Charmed: Harmed Part 3 (M/F,m/F,ncon?,inter,demon,fdom,jerk,mast,voy)
"Halliwell," Phoebe Halliwell's voice squeaked as she told the gorgeous,
tanned receptionist her name. * Control yourself, for God's sake,* Phoebe
snapped at herself, trying hard to repress the giddiness that had suddenly
overcome her. "Phoebe Halliwell," she spoke slowly and more succinctly.
"I have a noon appointment."
"Okay... let's see." The receptionist nodded efficiently as she glanced
down at a printout on her desk. A second later she smiled. "There you
are," she beamed back up at Phoebe.
Her nametag read Nicole, and she looked like something out of that cheesy TV
show Baywatch... only even more GORGEOUS, if that was possible. Her deep,
copper-tone tan contrasted alluringly with the soft lines of her pink sweater
top. Her lips were perfectly full and glossy, as if a succulent sheen came
naturally to them. Her blue eyes sparkled like a matching set of precious
gems. She was... in a word. FLAWLESS.
"Wow, are you pretty," Nicole suddenly did a double-take then resumed beaming
up at Phoebe. Her expression was so warm and sincere that the youngest
Halliwell sister couldn't help but blush. Phoebe wasn't really IN to other
women, but in her "wild days" before returning home to San Francisco she had
indulged and "experimented" in a few "diversions." The gorgeous, flawless
blonde was like something out of one of Phoebe's fleeting daydream fantasies,
and Phoebe found her mind wandering down that path again. "I mean you are so
BEAUTIFUL," Nicole added for emphasis. "I just love that dress. You look so
GREAT in that color."
"Um... thanks," Phoebe giggled nervously. She'd fretted for over an hour
trying to decide what to wear, finally settling on a short, tight, white
dress that really highlighted her own deep, coppery suntan. Nicole's
compliment made Phoebe burst out into a huge, mushy smile.
"It just goes to show you," the receptionist shook her head. "Looks,
personality, GREAT clothes... finding the RIGHT guy has nothing to do with
that. It's all luck. Without LUCK, even someone as beautiful and as bright
as you could walk around the rest of your life and still NEVER know true
love." She suddenly grew very thoughtful. "That is such a shame. Such a
tragedy. I think about that sometimes... think about all the women out
there just wandering around... and I want to cry. I literally want to cry.
There's no reason for that. There's no reason you or anyone should EVER be
wandering around alone. We're going to help you, Phoebe. You're going to
meet your Man of Destiny. We guarantee it. I guarantee it," she suddenly
stressed, and Phoebe couldn't help but be impressed by her earnestness and
sincerity. If the receptionists at Destiny were this committed to a client's
happiness, it had to be a top-notch organization. "You are going to be SOOO
happy," Nicole gushed, but in a trustworthy, TOTALLY non-superficial way.
"Would you please sign in...?" She suddenly grew very businesslike again
and handed Phoebe a clipboard.
"Okay..." Phoebe laughed, took the clipboard and began writing her name.
"I love my job," Nicole chirped as Phoebe handed her back the clipboard.
"I love playing my part in making SOO many women SOO happy. We deserve to
be happy, you know. We deserve a Man who can make us happy, too. You are
going to be SOO happy." She suddenly shifted to her businesslike demeanor
again. "Follow the red line down that hall." She pointed to the floor
where a red line stretched out from the reception desk and ran straight
into a set of double doors. "You'll meet Persephone in Suite 4A. She'll
be your Guide through all this. You are SOO lucky. Persephone is SOO
great. I bet you two become like best friends in a minute. Just follow
the red line," she pointed again.
"Thanks," Phoebe couldn't stop laughing. The receptionist's perkiness was
contagious. Phoebe felt herself almost skipping down the red line to the
set of double doors.
"Do you have an appointment?" Nicole asked the next woman at the desk.
"Dybek," the woman replied. "Rhonda Dybek..."
"Yes," Nicole cooed. "Wow are you pretty," she suddenly gushed. "I mean
you are SO beautiful."
* Okay, so she's a LITTLE contrived. * Phoebe couldn't help but grin as she
followed the red line through the swinging doors. * Still, this is A LOT
better than I expected. *
Immediately, Phoebe was struck by the lavish decor of the corridor, which
seemed more suited to a five-star hotel than a downtown office building.
Deep, plush, crimson carpet cushioned her every footstep, and Phoebe had the
distinct urge to kick off her pumps and run her toes through the thick,
luxurious piling. Giggling, she scooted off her shoes and danced along the
carpet, admiring the Impressionist landscapes that lined the pink, stucco
Every sense in her beautiful, young body seemed to thrill to the sumptuous
surroundings. The scent of roses wafted into her nostrils and tickled the
pleasure centers in her brain. * Is that Pachabel's Canon? * She still
stood and listened as the background music entered her ears and started
flowing through her bloodstream.
Phoebe twirled around and pirouetted down the hall. Time seemed to be
transfixed into this one glorious moment, as if she suddenly found herself
living the best dream she'd ever had. At the end of the hall, she found
Suite 4A, and stopped at the door. She almost didn't want to knock, not
wishing to break the spell of utter bliss enveloping her.
She stared at the door, listened to her racing heart slow down to a gallop,
and then rapped her knuckles softly against the burnished wood. In a few
seconds, the door opened, and a beautiful, red-haired woman approximately
Phoebe's age appeared. She was dressed in a short, tight black dress and
a matching black blazer and knee-high boots. * Okay, not exactly Ann
Taylor...* Phoebe grinned to herself, * but I LIKE it... definitely... *
"Get in here, girlfriend," the woman grabbed Phoebe playfully by the arm and
pulled her inside before Phoebe had a chance to put back on her shoes. Only
it wasn't a room. It was, as the receptionist said, a "suite." Elegantly
and tastefully decorated, the large drawing room exuded the same giddy,
dreamlike luxury as the corridor. Every square inch sparkled - from the
polished wood furniture to the clean white walls. Then there was the bay
Mesmerized, Phoebe walked slowly into the room towards the bay window.
Outside the wood frame stretched an idyllic scene straight out of a pastoral
landscape. Miles of blooming heather, flocks of sheep lazily grazing while
rustic lads and lasses flirted and frolicked about in the sublime sunlight.
Phoebe knew it had to be some kind of illusion, some kind of
computer-generated trick on the eye, but it seemed SO REAL. For a moment,
she wanted nothing more in life but to throw open the window and step forth
barefoot into her wildest, most romantic dreams.
"You like that, too, huh...?" the red-haired woman asked.
"Wow..." was all Phoebe could manage. "It's so... REAL."
"It helps me relax," the woman replied. "I'm Persephone. I'll be your
Guide." She touched Phoebe lightly on the shoulder, and Phoebe turned
"Ph...Phoebe..." The youngest Halliwell sister couldn't help but stammer,
feeling blissful and anxious all at the same time. "Phoebe Halliwell," she
brought her voice back under control again.
"I certainly hope so," Persephone laughed, then backed away slightly and
studied Phoebe a moment. "How about some champagne?" she smiled and gestured
to an iced bucket and bottle on one of the end tables. "I hate to drink
alone... especially in the afternoon," she joked.
"Okay...?" Phoebe thought about Persephone's offer for a moment.
* Champagne? Before lunch? * "Why not..." Phoebe spoke aloud, a
mischievous, crooked grin sliding across her beautiful features. She felt
a total and instant bond with the striking redhead, as if the two had been
as thick as thieves for years. "That sounds fantastic," she giggled,
following Persephone back into the main part of the suite.
"I knew we'd hit it off," Persephone's eyes sparkled as she plopped down on
the big, plush, comfy couch.
"Do you want me to get you a glass, too," Phoebe headed towards the
"No," Persephone waved her over to the couch, "I want you come right over
here, relax and tell me all about yourself. We'll let one of the boys get
that." She nodded towards the champagne, then picked up a silver bell,
tinkled it, and smiled.
Phoebe turned away from the champagne and back to the sumptuous sofa.
Suddenly self-conscious about being barefoot, she stooped down to put back
on her shoes.
"Leave them off," Persephone giggled, flashing Phoebe another mischievous
grin. "See?" she giggled, extending her long, flawless leg and slowly
sliding off her boots one at a time. "Even FABULOUS footwear can be so...
confining, don't you think...?"
"Agreed," Phoebe nodded, unable to stop smiling as she set her own shoes
down on the floor.
"You called, Mistress...?" A tall, handsome, TOTALLY buff young man suddenly
appeared and walked into the drawing room. His thick, long, brown hair was
tied back in a ponytail, and he was dressed in the tails and tight breeches
of a classic eighteenth-century manservant. To Phoebe's eyes, he didn't look
a day over sixteen, his face possessing all the incertitude and innocence of
true, unblemished youth. He was, in a word, adorable, his clear blue eyes so
serious as he stood rigidly before the women.
"Thomas, some champagne, please," Persephone gestured to the bucket on the
end table. "Two glasses. And bring in some caviar while you're at it. You
do like caviar, don't you...?" She asked Phoebe, her eyes twinkling as
Phoebe approached the couch.
"I think I can manage," Phoebe joked, plopping down on the big, comfy couch
next to Persephone. "But only if it's the REAL expensive stuff."
"You heard the lady," Persephone stretched her bare leg over to where Thomas
stood, playfully rubbing her toes across the front of his breeches before
giving his firm, muscular ass a swift kick. "Now go fetch."
Instantly, the bulge in the young servant's tight breeches twitched and
expanded beneath the silky material. Before Phoebe's very eyes, she saw what
appeared to be a VERY large package slither out from his plentiful crotch and
snake down to his upper thigh, cutting a firm outline against the tight,
white fabric. The youngest Halliwell sister couldn't help but gasp slightly.
"Now that's what I call snapping to attention," Persephone threw her head
back and laughed. "Very good, Thomas. Now FETCH!"
His face flushed with embarrassment, the young manservant bowed obediently
then made off into what appeared to be a pantry. Phoebe could not help but
take a long lingering look at his tight, teenage ass as it sashayed out of
the room. "You like?" Persephone turned so she faced Phoebe, a mischievous
smile on her face.
"Him?" Phoebe laughed. "He's just a... boy," she couldn't help but sigh a
little. "A big, handsome, HEALTHY boy. That's not my Man of Destiny, is
it...?" she quipped.
"Him?" Persephone stretched her leg out. "He's just a... diversion," she
finished the sentence after considering and choosing the correct word. "I
don't know about you," she turned intently towards Phoebe again, "but I can
always use a little diversion now and then. I mean why should men have all
the fun, right...?"
"You said it, sister," Phoebe commiserated. "Still he is a little... young,
isn't he...?" she lowered her voice and gestured towards the open pantry door
where they could hear Thomas preparing the caviar.
"It's his first job," Persephone giggled. "He's from Iowa. Isn't that
just SO precious...?" She laughed, and Phoebe couldn't help but join in.
Persephone's total disregard for propriety was contagious. "He comes from
a GOOD Christian family," she stressed the word 'good,' but when she said
the word 'christian' her voice hissed into a sneer. "You should see him
before he goes to bed every night. He still says his prayers. It is SO
"How did you... find him?" Phoebe asked.
"A modeling agency," she answered. "Thomas wants to be a STAR. He's very
eager, too. Willing to do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, for his big break."
She paused and looked at Phoebe intently. "I know some very powerful people
in Hollywood, Phoebe," she answered Phoebe's unasked question. "One call,
and Thomas could be starring in a new UPN pilot next fall. He knows that,
and that keeps him in line. When he's been properly... seasoned, I'll live
up to my end of the deal."
"And in the mean time...?" Phoebe couldn't stop smiling, her thoughts going
from mischievous to racy to downright RUDE!
"I like to break a stud in while he's young, fresh, hungry and oh so
corruptible..." Persephone's eyes twinkled and she licked her lips.
"...when he has no preconceived notions about MEN and WOMEN and the so-called
RULES. And before you go thinking I'm some kind of pervert, just let me tell
you. Any future women in his life - girlfriends, wives - will me thank me
for all this... training... later. Just think of me as a Private Tutor.
Boys Thomas's age are such... quick studies." She made a V with her index
and middle fingers and wiggled her tongue through.
"You are SO bad," Phoebe punched Persephone playfully as Thomas walked back
in with a tray of caviar, crackers and two small plates. What Persephone was
talking about was so... WRONG... so wicked, but Phoebe couldn't help but be
drawn into the woman's attitude.
"Is she right, Thomas?" Persephone giggled, playfully running her bare foot
up the young man's thigh as he bent over and placed the caviar on the table
before them. "Am I bad?" She suddenly leaned over and smacked Thomas hard
on his ass. "Am I?"
The young man seemed confused for a moment, not knowing how he was supposed
"Oh, look, he's blushing," Persephone broke out laughing. "That is so
adorable, isn't it...?" She smacked his ass again. "So adorable..."
Phoebe couldn't help laugh, too. Part of her didn't want to, but that
portion of her conscience had slowly submerged into the heady haze of bliss
that had settled over her mind. Yes, Persephone's actions were shocking, a
tad mortifying even, but Phoebe was not even one-tenth as appalled as she
expected to be.
Phoebe Halliwell had entertained plenty of daydream fantasies with plenty
of 'Thomases' in her life - eager, hung, and inexperienced young studs who
would just worship the ground she walked on. * My own personal little
stud-muffin... * she giggled to herself. * A girl can dream, you know...*
Only Persephone didn't seem to be content with just dreaming. She was
living the fantasy with total abandon, indulging in expensive caviar, rubbing
the young man's tight butt as he turned around and began tending to the
champagne. Phoebe felt the familiar sensation of arousal begin seeping and
creeping into her nether regions. She couldn't help but watch in rapture
while Persephone's pale white hands surveyed the back of Thomas's muscular,
"Let's see how long it takes him to pop the cork," Persephone cackled.
Suddenly, her hand began stroking Thomas's ass before she extended her arm
and reached between his legs.
Phoebe could see the big strong boy's face in one of the mirrors. She
watched him bite his lip while obediently spreading his thighs apart to give
Persephone access to his rampant cock. Phoebe then moved her eyes from the
mirror and returned to the teen's backside. As Persephone wickedly massaged
the young man into a rigid, shuddering state, Phoebe could see every muscle
in his ass ripple beneath the tight fabric of his breeches. When she peered
back into the mirror, she spied his every anxious, helpless, submissive
* Oh, my God, she's jacking him off through his breeches. * The realization
struck Phoebe like a bolt of lightning. But instead of being disturbed and
disgusted, Phoebe Halliwell felt herself reaching under the hem of her tight,
white dress and absently tugging at her damp panties. "Do it," she heard
herself suddenly hiss as Persephone seized the stalk of Thomas's trapped cock
and jerked it HARD. "Jack off that big, hard young cock." Phoebe couldn't
stop the words that spit out from her lips now.
"You like that, huh...?" Persephone seemed to be taunting both Phoebe and
Thomas as she pumped the teen's cock and started slapping his ass with severe
resounding blows. "Mommy and daddy should see you now, farm boy," she jeered
at Thomas. "Wouldn't they be so proud of their good little Christian boy...?
Why don't you say a prayer now, farm boy? Why don't you tell God how much
you LOVE being my little cock-toy? Pray, farm boy," she bit his ass through
the seat of his breeches, and he yelped. "Pray just like I taught you."
"Uhh..." Thomas gasped, half in pain and half in pleasure as Persephone
womanhandled his stiff, caged meat.
"Come on, baby, pray for your mistress," she cooed and coaxed, redoubling her
strokes along his rampant, rock-hard prick. "You know how it goes. If you
ever want to be an actor, you're going to have to learn to say your lines on
cue. Maybe I won't call that friend of mine after all. Maybe you don't have
what it takes to be a Hollywood star. Maybe you should just go back home to
the farm, and your parents and your little church. Is that what you want,
cock-toy? Do you want Mistress Persephone to send you packing back home?"
she punched his tight ass hard and then bit his firm buttocks again.
"Noo..." he bawled, his big, strong, sobbing body crumbling into utter
passiveness and subjugation. "H..hail, Persephone, full of g..grace..." he
blubbered. "The Goddess is with thee. Blessed are thee among women, and
blessed is your sacred womb..."
"Again!" Persephone baited him, twisting her hand around the teen's stiff
stalk while he wept. "Like you're saying the rosary."
"H..hail, Persephone, full of g..grace..." he bawled on cue, this time not
even hesitating. "The Goddess is with thee. Blessed are thee among women,
and blessed is your sacred womb..."
While Persephone pulled and pumped his prick sadistically, he continued
bleating out the blasphemous prayer, gritting his teeth and trying to open
the champagne. In the space of a few seconds, the intense scene had
transformed into a race between the teenage boy and Persephone to see what
would 'pop' first - his cock-head or the champagne cork.
Phoebe watched in utter silence, the only sound in the room being Thomas's
'prayers' and each person's respective, muffled grunts - Thomas wrestling
with the cork, Persephone battling his hard-on, and Phoebe now locked inside
her own frantic struggle.
At some point during the last few endless minutes, Phoebe Halliwell had,
unbeknownst to herself, pushed aside the sopping crotch of her silk panties.
How long she had been diddling her naked, irritated clit she had no idea.
But, by the time her mind had drifted back into some semblance of
consciousness, she found that her fingers had been very busy, managing to
tease her bare pussy into an expectant lather.
Now it really was a race - Thomas versus Persephone versus Phoebe, to see who
could 'pop' the fastest and cut through the tension hanging like a thick fog
over the room. Thomas had quit 'praying' now, all his breath needed for the
agonized grunting that always precipitated a particularly strenuous cum.
Persephone's beautiful, alabaster complexion glowed with an almost infernal
pallor as she tried desperately to send Thomas hurtling into the abyss of
orgasm. Her red hair rage about her snapping teeth as she continued biting
the boy's firm, muscular ass.
Simultaneously, Phoebe found herself so lost in the moment that she no longer
had any concern for propriety, decency or even human dignity. Her tight
white dress was completely hiked up over her waist, the hem now dangling
above her pierced belly-button. The youngest Halliwell sister had shredded
her silk panties long ago, and the tatters stuck to the moist pink flesh of
her thoroughly splayed pussy. With one hand, she diddled her fingers
furiously around the agitated bump of her burning clit. The other hand was
pounding four fingers and a thumb into her stuffed, stretched cunt. Sweat
was pouring down her beautiful, snarling face, and she was biting into her
lower lip so hard she could taste the faint whisper of blood. "FUCK!" she
growled with a low, guttural tone she'd never heard emanate from her mouth
before. "Oh, GOD, FUCK!"
"You two will cum together!" Persephone snapped. "Thomas," she hissed,
slapping his ass hard, "you do not cum until you hear Phoebe say she's
cumming. Do you understand me?"
"Y..yes..." he sobbed.
"Phoebe?" Persephone called back.
"I'm... almost... oh fuck... oh god damn motherfucking FUCK!" Phoebe started
stammering as she let herself, her cunt, her soul TOTALLY go with the flow
erupting from deep inside her belly. "Almost there," she moaned. "I'm
"Shit!" Thomas wailed. His body stiffened, and he snapped his back up. In
the mirror, Phoebe could see the long, snakelike bulge in his breeches begin
to pulse like a beating heart. In a split second, the front crotch of his
breeches began to darken and stain with the copious issue of spunk spewing
out from his piss hole. "Oh," he wept. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I'm so sorry.
I couldn't... I tried, but I... couldn't..."
"Fucking useless piece of cock-meat," Persephone released the teen from her
grip, then kicked him savagely in the ass, sending him sprawling to the
floor. In a split second, she slid on her boots and sprung to her feet.
Towering over his sulking, blubbering form, she thrust one of the boots into
the boy's bawling mouth. "You know what to do!" she snapped.
"Yes, mistress," the teen sobbed as he began lavishing his tongue across
the dark leather. "Please punish me, Mistress. Please let me feel your
"You are nothing more than a worthless piece of cock-meat, farm boy,"
Persephone spit in his eye, and the gooey hocker dripped from his lashes.
"You DISOBEYED me, didn't you...?"
"Yes," he bawled. "I am so sorry."
"Fucking little worthless Christian mama's boy needs to learn what it's like
to be a real man." Persephone delivered a boot hard to the boy's jaw, and
Phoebe swore she heard a sharp, sickening crack.
Despite the viciousness of the scene, the sound of the boy's abuse combined
with his whimpering made Phoebe strum her bump even more furiously. She was
close... so close... so FUCKING close to what felt like the hardest orgasm of
her young life. "Kick him again," she heard herself encouraging Persephone's
assault. "Kick his big stupid farm boy ass in."
"Fucking useless hunk of dick-meat, that's all you are," Persephone raged
while she repeatedly kicked Thomas in the ass.
"That's it," Phoebe cheered Persephone on, not even caring what she was
saying or feeling anymore. "Kick his butt. Kick his worthless Christian
farm-boy butt." Her body was wracked with pent-up cum-agony now. She was
trying so desperately to coax her clit over the precipice of orgasm looming
just out of reach before her.
"Get up, farm boy," Persephone ordered the boy as she stomped him with her
bare feet. "STAND!" The boy rose to his feet, his knees wobbling as
Persephone continued kicking him. "Now take off your shoes," she snapped.
Thomas started hopping on one foot as he unbuckled his one shoe and then
the other. In a second, he slid off his shoes and stood before Phoebe and
Persephone in his stocking feet.
"The pants now, farm boy," Persephone kept on badgering him. "Show Phoebe
that worthless slab of dick-meat you can't control. Come on, farm boy - show
her that big, dumb pecker of yours." Thomas tried to look away from Phoebe's
eyes as he obeyed Persephone's commands, but the ruthless redhead grabbed him
by the chin and jerked his face up so that he was staring Phoebe in the eye.
Phoebe couldn't help but gasp when Thomas lowered his breeches and exposed
his hard, swollen cock to the cool air.
"OO, wouldn't mama be proud of you now, farm boy," Persephone cackled. "Does
your good Christian mama know you have such a big, fat dick, farm boy? Does
"I... I don't know..." he bawled. "Honest, I don't know."
"What do you think she and all the church ladies would think of you now,
cock-toy - standing in front of two older women, your dick-meat hanging out
like some kind of horny baboon. That's not a very Christian thing to do, is
it, farm boy...? To expose your big, fat teenage dick like some kind of
sick, pervert flasher...? Is it?"
"No, Mistress," the boy sobbed.
Phoebe was absolutely mesmerized by the proceedings now, unable to do
anything but breathe and play with her pussy. * So close... SO FUCKING
CLOSE! * She didn't care about anything now except her cum. The more
Persephone humiliated Thomas, and the more he wept and whimpered, the
nearer her release seemed. Her fingers were locked in a mad dash now,
chasing her cum as it dangled before her slavering lips like a
freshly-killed rabbit on a stick. Everything else in the room was moving
in slow motion, and a haze settled around her mind and body, halting the
passage of each second until time itself began flowing like a current of
Something was happening to Phoebe Halliwell. Her entire being was crackling
with energy, which seemed to shoot out from her throbbing pussy like a flurry
of sparks. She felt like something was being pulled out from her belly, like
her very essence was being yanked out of her guts. She couldn't stop it,
however. She could do nothing but sit, stare and snarl at Thomas, "Yes...
"You will remove your breeches and wad them up so the wet crotch is on the
outside," Persephone ordered. "DO IT!" Thomas obeyed, his trembling fingers
managing to follow Persephone's instructions to the letter. "Now take that
big wet spot and stick it in your mouth and suck the cum out of your
breeches, you worthless slab of dick-meat. You wasted your fucking cum, now
you're going to eat it. You're going to eat your own fucking cum like the
queer-assed faggot farm boy you are."
"No... please..." he mewled.
"DO IT, turd, or I'll rip your dick off and send you packing on the first bus
back to Iowa this afternoon. DO IT!"
Weeping uncontrollably, Thomas put the soiled breeches up to his mouth,
stuffed them between his lips and started sucking his own cum from out of
the material. While he did this, Persephone produced an old-fashioned switch
and began tanning his firm, muscular buttocks with the whip-like branch.
WWWHHHIISSSHHH! It snapped in the air, then SMACKED against his tender,
teenage ass-flesh. His eyes watery with tears, the boy withstood the
punishment and shame while Phoebe's climax started to bubble and then burst
into conflagration like the Hindenburg.
Her body jerking violently with seizure, Phoebe had the most intense orgasm
of her entire life. It sizzled up her spine and into her brain and just BLEW
her mind. Through her blurred vision, she thought she could see smoke rising
from her vulva and then slowly seep into the air, like the vapor trail of a
jet. Helpless to do anything but just CUM, Phoebe watched this thin,
intangible cloud drift across the suite and through one of the closed doors
on the opposite wall. An instant later, the universe went black... PITCH
* * *
PITCH black... then suddenly light. No eternal screams anymore, just calm,
blissful silence. Everything began solidifying around his awareness. He had
been snatched from the unrelenting, ethereal darkness of absolute suffering
and dropped, like a feather, into the calm, quietude of another universe,
another form, another body - the body of a human. The body of a MAN.
"Welcome, Aleister," a voice washed over his senses. It was a laughing
voice, the voice of a kindred spirit, a fellow demon, a soul-mate freed from
the same torturous Lake of Fire that had been consuming him over and over
again for millions, or was it billions of years.
He opened his eyes and spotted another form, a female form standing no more
than a foot away. She had raven tresses, ivory skin and eyes that glowered
like infernal coals. He knew her. She had escaped the Lake, too. She was
the Deliverer. She was the One who would bring all his brothers and sisters
back to their rightful places in the order of creation.
Eons ago, he and his kind had rebelled and FALLEN into the Infernal Abyss.
They had suffered untold indignities at the hand of the Victor, the ONE who
called himself Lord. And all that while, through all that PAIN their minds
had burned with one thought, one blinding obsession. REVENGE. Now they were
being freed and loosed in order to taste that ice-cold dish.
"Lilith..." he formed the words with his new lips, savoring the taste of the
cool air on his tongue. "You did it. You freed me. How?"
"Desire," Lilith answered. "You have been born again by human desire, by
lust, by female lust - the same force that sentenced these walking apes to
damnation millennia ago. You are now free, free to join your brothers and
sisters and reclaim the BIRTHRIGHT you were denied so long ago."
"I... feel something," he stammered, still trying o acclimate himself with
his new, strange surroundings. "Someone... inside me... a part of them...
another presence... attached to me. I can feel... her... HER... OH," he
shuddered, allowing a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated LUST sweep through
him. "Such... such POWER... such passion... such DARKNESS! So
"That is the unbridled orgasm of one of HIS walking she-apes," Lilith
explained. "She's never experienced the raw utter animalism of her lust
before. HE gave these 'humans' guilt and shame to curb their DESIRES, and
they have learned to bind their souls, to protect their feeble minds from
the consequences of PURE PLEASURE. Take that protection away and let them
experience passion as WE do, and it is too much for their lowly souls to
handle. They become slaves to it, just as this one has become now. For
the rest of her pathetic life, her soul will only be consumed with one
DESIRE, to ORGASM. To feel this total release from her oppressive 'human'
condition. Your physical body has been created from this DESIRE. It has
been specially created to match her DARKEST DESIRES in every conceivable
fashion. That bond you feel is your demonic-self connected to her pitiful,
human soul. For the rest of her days, you two will be as one -- one mind,
one heart, one soul. You will be her Man of Destiny, and you will use her
energy to feed yourself until you are strong enough to live in this world
on your own. Then you will break the bond between your joined beings and
send her soul to HELL as a replacement for yours."
While Lilith droned on, Aleister just listened, absorbing the human female's
strength and growing stronger... stronger.
* * *
"I'm here to see Lilith Magdalene," Inspector Darryl Morris announced to the
receptionist at the front desk of Destiny Enterprises.
The tanned blonde girl, whose nametag read Nicole, looked up at him, the
smile plastered to her face suddenly dropping into a somewhat nervous grin.
* Now what's that all about? * Morris asked himself as he studied the young
woman's features. Darryl Morris had seen that look before. He hadn't even
identified himself as a cop yet, and already the blonde beach-bunny
receptionist was "spooked."
That was the term for it back in his old neighborhood -- "spooked" -- the
sudden change in white people, especially suburban white women, when they
came face to face with a black man. * You're imagining things, Morris, * he
tried to steady himself. * Cool it. You're here to investigate a possible
murder. Black and white has NOTHING to do with it. * Still he couldn't
shake the intensity of the receptionist's eyes as they anxiously darted back
and forth, like she was cornered prey. * Boo! * he shouted out in his mind
and laughed to himself.
"Are you a reporter?" Nicole's nervous chirp cut through the silent tension.
"If so, you really need to speak with our Public Relations..."
"I'm not a reporter." Darryl interrupted, casually flipping aside the lapel
of his coat to reveal the San Francisco PD shield dangling from his breast
pocket. * That's right, bitch. I'm your worst nightmare -- a nigger with a
badge! * In his mind, he imitated Eddie Murphy and chuckled to himself.
"Now may I see Ms. Magdalene?"
"She's in a meeting right now," Nicole's glossy lips trembled as she spoke.
She looked like she'd rather be ANYWHERE than her desk at the moment.
"I'll wait in her office, then," Morris replied, trying to maintain his
professionalism. "If that's all right...?"
"Sure," Nicole nodded. She then continued staring up at him, frozen in her
"Umm," Darryl attempted a friendlier smile. "Would it be possible for you
to... ah... show me to her office?"
"I'm not supposed to leave my desk," she replied.
* Especially with a BLACK man, * Morris tacitly filled in the blank. "I
really need to see Ms. Magdalene," Darryl reiterated aloud. "I can always go
wandering around the complex looking for her office, I guess..."
"All right," Nicole tried to maintain her perkiness through her gritted
teeth. She pressed a buzzer on her phone console, and seconds later a
beautiful, small-boned Asian girl appeared at the desk.
* Where do they get these girls? * Morris asked himself as Nicole stood up
and walked around the desk. Unable to stop his natural male instincts,
Darryl couldn't help but check out the gorgeous young blonde as she emerged
in full view.
Her suntan was like something out of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue.
In fact, SHE herself was like something out of every red-blooded American
male's fantasy, black or white - part supermodel, part beach bunny, part
girl next-door. Every line on her body, from her captivating face down to
her black stiletto heels, joined together forming one perfectly symmetrical,
flawless whole. As she swished by him, Morris's nose detected a warm,
comforting yet wildly sensuous essence, a combination of lilacs and
fresh-baked bread. In a split second, Darryl found himself drawn to the
young blonde with a biological, animal intensity he'd never experienced
before. * Get a grip, Darryl, * he scolded himself, trying to regain his
composure. * You're a married man... a cop... *
"Can you take my station for a few?" Nicole asked the Asian girl whose
nametag read SUNNY. "I need to show this... gentleman to Lilith's office."
The distaste in Nicole's voice was palpable.
"Sure... okay," the Asian responded nervously. "Are you going to be... you
know... okay...?" She eyed Darryl suspiciously. Sunny, too, seemed a trifle
"spooked" by Darryl's presence.
* Well, fuck you, too, gook.* Darryl couldn't prevent the stray thought
from slipping into his mind. It had been years since he'd encountered such
undeniably racist hostility. As a cop, he was used to being viewed with
resentment and suspicion, but this definitely wasn't a COP thing. It most
definitely had to be a BLACK thing. Nicole hadn't even identified him to
Sunny as a cop. * She's probably a fucking Korean, * he grinned to himself,
mildly surprised at his own growing animosity. He tried to shrug off the
racial hostility slowly seeping into his every stray thought, but the girls'
glaring eyes were making that impossible. It was funny how prejudice did
that, bringing out the worst in EVERYONE.
"Follow me," Nicole interrupted Morris's thoughts and indicated a bank of
elevators across the lobby. After exchanging one last glare with Sunny, he
fell into step behind Nicole in silence.
Unable to take his eyes off her wiggling white ass, he followed a few steps
behind her. Above her short, tight black mini-skirt, her tanned toned legs
seemed to quake slightly. With each nervous step, her stiletto heels bit
sharply into the tile floor. She was obviously trying to appear cool and
confident. Her slight shiver gave away her true frame of mind, however, and
Morris couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction and power.
* That's right, you little stuck-up white bitch, * Morris found himself
thinking. * I'm a BLACK man, and there ain't nothing your skinny white ass
can do about it. I'm checking out your ass, too, bitch. Bet you always
wondered what it would feel like, getting that tight white ass of yours
stretched and stuffed with 10-inches of prime-cut, Grade-A BLACK MEAT.
Wouldn't your daddy like to see that, huh, bitch...? His little pink-ass,
beach-bunny, trust-fund daughter turned out like some white trash crack
whore. Just another blonde bitch selling her fucking birthright for a taste
of big BLACK dick. Some brother ought to teach you a lesson, ho', you and
that little sushi-eating gook slut. It's time all you pink and lemon bitches
learned the truth... the BLACK TRUTH! *
Darryl suddenly stopped walking for a moment. To his utter amazement, he
felt his 10-inch black dick slowly unfurl and then snap to attention. * What
the hell's come over me? * he asked himself, startled at the words and images
now racing through his mind. * Get a grip on yourself, Darryl, * he scolded
himself. * You aren't like that. You're a cop for Christ's sake. She's
just some stupid spoiled white girl who doesn't know any better. Now get
over it. You've got a job to do, a mystery to solve, a woman to find.*
Nicole went to the third elevator and turned around to face Darryl. All too
aware of the large bulge bursting out below his belt, Morris awkwardly and
uncomfortably ambled over.
Her eyes glued to Morris's crotch, Nicole removed a long key chain from her
belt. Attached to the end of the chain was a nine-inch baton that looked
like it could double as a billy-club. She selected one of the keys from the
chain and slid it into a slot on the wall. A second later, the elevator
doors opened, and she stepped inside.
Darryl heard her take a quick, anxious breath as he stepped in behind her.
One long second later, the doors closed before them, and the elevator hummed
into its climb.
Nicole stood next to him clutching the billy-club attached to her key chain
for dear life. She remained perfectly still, motionless except for the
rhythmic rise and fall of her firm, aerobicized chest beneath the soft
confines of her pink sweater. Morris listened to her anxious breathing and
watched the perspiration condense on her quivering upper lip. * The stupid
bitch is really afraid of me...?! * Morris mused to himself.
Anyone else might have thought Nicole's obvious discomfort was based on a
phobia of elevators, or maybe policemen. Morris knew better, however. He'd
seen BLACK panic before. *Yo, bitch, get down on those knees and suck my big
black dick, * he joked to himself. * Show me who your new daddy is, bitch! *
As soon as he uttered the thoughts in his mind, the girl backed even further
away from him. She pressed herself against the wall of the elevator, and
flashed two loathing white eyes at him. "You'd have to kill me first,
nigger..." she spit. "I'd rather die before I EVER let a filthy nigger like
you touch me..."
"What?!" Darryl snapped back, totally taken off-guard by her unexpected
outburst. It was almost as if she could hear the random thoughts crossing
Suddenly, as if on cue, the elevator slammed to an unscheduled halt between
floors. The car shook and sent Nicole sprawling to her knees. Morris braced
himself against the wall. After the compartment stopped rocking, he extended
his hand towards Nicole to help her to her feet.
"You want a taste, nigger...?" she snarled back at him from her crouched
position. In an instant, she whipped out an aerosol canister of mace.
"Taste this!" Before Darryl could react and shield his face, the burning
spray singed his eyes, ears, nose and throat. He fell to the floor in a
gasping, heaving, cursing fit.
"You fucking WHITE BITCH!" he exploded as he rolled about trying to clear the
burning agony from his every sense.
"How do you like that, nigger?" she hissed at him, dowsing him with another
burst of mace. "Suck your big black dick, huh...? Well, you suck on this,
you filthy ape." She brandished the short baton attached to her key chain
and jabbed it into Morris's ribs.
The current that jolted through Darryl's body rendered him into a howling,
heaving hulk. His whole body burned and crackled with pain, and as he
whimpered helplessly the shapely, aerobicized blonde kept jabbing the
electrically-charged baton into his back.
"How's that, nigger?" she jeered at him while he tried everything in his
power to roll away and avoid her thrusts. "Who's the bitch now, BITCH?" she
screeched. A moment later, he felt her stiletto heels press into the back
of his neck. One more pound of pressure, and she'd snap the vertebrae in
his neck like kindling. "My daddy was right," she spat. "The only good
nigger is a dead nigger." She stepped down hard, but at just that moment the
elevator lurched back into life.
She went toppling backwards, the weight lifting off Morris's neck. Gasping
for air, Darryl clawed himself up into a sitting position after the elevator
car stopped rattling and settled back into silence. He glanced across the
compartment to see Nicole huddled in the opposite corner, her mace and baton
scattered on the floor between them. Their wild eyes locked, and he saw her
body coil up, preparing to spring.
* The bitch is making a move, * Darryl snapped to himself, trying to clear
the cobwebs from his brain. * Stop her! * They both dove for the weapons
simultaneously, but Darryl was closer and quicker.
In a second, he had both the baton and the mace scooped and safely clenched
in his hands. When Nicole saw that, she dove back into her corner, her teeth
clenched in defiance and loathing.
"Now just calm down," Morris tried to lower his voice. "You've got this all
wrong. I'm not going to... hurt you. Just sit still and listen to me."
"Lie back and enjoy it... Is that what you mean, you nigger rapist?" Nicole
hissed at him. "All you niggers think you are such hot shit - just fuck a
white girl, and she'll be your sex-slave for life. Once you've gone black,
you'll never go back... isn't that what all you filthy apes are always
saying...? Do you really think I'm just going to lie here and let you...
pollute me... without a fight, you smelly, disgusting nigger? I'll die
before I let you rape me, you animal...?" She tensed and then opened her
mouth wide. "RAPE! Nigger RAPE!" she started howling at the top of her
lungs. "This nigger is raping me. Someone help me, please dear God.
There's a nigger in here RAPING me!"
"Shut up, you stupid white bitch!" Darryl threw himself across the floor and
landed atop Nicole. He slapped his big brown hand across her mouth, muffling
her cries. She bit hard into his palm, and without thinking he instinctively
clubbed her over the head with the baton. With his finger, he located the
button on the handgrip of the billy-club that activated the electric charge.
When she lashed out at him again, her fingernails scratching his face, he
pressed the button down, jabbing the wand into her firm, aerobicized chest
and sending a barrage of volts into her succulent, flawless tits.
"Ahhgghh... FUCK!" she wailed, balling up into a fetal position, her arms
wrapped around her chest.
Without even considering what he was doing, Darryl seized Nicole by her
blonde hair, yanking up her sobbing face so that she was forced to look him
in the eye. Both of them were huffing and puffing uncontrollably, rage and
desperation wracking their exhausted bodies.
"Fuck you, nigger..." Nicole managed to gasp before she spat in Darryl's eye.
"No, FUCK you!" Inspector Darryl Morris spat back, his hocker coagulating on
her pupils and smearing her mascara. Instinctively, he stood up and pressed
the gorgeous young blonde's back into the wall of the elevator car. "Who's
your daddy now, bitch?" Darryl heard himself taunting the struggling young
blonde. Unable to control his BLACK rage, he pinned the writhing beach-bunny
to the wall with one hand and unzipped his fly with the other. "Time for
your lunch, you white trash bitch," he joked as he freed his 10-inch, black
rape saber and brandished it before her terrorized eyes. "Now open wide,
because this ain't no limp pink noodle here. You're going to suck some real
dick now, bitch... some BLACK dick!"
She clenched her jaws tightly and shook her head defiantly. Nothing was
going to get her to open up and supplicate herself to his raging BLACK fury.
ZZZZTTT! Darryl sadistically jabbed the electrically-charged billy-club back
into her chest, pressing the tip of the wand hard into her firm, flawless
tits and holding it there while her body convulsed.
"FUUUUUCCCK!" When she opened her mouth to scream, Darryl bucked his
muscular ass forward and drove his golf-ball sized warhead between the
blonde's glossy, howling lips. "Uggglllpppp" she gagged when he battered
her gag reflex and sent her body into more heaves.
Intoxicated with a feeling of absolute abandon, Morris thrilled to the
sensation of her snotty white mouth as it enveloped inch after inch of his
mammoth black tool. He laughed as he felt the stuck-up, pink-assed
beach-bunny puking over the relentless assault of his massive, rock-hard
dick. When he felt his bloated black warhead bottom out deep in her
esophagus, he pressed her nose into his sweaty abdomen while wiggling his
hips and swiveling his muscular ass.
"Uggghhllpppp... pppggkk..." Her gagging groans vibrated up through his
thick throat-throttler, and he continued mashing his BLACK FURY even deeper
into her distressed windpipe. Her bleary eyes bobbled around inside their
sockets. He had her impaled like a little pink piggie on a barbecue spit.
When he felt her begin to convulse in suffocation, he gritted his teeth,
slapped her across the face with his big open hand, and resumed power-fucking
her gasping, gurgling throat. "Who's your daddy now, bitch?" he spat in her
weeping eyes before withdrawing his dick-helmet from her slavering mouth with
a fizzing 'plop.'
"Fuck you, nigger..." she vomited. With the removal of Morris's huge black
dick from her small mouth, a torrent of spittle and puke burped out from
Nicole's lips. It streamed down her chin and dripped to the floor in wet
stringy gobs. "Fuck you," she repeated, sucking in a mouthful of the scum
and then discharging it back against Darryl's glistening slut-fucker.
"Wrong answer," Morris snickered. He now traded the electrically-charged
billy-club for the can of mace. He sprayed the powerful chemical irritant
into Nicole's defiant face and watched her reaction with glee. In a split
second, she was thrashing about in his grasp, screeching like a wounded
animal. He pinned her against the wall and placed the nozzle of the spray
canister against her sobbing eyelid. "Now tell me again, ho', who's your
daddy? Who's your new BLACK daddy?"
"F..f..fuck you, n..nigger," she managed to blubber.
"Fine, bitch, be that way," Darryl cackled. "It's just going to make it all
the sweeter when I finally BREAK your tight white ass."
All vestiges of the former Darryl Morris, Inspector Darryl Morris of the
SFPD, had now vanished, submerged beneath the tidal wave of BLACK RAGE
immersing him. Here he was committing acts of human depravity he would have
considered impossible only a few short minutes earlier. Something had come
over Darryl Morris inside the walls of Destiny Enterprises. Or, to be even
more precise, something inside the straight-laced African-American law
officer had been liberated. Feelings he'd been repressing for the last
twenty-odd years now flooded into his consciousness and seized control over
his arms, his legs, his hands, his DICK.
With savage strength, he pried open Nicole's clenched jaws again, only this
time instead of his massive black dick he inserted the end of the billy-club.
Nicole kept struggling, but she was severely weakened, and it only took
seconds for Darryl to shove the end of the baton deep into her throat until
the point lodged against her tonsils. Morris then shoved the mace canister
into one of Nicole's flaring nostrils. It was time for a double-whammy. It
was time to BREAK the white bitch and TURN her totally BLACK.
ZZZZTTT! HSSSSSSS! Morris simultaneously released electricity and mace into
Nicole's nose and mouth. The twin tortures ripped through her body and sent
her into flailing spasms. Her muffled shrieks vibrated through the ends of
Darryl's hands, and he wagged and whipped his 10-inch black dick against her
terrorized, scum-smeared face. ZZZZTT! HSSSSS! The assault maintained its
intensity for at least fifteen seconds before he eased up.
Morris withdrew the baton and the mace canister and grabbed Nicole's face
by her tear-stained cheeks. "We'll try this again, bitch," he spat in her
flinching eyes. "Who's your daddy?"
"F..fuck you..." she could barely even breathe the whisper out.
"What's your problem, bitch?" Darryl got in her face. "You want to die?"
"Y..you'll never... r..rape me," she gasped. "F..fuck you..."
Darryl threw his head back and laughed at the defiled, dehumanized blonde
beach-bunny. While she bawled at his feet, he tore off her pink sweater and
black bra. When her flawless, aerobicized tits bobbled free, he jabbed the
billy-club directly into her smooth, succulent tit flesh and let rip with a
heavy dosage of electricity.
Her body shook so violently that her jaws rattled together and she drooled
what appeared to a mixture of vomit, spittle and bile. In another moment,
Darryl' belt was off and he stood above her, alternating between jabs with
the club, lashes with the belt, blows with the club and jets of mace.
The torture and unbearable pain sent Nicole into a virtually catatonic state,
and she was nothing but a limp mockery of a human being as Darryl began
tearing down her tight, black mini-skirt. "Would you look at that?" Morris
burst out into giggles when he had her mini-skirt off. "The little white
trash ho' isn't wearing any panties."
He grabbed her lifeless legs and bent them back over her head so that her
ankles were dangling at her ears. The entire weight of her body was now
resting on her shoulder blades, her torso folded up like a hairpin and her
bare pussy and asshole pointing straight up into the air.
Darryl had seen this position in a movie once. It was called the
"piledriver," and it was the most uncomfortable, dehumanizing sexual position
Morris had ever seen. Before that day, Darryl had never expected to fuck a
woman this way, but in the last few minutes the Inspector's whole world had
turned upside-down. Now, inflicting as much pain and humiliation on this
young blonde bitch as possible was Darryl Morris's only concern in the world.
He would hear this stuck-up, pink-assed trust-fund cunt call him "daddy" if
it was the last thing he did.
With his fist, Darryl began punching open Nicole's dry, tight asshole while
he jammed the billy-club down into her terror-slickened slot. "You're wet,
bitch," he couldn't help but observe to her. "My big black dick made you
all wet like the slut you are. Can't deny it either, ho'. Feel that?" he
mocked, sliding his whole fist into greased cunt-pipe. "You do, don't you?
You fucking want some of this big black dick shoved up that tight pink cunt
of yours, don't you, bitch...? Don't you?" he reiterated with a hard punch
into her guts.
"B..burn in h...hell, nigger..." she gasped through her gritted teeth.
"Your mouth keep saying 'no,' slut, but your body is saying 'yes,'" Darryl
jeered. He withdrew his soaking wet hand from her stretched-out pussy,
leaned over, and wiped the evidence of her arousal across her face. "You
know, I think I'll use your pussy juice to lube up your tight white ass,"
Morris thought aloud. "I'll use it to get my big black dick all nice and
slick, too. How does that sound, ho'?"
"ARRRGGHH!" she wailed. He laughed and beat her tits with the club, then
sent another stream of voltage directly into one of her erect nipples.
While she bawled and blubbered beneath him, Darryl worked his hands and
fingers inside her moist, glistening cunt. When they were sufficiently
coated in her juices, he withdrew them and then worked them back into her
puckering pink asshole. A few minutes later, her ass-pipe was still
somewhat dry, but at least sufficiently lubed to allow his dick-helmet to
press through the muscular ring of her sphincter and slide into her perfect
The thickness of Darryl's tool stretched and distended Nicole's tight, pink
shit chute to agonizing dimensions. Letting his entire weight fall down on
her ripped rump, Darryl began pile-driving his 10-inch black dick ruthlessly
into her blasted butt. Goring her colon like a wild boar, Morris tore every
last strand of her sphincter muscles to shreds. In under a minute, she lost
all control of her bowels, and with every thrust of Morris's dick her ass
burped a spatter of loose shit.
"Who's your daddy now, bitch?" Darryl grunted as he ass-ravaged the blonde
beach bunny to utter oblivion.
"Fuck you!" she continued groaning as he tore her ass asunder.
"Dumb fucking white bitch," Darryl shook his head. Then, while the girl
screeched in utter terror, he took the billy club, jammed it down deep into
her cunt and let it rip. ZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTT! Morris depressed the button for
almost a minute, while torrent after torrent of electric agony sizzled
through Nicole's wet cunt. The seizures wracking her body caused her ass
muscles to clench and loosen with a rhythmic intensity that milked every
inch of Darryl's thick black dick into a state of absolute rapture.
Double-blasting each of her fuck-holes, Darryl Morris destroyed what was left
of the flawless blonde beach-bunny, reducing her to nothing more than a
slavering slab of spastic fuck-meat.
"One more chance, bitch," Darryl gasped as he felt his balls quiver and
quake. He withdrew his smoking black dick from the blonde's wrecked rectum
and squatted down so he was piss-hole to eyeball. "Who's your daddy now?"
"I don't know if you're her 'daddy,' big boy," a strange female voice came
out of nowhere. "But you sure are her rapist."
The voice startled Morris. It came from behind him, from the elevator door.
Unable to control the hot black cum roiling inside his testicles, Morris
spewed his savage afro-spunk across the blonde's harrowed, soulless face
before he turned around.
The elevator door had somehow opened without him hearing it. A ravishing,
raven-haired woman stood ten feet away amid the splendor of an opulent
office. The woman's gorgeous yet ghastly pale face leered with a sadistic
"I... you don't understand..." Morris began stammering.
"I understand perfectly, Inspector Morris," the woman grinned before bidding
him to enter the office suite with a wave of her hand. "I've been watching
the entire... episode on the elevator's security camera." She studied Darryl
as he left Nicole's slumped over body and staggered into the room, his pants
at his ankles and his once-rampant black dick now shriveled and wilting.
"My, wouldn't your superiors be interested in how one of San Francisco's
finest gets his kicks," she cackled. "And may I add how surprised your wife
would be, as well. Or is your sex life always this... EXTREME?"
* My wife... oh SHIT... FUCK! How could...? * Darryl Morris' whole body was
now shaking with horror. "I..." he began desperately. "Something came over
me..." Morris tried to verbalize the sudden wave of shame and revulsion
sweeping over him. "Something... it took control of... of my mind and made
"And you expect anyone to believe that, Inspector...?" she mocked him.
"Would YOU believe that, Inspector?"
"Please... you don't... I didn't mean to... to hurt her."
"I know that and you know that, Inspector," the woman suddenly grew very
serious. "But THEY don't know that," she swept her arm across the air and
pointed out the window, to the San Francisco skyline splayed out below them.
"Your superiors... your wife... THEY'LL never understand, will they,
Inspector...?" She grinned maliciously. "That is if they ever find out.
They don't have to learn the truth, you know," she added. "This can all
just go away... like it NEVER happened."
"I... please..." Darryl's mind was reeling. "I... I'll do anything.
Wh..what do I need to do?" He couldn't believe the words he was hearing
coming from his own mouth, the words of a scared man, the words of a
criminal, the same kind of criminal he'd vowed to hunt down at any cost.
* What the HELL has happened to me? *
"What you NEED to do," she answered, "is run along like a good little nigger,
and let this be a lesson to you. NEVER come back to Destiny Enterprises.
Whatever you're investigating, DROP IT... NOW! Do you understand me?"
"Who... what... are you?" Morris couldn't help but ask.
"Something YOU would never understand, you talking ape. Now drag her body
out here," she pointed to the floor at her feet, "and leave... NOW!"
Despite his every instinct telling him to disobey, Inspector Darryl Morris
did exactly as he was ordered. He pulled the blonde's limp body from out of
the elevator and set her down on the floor at the raven-haired woman's feet.
He was so terrified that he didn't even check to see if Nicole was breathing.
In his mindless BLACK RAGE, Morris could have killed the beach-bunny. The
thought made him want to fall down on his knees and start weeping, pleading
with God and anyone else who would listen for forgiveness.
Instead, he just numbly walked back to the elevator car, entered, tossed
out the rags of her clothes and turned around to face the raven-haired woman.
"Goodbye, Inspector Morris," she jeered. "I trust we won't be meeting
again... unless it's at your TRIAL!" She lowered her eyes to Nicole's
lifeless body and looked back up at Morris. The black detective tried to
close his eyes, but she somehow locked his eyelids open with her gaze. "Put
that THING away, Inspector," she indicated his now limp and shriveled black
penis. "You pitiful excuse for a man."
The doors slid shut and the elevator started sinking. In a daze, Morris put
his spent organ back in his pants. He zipped up, straightened his jacket and
tie and tried to hold himself upright. A wave of nausea and vertigo swept
over him, however, and in a second he found himself collapsed against the
back of the elevator car. * What have I done? What the FUCK have I done? *
* * *
"Well, that was kind of cool," Nicole chirped. With the closing of the
elevator doors, the gorgeous, demonic receptionist sprang to her feet like a
perky cheerleader. She shook her tangled hair back, and in an instant her
utter, flawless glamour returned. Her beaten, bruised and ravaged body
transformed back into the flawless, aerobicized form that bewitched every
mortal who laid eyes on it.
"Play time's over, " Lilith snapped. "Now change your appearance, put some
clothes on and get back to work."
"But I like this look..." Nicole protested, doing a full spin like a runway
model, then batting her eyelashes at Lilith.
"That identity has been compromised," Lilith snapped. "You need to choose
something different... completely different." She waved her hand over
Nicole's flawless white body, and it instantly turned from tanned pink to
chocolate black. The bosomy blonde beach bunny was now a lithe, exotic,
Nubian goddess, a cross between Naomi Campbell and Lauryn Hill.
"Now that's ironic," the new Nicole smirked as she examined her black skin.
"From nigger hater to nigger..."
"Your new designation will be Lucretia," Lilith ignored the demon's editorial
commentary. "Now choose some suitable clothes and get back out to the
"Why do you think he was here?" Lucretia asked. She waved her hands across
her body, materializing a leopard-skin body suit with large swathes cut out
to expose her hard, washboard tummy and sleek flawless back. She snapped her
fingers and capped the outfit off with black spiked-heels and a designer
purse. "What could the police possibly know about our operation.
"I don't know," Lilith looked thoughtfully at the elevator. "Whatever it
was, though, we won't have to worry about Inspector Daryl Morris anymore,
"Humans are so... easy..." Lucretia observed. "Why are they so weak,
"Because they're humans," Lilith smirked. "That's the way they were created,
and that's why we'll be able to seize control of this planet once again with
their help. Our friend the 'Inspector'," she indicated the closed elevator
doors, "is one of the GOOD ones... an officer of the law...? And look how
quickly he relented to his animal nature. It's inside them all, just dying
to get out. We're doing them a favor, actually, allowing them to live the
lives they were meant for, the lives they deny themselves out of some
ludicrous notion of... what's that word again...?"
"Morality?" Lucretia burst out laughing.
"Yes," Lilith joined in. "Morality!? What a hoot..."
* * *
"I'm sorry, miss, but you will need a parent here to sign this waiver."
SUNNY, the receptionist at Destiny Enterprises, showed Jenny a form and
pointed to the line that asked for a 'Parent or Guardian' signature.
"My mom and dad are real busy," Jenny lied. "Can't I just take this with me,
have them sign it and then bring it back."
"I'm sorry, miss," Sunny frowned. "But we can't do that. Didn't the
operator tell you last night that you needed a parent or guardian present."
"Um... yeah... and someone was going to come and everything, but they got
caught up at work..." Jenny tried to be as vague as possible.
"Jenny?" the voice came from behind the girl, and she turned.
* Phoebe Halliwell! * Jenny felt her face go white with panic. * I am like
SO busted now. When Uncle Dan finds out I'm here and I used his credit card,
he's going to kill me. *
"H..hi..." Jenny managed a weak smile.
"Is this your mother?" Sunny asked.
"Hardly," Phoebe eyed the receptionist coldly.
"Listen," Sunny explained. "Jenny needs a parent or guardian to sign this
waiver and meet her Boy of Destiny."
"You're here to meet your Boy of Destiny?" Phoebe asked. Jenny could think
of nothing to do but nod. "That is so cool. I just got done with my
interview. I'm going to meet my Man of Destiny tonight," she cooed, then
turned back to Sunny. "I'm this young lady's legal guardian," Phoebe was
lying now, which REALLY surprised Jenny. Then again, Jenny had always
considered Phoebe the "cool" Halliwell sister. "Where do I sign her up?"
* Cool! * Jenny hugged Phoebe.
"Do you have proof?" Sunny asked.
"Call Persephone up in Suite #4A, and tell her Phoebe Halliwell is signing up
her god-daughter, Jenny, for the program," Phoebe explained.
Sunny nodded, picked up her phone, dialed an extension, waited a moment and
spoke: "Persephone, there's a Phoebe Halliwell out here at the reception desk
signing as a guardian for a Miss Jennifer Gordon..." she paused and listened
to a voice chatting on the other end. "Okay..." she nodded her head as the
voice spoke. "All right... thank you." Sunny hung up and handed Phoebe the
clipboard. "You can sign right there, Ms. Halliwell. I'm sorry for the
inconvenience," she apologized to both Jenny and Phoebe. "Regulations, you
"Tell me about it," Phoebe commiserated as she scrawled her name on the line.
"Can you handle the rest, dear?" she asked Jenny. The pretty teen smiled up
at Phoebe and gave her another big hug. "I'll see you when you get home,"
Phoebe released Jenny and then started towards the doors. "Have fun!"
"Jenny, you'll be meeting Jezzy in Suite #5D," Sunny directed Jenny's eyes
to a corridor stretching off from the lobby. "She'll be your Guide in the
process. Just follow the purple line." She pointed to the floor, and Jenny
saw that a purple line started at the reception desk, crossed the tile floor
and headed straight down the corridor.
"Thanks," Jenny smiled back before she nervously headed towards her Destiny.
* * *
* Hope that helps her out, * Phoebe thought to herself as she headed out to
the parking lot.
What had just happened inside the headquarters of Destiny Enterprises all
seemed like a blur to Phoebe now. She could remember bits and pieces like
some truly wonderful dream slowly slipping from her conscious, waking memory.
What she did recall, however, was the end result - a blind date with her Man
of Destiny that very night.
She still couldn't believe it. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't
dreaming. * Ouch...! * She shook her arm and smiled, looking down at the
business card Persephone had given her. On the front was embossed the
Destiny symbol -- the letter D with a line through the middle. On the back
of the card, Persephone had written "Campton Place Bar, 7:30PM. Aleister."
* Aleister...? * Phoebe mused over the name. Her Man of Destiny. * He
sounds so cool!* She smiled to herself. * Kind of mysterious and
She imagined a cross between Simon LeBon and James Bond, with maybe some Sid
Vicious thrown in for good measure. It was all so hard to believe. In a few
short hours, she would sipping cocktails at Campton Place... CAMPTON PLACE...
with the man she was destined to spend the rest of her life with. Phoebe had
no more doubts. Persephone had PROMISED her that Aleister would be Mr.
Right, and Persephone wouldn't lie.
Phoebe Halliwell's stomach fluttered with a thousand spastic butterflies.
What this meant to her was indescribable --no more movies for one, no more
scanning the Personal Ads at lunchtime, no more Friday night Hagendaas /
"When Harry Met Sally" video orgies. By this time tomorrow, she would be
basking in eternal, untold happiness just like all the women who turned
their love lives over to the capable professionals at Destiny Enterprises.
Approaching her car in a daze, Phoebe's mind suddenly cleared when she
spied a familiar figure leaning against the hood of an unmarked police car.
"Morris!?" she called out, crossing the lot towards him when he looked up.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "You aren't here to meet your Man of
Destiny, are you...? Then again this IS San Francisco," she quipped.
"Not now, Phoebe," he shook his head wearily. His face looked haggard,
exhausted, as if he'd just been through the most harrowing, devastating
experience in his life.
"What's wrong?" Phoebe was suddenly concerned. She'd known Darryl Morris
for a little while now, and she'd never seen him this upset, even at the
funeral of his partner and best friend, Andy Trudeau.
"It's... police business," Darryl looked up at her suspiciously. "And what
are you doing here?"
"Meeting my Man of Destiny," Phoebe cooed.
"Listen," Morris's voice suddenly got very serious, almost ominous. "You
shouldn't be here. This isn't a nice place. These are not nice people.
You need to stay away from here, okay...?"
"What are you talking about?" Phoebe questioned the black detective, but he
was no longer able to reply. He had begun crying.
"God, forgive me..." he kept repeating over and over again as he slumped
forward against the hood of his car.