Voodoo Burning

by N. M. Catalano

  I moan in response as my eyes dip shut. We taste perfect together.

  He bends down with his fingers still in my mouth. “Let me taste.” I open wider for him and his tongue joins with his fingers in my mouth. Our tongues curl together, they dance together, twirling around each other, licking my flavor from him. He removes his hand and holds my face close to his as he says, “Get on your hands and knees. I’m going to fuck you.”

  God, yes.

  As the fire roars beside us, and the trees silently watch, I turn around and get on my hands and knees for him, offering myself to him completely.

  My heart is pounding so hard, I’m able to count the beats as I wait for him. When I feel the air move on my bottom and on my back, I know he’s positioning himself. When his hand strokes down my spine, my skin sings for more.

  “Such a beautiful sight. My goddess on her knees,” I hear him murmur.

  Then I jump from the slap he delivers to my sex between my spread legs. It stings, then blooms into bliss. I push back asking for more.

  “What do you want?” he asks as he slaps my pussy again.

  “You,” I yell, breathless.

  “That’s not what you said before,” he growls. “Tell me.” SLAP.

  My back arches from the sting, wanting another.

  “I want you to break me,” I pant.

  SLAP. This time it lands on my right cheek.

  “Then put me back together!” I squeal.

  SLAP. The left cheek.

  I’m breathing heavily when he screws his thumb into my wetness, then presses it onto the tight ring of muscle of my ass. My entire body trembles from the knowledge of what’s coming.

  “I’m going to fuck you here,” he presses in and I feel myself give for him. “And here,” the crown of his shaft enters me. This time not only do my toes curl from the intense pleasure, but my loins feel like they do as well. I know his thumb is completely seated inside my bottom from the slight pain. When he begins to rock his hips, rubbing himself against my stinging spanked skin, I’m lost in the sea of pain and pleasure.

  He isn’t fucking me. He’s breaking me down with each thrust of his hips, with each twist of his thumb. He’s shattering me, and offering all that I am, taking everything from me, and I give it all to him willingly.

  I come so hard, I feel like I’m a million shards of glass exploding into the fire, and bursting into flames.

  “That’s it, cheri, give me it all,” he growls as he grabs my hips with both hands and takes his pleasure, driving himself to the place he’s taken me to.

  I don’t remember much after that. I know he carries me upstairs. I’m high from the sex, and the chanting. I’m barely coherent through the shower, and when he tucks me into bed. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming when he goes back downstairs to put out the fire.

  I think it’s a dream when he slides in next to me and I hear I love you.

  Ten

  10 Days Until Mardi Gras

  Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rub a hand over my hair, then scrub it down my face, trying to push the residual fog from the night before out of my head. I glance behind me. Dominique is asleep in all her wrecked glory, and that dark thing inside me stirs, pushing me to take her again. My dick is already hard and throbs in response to the demand. The same way I took her last night.

  It felt good. Freeing. Real, but not. Preternatural.

  I’ve always had the feeling, I thought of it as a gut reaction. I remember at times speaking to it, like it was a separate entity, but inside me. But last night, it was strong and prevalent, a singular power inside my skin, making us two beings acting as one.

  It’s always been inside me, that thing. I’ve lived with it all my life, this smoky existential part of myself. I thought it was normal. Until lately.

  Until last night.

  It was alive and demanding. It was powerful. I was powerful. I was there on the riverbank, yet I was everywhere else, I was space and time and mass and everything and nothing. The thing had taken me to where it’d come from, outside myself to encompass all that was. It said, Look at everything that belongs to you, all of it is ours. Take, own, conquer. Take her. She is yours. She belongs to us.

  I did. I took Dominique with a rabid, feral hunger I couldn’t completely satisfy. It was finally pacified, but not fulfilled. I don’t think it ever could be. I felt its hunger in my depths echo on and on. How could everything that is, ever be complete? Even now, I can feel it vibrating in my cells, hungry, so damn hungry. I know what it wants. Not just the body, but it needs the pain and the tears and the cries. It needs her pain. To hold it in my hands, to feel it trembling and the wetness from her tears, feel it feed the power and the darkness.

  We were both drugged last night with the darkness. Whatever vibrates through me was in the air and the fire as it swelled and wrapped around us, enveloping us in its magic. What we did was a ceremony, a union, a supernatural bonding consecrated by the flames and the blood.

  Dominique gave me her pain willingly. She gave it to me because I turned it into pleasure, I brought her to the everything with me to become nothing. We were everything, pain and pleasure, bodies and space, we were everything that was and all that shall be.

  I turn and stroke a finger over the curve of Dominique’s shoulder. Even in sleep she reacts to me. Her skin pimples as her nipples pucker at my light touch while a soft sigh escapes her. I bend and press my lips to the bare flesh at her collarbone. Her scent is intoxicating. I breathe deeply as I push back the darkness, leashing it to keep it under control. I feel it push back. I suck in a breath as the rush of her scent almost entices me to give in to the hunger. To the darkness that wants to claim everything by destroying it.

  No, not now. There isn’t enough time to savor her.

  “Dominique,” I whisper and graze my lips over her skin.

  “Mmmm,” she murmurs, and presses into me.

  Fuck, she’s not making this easy. “It’s late.”

  Her arm snakes around my back and pulls me close. “Mmhmm,” she murmurs again as she turns her head to the side and exposes the length of her neck.

  My entire body tenses as I hold myself back. “If you don’t get up, I’m going to fuck you.” I can hear the darkness speaking through me, at least it has the decency to warn her.

  She slides her other hand down and grips my erection as her body arches into me. “Ignatius, I need you to.”

  A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I rip the covers from her body. My mouth finds hers as I position myself above her and spread her wide with a knee. Our kiss is hard, much like last night, as I penetrate her. I didn’t get her ready, but I didn’t have to, she’s so soaked I glide all the way in. With my hips pressed tightly against her, I stay like that as her walls hug me.

  “Oh, my God, yes,” she pants, and I can feel her squeeze me.

  That’s the spark that lights the flame.

  I pull back, then push back in. Over and over again, repeatedly, I drive into her. I’m pushed by a force whose only demand is to fuck and come. Hard. As I thrust into her, I nibble greedily along her jaw, her cheeks, her shoulder and neck, as primitive sounds erupt from me. I’m almost beyond control, just barely hanging on.

  “Ignatius, please,” Dominique moans. What she’s pleading for, I’m not sure. Is it to come? For more? Harder? She’s close, I can tell when her walls tighten around me, squeezing her orgasm out of my dick.

  I’m right there, ready to burst, but I want her to come with me. I push deep inside her and grind my hips against her as I glide my hands down and take both her nipples between finger and thumb. And pinch.

  Her guttural moan shoots right down to my balls and fills up my cock as load after load bursts into her depths.

  We pant together as my hips slow their demanding thrusts. She slackens beneath me as my own body relaxes with temporary satisfaction, I can already feel the stirrings in my loins for hungry more.

  “
Good morning,” I whisper in her ear.

  “Good morning.” She presses a kiss to my neck. “How late is it?”

  I press my teeth into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. “Late enough that your phone is blowing up with messages.”

  “Oh, God,” she groans as her eyes fly open and she starts to push me away. I chuckle. “Get up,” she laughs.

  “I don’t think so. My dick is quite fond of your pussy, Dominique. I think I’ll let him stay there a while.”

  Her eyes meet mine, big and round and clear and inviting. And pleasantly shocked. “You are so dirty.”

  “No,” I nip the tip of her nose, “just honest.” I roll off her. As soon as I do, she shoots from the bed and is across the room to where her phone is on the dresser.

  “Five messages from the precinct,” she grumbles with her head bent over the electronic in all her naked deliciousness. “They haven’t gotten any prints from my car yet.” She sounds disappointed.

  It’s not surprising they haven’t gotten any identifying evidence, at least I don’t believe so. I’m not a cop, but that’s the impression I get.

  “Come lay down, Dominique, or all my cum is going to drip down your legs.”

  “Ignatius,” she gasps as she comes back to bed.

  I smirk as she curls her body against mine, lays her head on my chest and I wrap an arm around her to pull her close. “Were there prints at the other crime scenes?” I ask.

  “No, nothing.” I can hear her frustration.

  I can’t blame her, frankly, I am as well. The whole thing is a cluster fuck of horrific proportions beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.

  “Do you guys have any clues or leads?” I squeeze her tighter.

  Her body is tense, and I hate it. I hate that she’s been dragged into the center of this. I hate that she’s no longer a body that lurks in the background of the investigation, one of the wheels and cogs in the big machine of criminal investigation.

  I fucking hate that she’s a name and a face to the psycho motherfucker who’s butchering women and burning them alive. That should not have happened. I’d love to kick the bastard’s ass who released her name to the papers. You don’t do that shit, you don’t put a woman out there like a red flag to a bull, taunting them and feeding their fury.

  She lets out a heavy breath. “The only thing we’ve got is the voodoo symbols.” She tilts her head up and our eyes meet. “And The Seven Deadly Sins. You’ve got to be right about that, Ignatius, I should have seen it myself.”

  It makes me feel good that I could help her in some way. It’s difficult not being able to protect her twenty-four hours a day. I was one of the first at all the crimes, I’ve seen firsthand what this sick bastard can do. If I could, I’d take Dominique far away from here, away from all this madness, away from the danger, away from the torture. But I know she wouldn’t go.

  “I’m glad I could help in some small way.”

  “Ignatius, that was huge. It gives us a real direction to look, it narrows things down from a million to a more manageable thousand.” I roll my eyes, because it seems like it really is looking for a needle in a haystack. She nudges me. “I’m serious. I’ve asked Hattie to have a look at what was on my car, but I’ve got some ideas I want to follow.”

  Every instinct within me wants me to tie her to my bed to keep her from looking for the killer. Instead I say, “You won’t be going anywhere alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” the words leave her mouth, but they don’t carry the weight of their intention. Dominique is not feeling it.

  “I’m taking a leave of absence. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

  “You can’t,” she begins to argue.

  “I can do whatever I damn well please, the Beauchamp’s have been doing exactly that since we first got here.”

  It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “I’ve heard.”

  “Then you know the rules don’t apply to us.” I roll us both and pin her to the bed, her bare flesh an aphrodisiac to me.

  “I’ve heard that as well,” she mumbles as her eyelids dip with the stirrings of desire.

  My thickening shaft glides along her wet slit. “Then you are also aware we take what we want,” I tell her, my voice now rough and gravelly.

  “I am,” her head dips back as her knees fall open for me once again.

  My cock slips inside her a second time this morning, still not having enough of her. She lets out a long breath as her eyes slowly close.

  “Right now, I want to make you scream,” I whisper close to her ear.

  Because there isn’t much more I want than that.

  Eleven

  Retribution Of Sloth

  This place stinks.

  Seeing the level of deterioration the church fell into only solidifies my belief I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. This is my calling.

  People don’t care anymore; they don’t believe anymore. That’s the problem. If they actually had any fear of God, or even the devil, they would have some self-respect. They’d have some shred of decency. But they don’t. They used to at least put on a show of faith and devoutness, fake as it may have been, but they don’t even do that. And those that do are so dirty, there isn’t one place that could be considered sacred ground. Not one church is holy, they’re all filthy, everyone in them is immoral, even the priests and ministers.

  People have become lazy and slovenly in all things. Especially their religious practices.

  Everyone and everything is infected with greed, they have no room for religion, or the word of God. That’s why so many turned to voodoo, to give people what they deserve, to punish them for their crimes. It made a home for itself in this crescent shaped place, saturating the ground with power since the beginning.

  It seems they’ve forgotten about that too.

  It’s my duty to remind them, and what better way than here, in what was supposed to be the house of God.

  I was chosen because I am pure. I purge myself. It is my honor to do the same to the sacrifices to prepare them for salvation. It’s truly offensive to have to dwell amongst the scum of the earth, but I have no choice. I have to in order to find those who will become devoted through sacrifice.

  This one was chosen especially for this ceremony.

  I’m almost giddy with anticipation. To know that my queen will soon sit upon her throne is more than I could have hoped for, the perfect climax to the purging. When I found out she was here, it was a sign from God. For now, I must pave the way for her ceremony. It infuriates me to know she’s tainting herself with the likes of him, but she will be cleansed soon enough. Beauchamp will serve his own purpose.

  I’m going to have to purge myself with extra care during tonight’s ceremony because of the hate I have for Ignatius Beauchamp. Tonight could not have come soon enough.

  Getting the sacrifices isn’t difficult. It’s the time I have to spend with them pretending to placate them that I hate. They’re disgusting and vile and impure, it makes me sick. The only thing that gets me through it is knowing what’s waiting for them. Their purification, the fact they will be given for the greater good.

  With the offering laid out on the altar, gagged of course, I proceed to inscribe the necessary symbols for tonight’s ceremony while I chant the prayers. My body hums knowing the queen will see my drawings, that she has already been witness to my work. I’m going to leave her something special this time. I wonder what she thinks, I wonder if she’s figured it out, if she knows what all this is for. When it’s her turn, when the night for her ceremony comes and I’m reciting the incantations as I place the markings precisely where they need to be, it’ll be as if we’re joining together. She’ll understand, because she’s the daughter of the greatest queen of all. Her blood is pure and will be spilled in the final sacrifice, consecrating the final act. A ceremony that will be like our wedding.

  “It’s almost time,” I tell the offering.

  She’s whimpering. At least
she’s not screaming anymore. I hate it when they get hysterical. It’s so tedious.

  As I draw the last symbol on the floor, my body is almost completely prepared for the ceremony, rigid and hard. It’s exhilarating, I can feel the power flow through my veins, burning me and igniting the spirits. The prayers flow freely from me, Catholic and African, older than anything in New Orleans. The room is cast in candlelight, the entire altar surrounded by dozens and dozens of candles, white, red, and black, each one a representation of a specific purpose. The smell of incense mixes with the odors of rot and decay, appropriate for tonight’s ceremony. And gasoline.

  The abdication of Sloth, The Deadly Sin.

  I face the offering on the altar. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have been chosen,” I tell her.

  Her body planks and her back arches off the hard surface as she fights against her bindings and screams into the gag. Her nakedness glimmers in the flickering flames and my manhood pulses as I imagine the purification of her flesh.

  I strip off my clothes, fold them and place them in a neat pile off to the side, next to the tools, along with the items I found in the back that were left by the priest. Then I pick up the cat-o-nine-tails. I approach her as her wild eyes follow my every step. “I chose you for tonight, you should feel special.” I drag a finger down the center of her torso, beginning at the base of her neck, between her breasts, down the concave of her abdomen, and stop at her mound. “Do you feel special?” She nods slowly, her wide eyes locked on mine. I know she’s lying, but it still pleases me. “You look so much like our queen, only in the eyes, steel blue like hers.” But this one is grotesquely skinny. “You will be properly sanctified.”

  Then I flick my wrist, swinging the whip, the sharp tips embed themselves in the flesh of my back. I suck in a sharp breath as euphoria floods me. “Yes!”