The Second Coming – Part VI By TeraS

Continuing with The Second Coming this week on the Tale; I’m not done; there’s still some ways to go if, I’m honest with myself. I feel like rushing to the ending wouldn’t be fair to the characters or the story, so we move on a little further this time and, perhaps, something will come … at least there is the certainty that someone will—cum that is.

If you’d like to read the prior five parts of this story, you can find them here on the Tale.


The Second Coming
Part VI
By TeraS


The roses weren’t going to tend to themselves.

They grew wildly, given the chance to do so, spreading themselves over the land, claiming it all for themselves. The similarities weren’t lost to the man holding a pair of gardening shears and examining the plants. Looking over the plot where the roses grew, his thoughts passed back in time.

He remembered the first time he saw her, how smitten he was, how foolish he had been: so awkward, but then they’d both been fish out of water. A small smile played upon his lips as he remembered her gasp of delight when he presented the box of chocolates. A peace offering, really: he’d been too pushy, and she’d made sure to let him know how miffed she was. Cleo had, as he remembered, a lovely expression when she was miffed.

A particular branch caught his attention, off towards the low, wrought-iron fence that marked the boundary of the churchyard over which he was the guardian. That thought made his smile wane, becoming a bit thinner as he approached the withering vine. He still, after all of this time, hadn’t come to terms with the past, with not being able to see Cleo, not being able to tell her the truth.

Settling in to tend to the garden, to shape the roses to a purpose to which they were not naturally accustomed, his thoughts were taken again to that terrible night. The moment they’d shared, finding secrets never meant to be unearthed; how everything had changed in an instant for them both; how the truth still hurt and always would until the moment came. He hoped he would be prepared.

His hands were guiding the shears towards the vine that needed to be pruned, to help what remained to blossom, to grow, to form into what he needed it to be. The shadow that fell over the sun brought an uncontrolled shiver. The light dimmed around him, the roses of red becoming brighter in the darkness.

The shiver was then replaced by a heat he hadn’t felt since that night. A wash of lust passed over, making him hard, diverting his attention for a moment, the shears drawing away. His body flushed, his muscles tensed, and his eyes narrowed. Gathering himself, he drew his hand through his close-cropped sandy brown hair, his thoughts being taken to the past, out of his control. Flashes of memory came with nowhere to hide: Cleo being turned from the woman he’d loved into a creature with an entirely different purpose; praying for help, but finding that didn’t help him; not resisting when what happened to her befell him, as well. Looking down into her black eyes, her lips suckling his cock, he threw her over a crate, driving himself into her slickness, her screams of delight in being used driving him onwards. He was consumed with her, with pushing her over the edge, to make her, to make them both, the vessels they were destined to be. The scream of frustration, pressing her to reveal where it was, her confusion, then her keening need to be fucked again, all shattered when the moment passed with their destiny unfulfilled, seeing her lying in the dust, he towering over her. The look in her eyes was one of disgust, knowing that whatever they’d had was forever lost.

A deep breath took the memories away. The shadow was still over him, the heat still gnawing at his shaft. He’d felt this before, he knew, intimately, why this was happening. A lesser man would have cried out, screamed for release. He wouldn’t, not for her.

“How do your roses grow?”

His hand clutched the shears tightly at the sound of her voice. It was her, there was no mistake. He’d heard her laugh, cry out, scream in need. More than that, more than anything any other soul on the planet could understand, he knew her intimately. His reply was, surprisingly, unemotional: “Cléophée.”

“That’s all? Nothing else?”

He didn’t dare to look at her. He’d fall to her, be her plaything in a moment. His eyes remained on the roses even knowing that she was so close by. He thought he could feel her breath on the back of his neck, and was waiting for her fingers to clutch at his hair.

“Aren’t you going to come here and say hello?”

Her damned voice gave him strength. She wasn’t beside him. The shears snipped away in reply; he said nothing, knowing that her eyes were upon him, and he knew, intimately what he would see …

… her mane of red hair most of all.

“Why so shy? You fucked me, didn’t you? I remember you ramming your delightfully long and thick cock into my cunt, how you roared as you dug your nails into my ass.”

His hands trembled, slightly, but that wasn’t reflected in his voice: “I’ve had better.” The reply would, he knew, anger her, but he didn’t care. If she was going to take him, in the middle of the day, he wasn’t going to bend easily.

The chuckle was evil: “I’ve had you before. You’ll be mine again.”

“Hungry thing, aren’t you?”

Her words were wrapped in a purr of delight: “I’m starving.”

The shears were poised to cut as he wondered: “How’s Mandy?”

The growl was like nothing he’d heard before, but he pressed on regardless. The shears made a loud noise as he cut through the stem: “What’s that? Is the powerful Cléophée not getting her way? What a shame.”

“You both will be mine. I’ll have your cock and her cunt.”

Finally, he turned to look at her. She wasn’t as close as he had thought, even if her voice seemed like it was hovering over his shoulder. The object of his past desires had positioned herself on the other side of the fence, her hands trembling as she gripped the iron. He half expected to see Cleo, but instead he was greeted by the sight that had entranced him in the catacombs.

The attraction was there. He felt her claws digging into his soul. His shaft throbbed in desire for her. His breath caught at her display to tempt him. She’d forsaken the look he’d known for one of a woman in heat: flaming red hair dancing over her shoulders, her sexuality enhanced by the red leather dress she wore. He couldn’t ignore her cleavage, overlook the come-fuck-me heels, or miss the slit that allowed a glimpse of her bald sex as it glistened. She was sex incarnate, he couldn’t deny that.

“Cum to me …”

The words echoed within, plucking at the love he had for Cleo and the lust he had for Cleophée. He thought both to be buried away, but now her power blew upon the embers, a spark soon to be leading to a flame once more. The shears fell to the grass as he stood and turned towards her. Black eyes greeted him, her arms outstretched, beckoning to envelope him within her clutches.

They stood there, facing each other, neither moving. Then he opened his arms in a mirror of her own: “Take me, Cléophée.”

He saw the amusement on her lips, he watched as she walked along the fence, turning towards the cobblestone path which led onto the grounds. Her smile of anticipation turned to one of confusion suddenly. Her snarl broke him from the trance: “Fuck you.

There was a moment of confusion, not understanding why the vision of lust was enraged. He called out to her: “What’s wrong? Come here and take me!”

She remained there, her hair swirling around her, the points of her horns appearing in shadow as her hair whipped around, daggers from her eyes being thrown at him. Then she turned on one heel and stalked away: “You can’t resist me forever!

He didn’t look away until she’d disappeared around a corner, her power over him fading away slowly. Turning back to the roses, the sight of having pruned away the wrong vine made him sigh: “Never could, Cleo … You have me forever.”

The apartment was empty and silent, the events of the preceding day the source of some idle commentary from the dwellers of the complex. It was a shame that the nice young woman that lived there had suffered that awful gas leak, though it was a lucky thing that she, and the young man that had been visiting her, were rescued before things had taken a turn for the worst. Who could know what terrible things might have happened if they weren’t visited by those two lovely sisters, especially the one who had the most amazingly brilliant red hair.

It was a shame that one of the sisters had been overcome by the fumes, the other having to make the call for help. There had been some gossip about what had been found within the apartment, but representatives of the local diocese had rebuffed such idle thoughts. After all, it was not the business of others to know what someone did within their own home, regardless of how kinky that might well be, or what some might make of it.

A mote of dust was caught in a sunbeam, hovering over an old, well-worn couch as the apartment door swung open with a slight creak. A slim hand with chewed-on nails plucked a note that was taped to the door as its owner sighed: “Well, that was fun.”

Amber had come home, Ben tagging along close behind her, a hurt look in his eyes: “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Reading the note, then setting it aside, she rolled her eyes: “No. You were a gentleman.”

“Then, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

She threw her thin shawl over one of the chairs and sighed: “Nothing.”

Feeling him touch her hand was a comfort. So many days lost, her memories missing. They’d said that it was caused by the gas leak, but something didn’t sit right with her. It felt like something was missing, like a part of her wasn’t fitted into place exactly right.

“How long have we known each other?”

Idly looking at the ceiling, she had to think about that for a moment or two. So many of her memories were all jumbled up, confused, and it was hard to focus sometimes. Why she was having odd thoughts at times about sex was a concern: “Couple of years now? I still don’t know why you asked me out for coffee.”

Ben had a really bashful smile: “That’s easy. You’re the cutest woman at the museum.”

It was a derisive snort: “I’m the only woman there.”

“Therefore, the cutest one … right?”

She was going to make a snide reply when her eyes fell upon her bed and she had a vision of being on top of Ben, her nails digging into his shoulders, riding him, fucking him, screaming …

A squeeze of her hand snapped her back: “Hey, you okay?”

The tone of her voice told more than her reply did: “I’m okay … I … just feel like there’s something that I’ve forgotten and I don’t know what it is.”

Ben held her, trying to comfort her, assure her that things would be okay. Even as he did so, she couldn’t help the flashes of fantasy that came, things she’d never actually do, but which were flushing her cheeks.

“I’m not leaving, so you’re going to have to deal with having me around.”

For the first time that day, she giggled: “You’re going to have to learn to cook.”

“I am perfectly capable of burning water.”

Leaning back, she nuzzled her shockingly white hair with its light red highlights against his cheek as he stood behind her: “How about tonight you try burning the grilled cheese?”

Amber felt his hands move lower, cupping over her navel: “You gonna teach me?”

Another vision flashed, of standing over him, cupping his chin with her long red nails, dominating him, her slave, her property. She blinked, her grey eyes confused, the tone of her voice heated: “Oh … I could.”

She felt him tense, his body hot against her own, pressing tighter, feeling his hardness pressing into her ass. Her own need made her push back against him, rubbing herself against him, what she wanted not being disguised at all.

His voice cracked: “Amber …”

It was a needful moan: “Ben … gawd, I love you, too.”

A knock on the door shook them both out of the moment. The spell broken, the need for each other still burning within as they looked into each other’s eyes. Amber called out: “One sec! Hang on!”

In a lower voice she whispered: “I’ll get rid of whoever it is, then I want dessert before dinner.”

Turning away from Ben, Amber was treated to his embarrassed and yet needful smile as she walked across the room to the door. Opening the door, she found a woman with ash-brown hair standing outside. Rather pleasant looking, dressed conservatively, her overall appearance and manner seemed to suggest she was there on business.

Amber was a bit put off by her. She was a knock-out in spite of what she was wearing, and a little bit of jealousy crept into her mood. The woman was beautiful, there was no question of that, and she found herself comparing herself once again to a woman that was more than she was.

“Can I help you …?”

The woman’s brown-green eyes sparkled as she offered her hand in greeting: “Hello! I’m Sister Cléophée, I believe you were expecting me?

The revelation of who this was snapped Amber out of her jealously and she managed to smile, recalling the note she’d found on the door: “Of course, please, do come in!”

As she entered, Amber marveled at the red highlights in the older woman’s hair before closing the door behind her.

“What brings you by, Sister?”

There was something about the visitor’s voice as she answered the question. It sounded almost like she had an orgasm: “A book.

Elsewhere, if someone had been passing by a particular hotel room at that moment, they’d be surprised by the language that a woman was using. There was a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush coming from behind the thin door separating the room from the hallway beyond, a torrent of anger which was clearly meant for one particular target of that woman’s ire.

Mandy was in fine form at that moment, and she wasn’t happy about that in the slightest. She’d only really been this upset when a particularly obstinate woman in the church hierarchy had sent a note to Cleo’s office, to inform her that her services were no longer needed. Once she had confronted her privately with a particularly inspired tongue-lashing, the woman had changed her tone completely. Oddly, whenever they’d encountered each other since, they’d never talked, but Mandy had caught a look of fear in the bureaucrat’s eyes from afar. Somehow that rather pleased the redhead whenever it happened. But at the moment she was anything but pleased: “Shit. Fucking hell! Dammit!”

Cléophée and her pet made sure she wasn’t going to get away. The bindings weren’t the usual bondage gear Mandy had encountered long ago, in a past she’d never talked about with Cleo—but then she’d never asked about tying her up and having her way with her, either.

A thought came as she looked at the slut lying there and fingering herself: could this possibly work? Rolling over onto her side, she looked at the mindless pet still moaning out for her Mistress. The edge in Mandy’s voice was palatable: “On your knees, pet!”

She didn’t expect the blissed-out redhead to obey—after all, she was the thrall of a succubus. However, when the tattooed slut struggled to her knees, Mandy whispered a quiet prayer in thanks for Cléophée’s mistake.

The nun couldn’t help the gasp as the thrall’s white eyes bore into her own from across the carpet. The dripping arousal which made up her existence now came in two needful words: “I obey.” She didn’t desire to be commanded, it was all she was: a blank soul with no purpose save for what was given, dripping from the opportunity to obey.

“Good, pet, very … very good.”

The keening purr of delight in being praised was matched by the thrusting out of her chest, displaying her bound nipples and offering them in submission. None of that was doing Mandy any good, however: “Such a needy cunt, all wet and empty.”

The thrall didn’t say a word, continuing to moan as her legs slid wide, opening her thighs, offering her snatch in submission, begging to be touched, fondled, played with. Mandy bit her lip, pushing aside her dislike for this woman, that smile that was just that side of ick. She had to push past that, there wasn’t a choice. The redhead needed her, even if that meant doing something she didn’t want to: “Cunts like you need to be on their knees, being fucked and fucked hard.

The words sunk into the toy; she acted on them instantly, ass in the air, legs wide, her sex open, dripping, waiting to be used. Her head, on the carpet, was turned towards Mandy, and there was a mournful wail of need within her cry. Mandy had her on the hook, now to see if she could reel her in: “Lick my heels, you slut.”

The once-blonde must have been submissive before she’d encountered the succubus. There was no hesitation, her tongue being drawn over Mandy’s come-fuck-me heels, the joyful whimper of obedience echoing in the room. Something in that moan told Mandy she was, for the moment, in control, and she took the risk: “Unbind me cunt. Now!

The thrall, bound eternally, didn’t hesitate to release the bindings on Mandy’s legs. Rolling over, Mandy waited for her arms to be released,

but nothing happened. Mandy thought it was all in vain, that she’d never been in control. Then she felt a long tongue licking along the inside of her thigh and nails toying at her microskirt, tugging it up, Mandy’s anger blossomed again as that tongue danced over her folds, flicking over her clit.

“You cunt! You disobedient slut! Unbind me NOW! You need to be punished!

It was less than a minute before the temporary domme was freed, then she turned over to confront Cléophée’s whore. What she found was the redhead thrall laying on the carpet, her arms behind her, waiting to be bound and punished. Mandy’s past came back in a rush, the smile on her lips nothing like she’d shown in ages. Her hand found one of the straps that had been binding her, and she looped it around her right hand, raising it into the air before striking with it like a strap: “Whore! Slut! Worthless bitch!

Each word she screamed was followed by the crack of leather against bare skin, a scream of pleasure in the room. The disobedient fucktoy needed to be taught a lesson and Mandy was the one to give it to …

… her hand froze, about to strike once more in anger. She threw the strap aside: “Goddess, no.”

The room was silent, save for the pleading moans of terror and joy Cléophée’s pet wailed at her. Mandy saw the book on the other side of the room, a dark red glow coming from its pages and her eyes narrowed: “Fuck … you.”

Mandy didn’t have a choice, there was only one thing to do and she needed to act. It didn’t take long for her to bind her victim, hands bound over her ass, her legs bent so that her heels were almost touching her ass. Looking in Cleo’s case, she found a vibrator and turned it on.

The slut’s reaction of spreading her legs wide and humping the floor made it clear what she wanted. Mandy wasn’t exactly gentle as she slid the vibe deep and then pulled the last strap tight, locking the toy into place: “Good pet. Now, tell me where Mistress went.”

They were the first words she’d spoken since Cléophée’s departure: “Gathering! Mistress is taking what is heeerrssssss!”

“Who are you talking about?”

The answer came as she howled for release: “Her vessel and her toy!”

It hit Mandy like a ton of bricks, and she responded in disbelief: “Fuck me!”

Mandy didn’t care after that moment, all that mattered was grabbing the book and getting the hell out of there. The sounds of the pet’s cries followed Mandy as she ran out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. Amber and Ben were in danger, she had to try to stop Cléophée. She’d promised Cleo she would.

As she rode the elevator, her eyes scanned the book as the pages were turned. The text made her eyes water, the smell of sulphur was overwhelming, but it didn’t matter. There had to be an answer, she just needed to find it, or keep it out of Cléophée’s hands. Turning the book to a folded over page she looked at the image revealed there in disbelief.


Something changed in the apartment when Sister Cléophée entered. There was a change in the air, Amber’s dislike for their visitor evaporated, Ben became very helpful, deferring to Amber and their guest. Amber couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but didn’t focus on that as their visitor settled into a chair. Confused, Amber asked: “A … book?”

The answer seemed to come from everywhere in the room: “A … very special … book.

Something tugged at Amber’s memories: “I …”

Something pushed at Ben’s thoughts: “You …”

Cléophée purred in delight: “Yesssssss …

1 comment

    • avatar
    • David on November 28, 2016 at 12:04 pm

    Take your time. You’re right, stories should not be rushed. Read you next Monday.

    Humbly submitted.

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