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Tomb Visitor

Sep 02, 2020

There had been noises coming from the old family crypt for eight nights now.  She had sent servants to investigate, but none spoke of anything they saw there in the depths of the night.  Two had disappeared, never to return from whatever otherworldly pit they'd been condemned.  On the seventh day, the mansion staff had abandoned her.  All that was left was her own resolve and fortitude, born of many years of desperate journeys and deadly adventures. 

 

Those adventures had made her hard, harder than most wealthy retirees in the gentle rolling hills north of Janagaard.  There, she'd enjoy many decades of the easy life before the gold and jewels ran out.  She'd be courted by Carellonian noblemen wishing to sample her delectable assets, and noblewomen who had heard the whispers of her true nature.  She'd be visited by bands of adventurers seeking her knowledge or those wishing to recruit her to their latest quest.  But always, she'd be sitting by her balcony window at sunset, watching the color drain from the sky and sighing in the dreamy peacefulness of it all.

 

But something dark had been drawn to her boudoir, some curse of ancient bloodlines dripped within the old vaults, and deep beneath the old graveyard, hateful and cruel memories of ancient times would not rest.  Before the stroke of one in the morning, the rattles and moans had aroused her from a fitful slumber.  In anger and defiance that outweighed any thoughts of fright or even common sense, she snagged an old oil lamp and headed for the tombs behind the mansion.  The place was well tended, not overgrown and abandoned as old graveyards so often are.  The tomb of interest belonged to the once Marquesa of Talosgaard, a minor noblewoman of forgettable lineage and no real accomplishment.  All that was remembered of her was a penchant for extreme parties and sexual overindulgence.

 

She moved stealthy into the crypt, the dim light and the waning moon casting hazy shadows onto a charcoal gray scene.  As she looked about, nothing seeming out of place or clearly responsible for the sounds heard over the last week, she started to imagine it must have been the wind against those creaky old wrought iron gates.  Perhaps it was no more than a hole in one of the stained glass windows, howling of its own accord when the moon and wind and night aligned just right.  Maybe there were night birds about rattling against old boards and rusty chains.

 

She was about to give up and return to her bedchamber when a sudden flush passed over her.  Unlike the legendary chill up the spine one might feel when a ghost appeared, this was quite the opposite.  She been on such adventures and knew the cold touch of undeath as it neared.  But to her, with an immortal lifespan and virtual immunity to the negative life energy of such spirits, ghosts were of little consequence.  This, however, was no ghost she felt.  What she felt was an unbridled lust, a yearning for physical pleasure that could only be found in the infernal realms.  Her night visitor had hoped to surprise her, to seduce her, to betray their lusts and take her immortal soul screaming in orgasms back to Hell.  But what the pour devil didn't know was the nature of its prey.

 

She smiled as she heard the devil shuffle behind her and begin to make its move.  For one of the powerful Children of Hermaphrodite, the devil was the prey tonight.

 

#2 -

 

"Unnnggghhh,… uh,… wait,… ouch,… I,…. uuunnngggghhhh,… think there's somebody over there."

 

#3 -

 

"Ah, apparently you weren't lying.  How unusual."

 

"Uuunnnggghhh,… mmmm,… please!  Help me!  She's ripping my,… ass apart,… uunnnggghhh,… with that monster,… oooopphh,… cock!"

 

#4 -

 

"Very good, Reginald.  I shant be a moment.  Here we go,… mmmmmmppphhhh."

 

"Mmmmmmm,…. MMMMMMM,….Gggggggg,…. bbbbllllllgggggg,…."

 

#5 -

"Bbbbbbbblllllllllgggggbbbbbbbbllllll,…."

 

"There we are.  Do be a doll and fetch a mop, will you, Reggie?"

 
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