how hard that he was going to fuck her, how he could punish her, how much pleasure she would feel as all that heat and tension in her cunt was released into the chill night air with fireworks exploding and the angels singing.
This is how she is going to die…
Moffat paid the bill and held the redhead’s hand as they left the restaurant.
At ten minutes past nine pm, they emerged on the street as a ned sauntered passed them, hacking from that back of his throat and swirling out a globule of mucus onto the pavement.
“Oi! That’s bloody rank!” Johnny-Boy sneered at the lad who was common as muck.
“Fuck off ya’ dick or yer’ getting it,” the ned shouted back, poking his head out like a chicken, scowling, eyes in attack-mode as his feet shuffled backwards, provoking a chase more than a scrap. “Geez’ a shot of yer’ bird, ya’ dobber…” the youth had a staggered laugh that sounded more like a machine-gun on auto, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah…
Moffat tensed and went to go for him, to boot ten shades of shite out of him, but Sandra pulled him back.
“Don’t Johnny, he’s not worth it…”
“Aye, you’re right, sorry about that…I just can’t stand these wee dicks sometimes…”
“I know, you’re just a gentleman at heart, my knight in shining armour…” she clearly felt the effects of the wine and was swaying slightly on her feet.
Neither of them was aware, but a car was parked on the side of the road and inside the car was a scorned man.
It was Sandra’s ex-husband and he was watching her, watching them both. He gripped the steering wheel as his arms trembled with tension and his breathing got heated, drools of saliva forming at the sides of his mouth as the jawline shuddered with anger. He was raging, his blood boiling… “What the fuck are you doing with that smarmy cunt, Sandra?” he growled through gritted teeth. “You really are a very bad whore Sandra, so bad...”
“So, what’s it to be then handsome, your place or mines? I’m so ready…” Sandra was hot-to-trot, indeed, keen to get her man into bed and have some serious adult fun.
“Sorry darling, but you really don’t do it for me, I’m just not turned on by desperate, divorced skanks…maybe you could get a shag from that auld’ jakey over there, if you’re lucky,” he pointed to an old tramp who was laying down on the pavement, drinking Buckfast from a bottle in a brown-paper bag.
Her jaw dropped and she just looked at him, stunned and confused.
&nb
sp; Moffat just started to laugh at her, he laughed and laughed, and just walked off with a swagger of immense arrogance.
He was going to find the wee ned and stab the shit out of him.
Chapter 13
Rose petals, flickering candles & an unspoken promise of death
Passion, lust and magic; they can make a person do things that simply defy logic…
At one pm on a given afternoon, the Café scene consisted of the lunch-time ‘panini brigade’ and, as usual, they would be comforted by the mechanical noises of commercial-grade coffee machines…grinders and steamers…
At this particular place on St. Vincent Street, they were mainly ‘suits’ on the lunch-break, whilst the Inspector was there to sober up and meet with his daughter.
“You can’t stay married to a ghost, Dad.”
“How no? I can do what I bloody-well like Marie, maybe I prefer to converse with the dead rather than the living, have you thought about that? They are much less inquisitive and judgemental,” he always felt like he was on trial when he spoke to his daughter, like he was the accused and she was his judge and jury.
“So, you prefer Mum as a dead person? What a thing to say…”
“That’s not what I meant, you know it isn’t, you’re just twisting my words, like you always do…”
“If you say so…”
“I’ve had to live with the burden of losing a son and a wife, that’s just the way it is, those are the cards that we were dealt. But, she isn’t really dead, she is still here with me in her own way. It’s hard to explain, but she visits me often, she asks after you…”
“Have you ever thought about speaking to a grief counsellor?”
“No, I haven’t, I’m fine.”
“She’s gone Dad, you should move on now, maybe try to be happy with someone else? She would want that.”
“No, she doesn’t want that. I have no desire to be with another woman, I’m quite happy the way I am…”
“What, as a lonely old drunk who knows nothing but whisky, ghosts and murder?”
McGreavy scowled, so fiercely his forehead might have shattered like porcelain into a thousand pieces. He slowly turned to glare at his daughter, head-on, with a raging fire of hurt and anger in his dark brown eyes.
He was disgusted by her sheer insolence and she saw it too.
“Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean that…”
“Aye, you did…thanks for the coffee…”
“Dad, wait…” his daughter pleaded, but it was too late, and the Inspector had upped from the table and was out the front door of Costa Coffee in a shot; set off for a much-needed drink; a proper drink.
At nine fifteen, just five minutes after Moffat had left Tony Macaroni’s with Sandra O’Hara, something odd happened - he reappeared in the restaurant and took a seat at the bar.
He ordered a double Belvedere vodka on the rocks.
“You seem so different,” said the rotund barmaid as she served his drink, her fat spilling out of a t-shirt that was clearly too small, so much so you could see the gaping round hole that was her belly-button.
“What?” he asked with a frown.
“No, I don’t mean different from before, just different. You know, from other people, around here. It’s a compliment - you don’t have to look so pissed off…”
The man broke his icy demeanour and smiled. “Sorry, you’re correct, I’m not from around here.”
“So, Casanova, was that girl not your type then? She seemed to be totally up for it…”
“All women are up for it darling, I reckon you are too…” he said, smiling at her with heavy, Eastern eyes. “You are right though, she’s wasn’t my type. I prefer a more, how shall I put it?” he darted his eyes over the bar to look down at her plump figure. “I prefer a more rounded girl,” he spoke with a tone and a smirk that some would describe as sleazy; that, he was.
But, some girls liked that, the sleazier the better.
The voluptuous barmaid was one of those girls, it was reciprocated too by the glint in her eye.
It was in her smile.
It was written all over her face.
She was free game...and the vodka-drinking man who sat at the bar and ate her with his eyes would most definitely give her what she blatantly wanted.
“So, am I your type?”
“Oh, most definitely, you are just my type. Big and sexy. What’s your name?”
“Linda, yours?” she replied, flirtatiously tugging at the lower-centre of her V-neck t-shirt as she came closer and leaned across the bar, showing the man the massively sensuous depths of her soft, creamy cleavage.
“I’m Johnny,” he said, his eyes set in stone, hypnotised by the slutty way she flaunted her body. “Tell me Linda, what time does your shift finish?”
“Five minutes ago,” her smile beamed and her chest seemed to be heaving now with adrenalin and a total lack of inhibition. “As soon as the next girl gets here I can grab my coat and leave.”
“Perfect. You want to go somewhere then?”
“You know a place?”
“Oh yeah, I know a very good place…”
Meanwhile, Sandra O’Hara was back at her house in Shawlands.
She had sexually pleasured herself by the familiar ways of her own hand and a gushing-stream of warm water from her newly-fitted shower-head. She selected that particular shower-head, in fact, purely for this reason; not for the feel of the water against the rest of her body but for the discreet stimulation of her lady-tongue, down below.
She had needed it tonight, even after the outpouring of tears that were shed in the taxi ride home. The date had been a total disaster. Nevertheless, the erotic build-up with Johnny and the dick-pics he’d sent had all been much too arousing, and even though he’d rejected her, so viciously, she still had been left with a deep-rooted physical need; to be sexually fulfilled. It was a tension that had to be released, an itch that had to be scratched, and boy she had scratched it as best she could; still, no substitute for the real thing though.
She was now rinsing her hair, post shampoo, in the small and steamy shower cubicle. She still had a mild sniffle, that lingering tearful sniffle that women get after a god cry. Orgasm, or no orgasm, the sniffles are always prolonged.
Doomp…doomp…
She was suddenly startled by dull thudding sounds, faintly noticeable, but enough to make her flinch. She wiped her eyes and stopped the water, turning to the direction of the bathroom door, barely visible through layered formations of mist.
It sounded like footsteps, out on the hallway.
She turned off the water as she felt her skin crawl, turning cold with fear as her hairs stood on end. The steaming water now stuck to her being like a stench of death or the horrid sweats of depressive anxiety.
“Hello!?”
She heard the noise again…
Doomp…doomp…
The creaking of floorboards.
Footsteps.
It was real, she wasn’t imagining it, there was somebody in the house.
The beckon of the demon is strong and unavoidable…
She opened the door and the bathroom suddenly seemed to be remarkably chilly. “Who’s there? I’ll call the Police!” she shouted, trying to sound calm and empowered, barely managing to disguise a shaky quiver in the urgency of her voice. “I have a gun, so you better get out or I’ll shoot you in the fucking face…I swear to God, I will…”
She emerged from the cubicle and wrapped herself tightly with a thick, red towel, noticing for the first time how steam moves on a wooden door. It crawls and sticks like an unworldly smog; an omen of impending bloodshed, like the coming of the ash. She grabbed for her bag, took her mobile, feeling the icky smog as it crawled on her skin, and she was ready to call for the Police with shaky hands.
But, suddenly, she couldn’t move.
She gasped and froze, eyes focussed and wide, and the door began to slowly opened with an eerie creak of the hinges.
That’s when she
saw it…
Rose petals.
Beautiful, rose-red petals scattered across the beige carpet flooring of the narrow hallway that led down to the bedroom. And from inside the bedroom a soft yellowish glow of a flickering candle, dancing in the shadows…
She felt scared.
She felt confused.
Oddly too, she felt sexually aroused.
Who is it?
Johnny?
No, he wasn’t interested. But, if it was him, she would just have to forgive him, and they would have kinky sex till the sun came up. After all, he had said that he enjoyed playing games.
Were these the kind of games that he liked to play?
The sick kind of games?
Mind games?
Or, is it her ex-husband?
He was a good man, and she had realised that tonight, more-so than ever before. He never would have spoken to her like Johnny did. William may have been a bit boring and a downright dour-puss in bed, but he was a gentleman. And, hey, what the Hell? If he had the balls to do something like this, break into her house, then maybe he’d also grown big enough balls to finally take her to bed and fuck her hard like a real-man.
Yes, that must be it, right?
He had somehow realised his failings as a husband, and as a lover, and he was now going to make up for lost time and inject some serious passion and adventure into her life.
Yes, that’s it…surely…I mean, no man would make such a romantic fuss, with rose petals and candles, if they were going to hurt her…would they?
She dropped the towel, unable to comprehend what madness had come over her; but she was ready to succumb to the delicious insanity. Slowly, she walked along to the bedroom door, completely naked, her nipples fully erect. She was ready and hungry to be pleasured, ready to let this mystery man, whoever he was, have his wicked way with her…
Chapter 14
