Paranormal Erotic Romance Box Set (70 page)

“Lyric, there must be balance in your actions. If someone
walked in the classroom and discovered the show you were putting on for
Professor Teresi, what could have happened to you?”

“We wouldn’t have been caught because Serene, Alexander
and Julian kept watch at the door,” I said and snuggled back into his body.

“Oh, well that’s lovely!” he said. “So, you realize your
escapade could have caused your brothers and sister trouble, too? You all could
have been expelled, Lyric! Is this Professor Teresi worth the risk of your
expulsion?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh, my romantic girl,” Papa said and reached around and
ran his hands up and down my legs. “No matter how hard I’ve tried to temper
your romanticism, a tragic romantic you’ve always been. You need to be more
sensible.”

Papa tickled my belly and I giggled and reached my arms up
behind my head and ran my fingers through his hair. He pressed down on the top
of my thighs and moved his hands back and forth against my legs. My ass grinded
into his cock and I felt the hardness of it through his pants and through my
nightgown.

“Listen to me, life is a tricky fuck, Lyric. I should
know. Who is a bigger trickster than me? No one. You need to control your
impulses, especially if your plan is not thought-out. You show all your cards
before you truly know your opponent’s motivations. You need to stop that.”

“But I want him, Papa,” I said and hung my head. “And
this, the fact that he doesn’t want me, has never happened to me before.”

“I know you do, my love,” Papa said. “Close your eyes and
picture this man. See everything about him...his face, his body, even his
mannerisms.”

I did as Papa told me and pictured Professor Teresi in my
mind. I saw his cushiony full lips, the dimples in his smooth, strong face and
his straight Roman nose. I saw his hard body, unobstructed by his business
suit, stripped completely in front of me. I imagined his beautiful hands,
defined arms, tight, muscular stomach and strong legs. I pictured his cock,
erect and thick and beautiful waiting just for me.

As I did this, Papa lifted me off the chair in his lap and
back down again as he inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled into the back of my
neck. He pressed down on my legs and held me against his amazing body.

“I can
feel
it, Papa,” I said as I felt Professor
Teresi’s cock penetrating me.

“Do you feel that, baby?” Papa said and moaned into my
ear. “Do you feel his cock inside you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Fuck yes, I do!”

I opened my eyes and glanced at my lap. My nightgown was
around my waist and Papa’s legs were between mine. He dug his fingers into my
thighs and lifted me up and down as he bounced his legs. I closed my eyes again
and saw Professor Teresi and I fucking in the exact place Papa and I sat. He
tore at my neck with his teeth like a wolf and pierced me on his big, hard cock
as he slammed me up and down on it like an animal.

“Tell me that you want him to fuck you like this,” Papa
said and growled. “Tell Daddy you want your teacher to split your tight little
pussy wide with his cock!”

“I want him to fuck me like Daddy!” I said.

Papa stood with me still pressed against his lap and
walked across the office to his desk. He put me down on his desk on my hands
and knees and stood behind me.

“Close your eyes and see it!” Papa said. “See the glory
that you are and all that you have!”

I closed my eyes and saw Professor Teresi fucking me on
top of Papa’s desk, standing behind me and ramming his cock in and out of my
pussy like a piston. He clawed at my body and raked the flesh from my back. He
gripped my thighs and pumped my pussy over his cock. I slid forward and back on
top of the desk with each of his powerful thrusts. I felt the skin peel from my
knees and much more than pain, felt the power that Papa brings. I felt the
power that He is.

“Fuck it harder!” I said through clenched teeth. “Fuck my
pussy harder!”

“Earn it,” Papa said. “Tell me there is no one more
powerful than you. Say it!”

“There is no one more powerful than me!” I said.

He speared me, in the last, best thrust, on his cock. The
muscles of my pussy contracted and convulsed as my body completely let go and I
came.

“Fuck!” I said and screamed.

He growled like something I never heard before and lifted
me off the desk. He buried his cock into my pussy until it could go no further.
He held me tight and I felt his cum, as warm as fleece and fluid as liquefied
gold, explode deep and seep into every cell in my body. My pussy tried to hang
onto his cock, but the cock won and backed out of me.

“Now,” Papa said. “enough of this whining. No more
wondering why you’re not good enough for this man, this
teacher
. No man
is worth the question and no man is worth your doubt. He’d be lucky to have
you, Lyric. And as you said, there is no one more powerful than you. It simply
is.”

I struggled to sit up on the desk and the room spun like a
top. My body burned and I was so hot, I felt like I would spontaneously
combust.

“Thank you, Papa.” I said as I slid off the desk and
turned to face him.

But he was gone.

“It is a revenge the devil sometimes takes upon the
virtuous, that he entraps them by the force of the very passion they have
suppressed and think themselves superior to.”

George Santayana

I walked into his class with the courage and power that
Papa fucked into the night before. I stood in front of Bobby Sharpe’s desk and
made stupid conversation while I stared at Professor Teresi. He glanced at me
and looked away. There was no reason this man shouldn’t want me and yet, he
went out of his way to make sure I knew that he did not. My confidence faltered
and I remembered what Papa told me--there was no one more powerful than me.

“Okay, take your seats, class. Today we’re reviewing
The
Second Coming
by Yeats as detailed in your syllabus. Now, as I’m sure you
all did your assignments last night, we don’t need to review before we begin.
Genève, please read the poem aloud and we’ll discuss.”

I didn’t need to do the assignment last night. I’ve known
this poem all my life. Seriously, since I was conceived. The poem was repeated
and repeated until I knew it by the time I was two. Most parents force a steady
diet of silly toys and television shows onto kids to keep them out of their
hair. My father made sure his children were conceived hearing the first poem of
many.

Papa is the Devil.

Not metaphorically...he really is the Devil.

He fucked my mother eighteen years ago in the alley behind
her apartment building in Greenwich Village. I’ll tell you a secret, unlike the
books you read about a red man with cloven hooves and horns jutting from his
head, the truth is, he looks like a man. A man who you would fuck. He is not an
apparition, he is Lucien Trucido.

My mother wanted him from the moment she saw him and he
took her. He took her behind that building, ripped her dress from her body,
turned her around and pressed her tits up against the frigid stone. He fucked
her from behind, ramming his huge cock in and out of her cunt until he almost
split her in two. He whispered a poem into her ear, a poem she never heard before
which burrowed into her brain like a rhythmic song. She died with that same poem
on her lips.

He squirted his seed up her pussy and it plunged into her
selected egg immediately. Not until his big fat cock released itself from her
pussy almost ten minutes later, did he pull out of her. He flipped her around
to face him, pressed his body into hers and spoke:

“You will bear our daughter. She will be wicked and will
have no use for you. You will name her Lyric and she will be as evil and as
beautiful as a rhythmic song that burrows into the brains of men and women
unmercifully. I will come for her after the sixth month of her sixth year and
when we are ready, you will hang yourself from the highest beam of your home.”

He left her standing in that alley, naked, in pain and
alone. As he prophesied, she bore me nine months to the day he fucked her,
named me Lyric and I was wicked and had no use for her. She told me every day
that I drove her insane. I learned to feed and clothe myself by the time I was
two years old. I sat in front of the window of our dilapidated row house every
day and waited for him to come for me.

Six years and six months after I was born, Papa came.

I sat in front of the window and she sat in her rocking
chair staring at the back of my head mumbling about how I drove her insane. How
she had such hope for herself six years and six months prior. Before she fucked
the Devil and before she bore the wicked child who was as beautiful and evil as
a rhythmic song that burrowed into the brains of men and women unmercifully. She
said that this was the day he would come and that she would kill me before he
did. I turned and looked at the sad woman with wild hair.

“No, you will not,” I said.

She stood from her chair and went to the kitchen. She
returned and stood in front of me and held a large butcher knife over her head.

“I will kill you before he comes,” my mother said. “I cannot
let your wickedness loose on the world.”

“What will you do, Mommy?” I said. “What will you do when Papa
and I leave?”

She looked up at the ceiling. She looked at the highest
beam and she knew she would do just as Papa predicted.

“Put the knife down Mommy and go get the ladder,” I said.

She did as I told her. She always did as I told her. I had
no use for her.

My mother grabbed the tall ladder that stood in our
hallway since the day she dragged it from the street into the apartment one
year earlier.

I remembered the day when she brought the big, cold ladder
into the apartment and leaned it up against the wall. She stood in front of it,
staring and shaking her head.

“Why is this here?” she said on that day. “Why did I get
this?”

“To be prepared, Mommy,” I said. “You must always be
prepared. Like the poem.”

The night after she brought the ladder home, she fashioned
the noose out of a bundle of marine rope. She sat in her rocking chair looping
the rope around and around as if she were knitting a pair of mittens or a
scarf.

On the day Papa came for me, I combed my hair with two
hundred strokes and wore my best dress. I drew a picture for him that he still
has. My mother set the ladder under the highest beam and climbed to the top. I
looked up at her from where I sat.

“You look beautiful, Mommy,” I said “Finally, you look
beautiful. As beautiful as
he
saw you on that day.”

She swayed slightly at the very top of the ladder and looked
down at me.

“I do?” she said and smiled.

“Yes, you do. But you forgot one thing, Mommy,” I said.

“What, Lyric? What did I forget?” she said.

“The rope, Mommy,” I said and walked to the closet in the
living room. “You forgot the rope.”

I pulled the long marine rope out of the closet and
dragged it to the bottom of the stairs.

“I did? Yes, of course.”

She smiled at me and began her decent down the ladder. When
she reached me at the bottom, she grabbed my shoulders and brushed a curl out
of my face.

“Why, Lyric?” she asked. “Why have you never loved your
mother like other children?”

“Because you are human, Mommy,” I said. “You are weak and
you never think of yourself. I only have use for Him. I will only ever have use
for
Him
.”

“But Lyric, you are human, too,” Mommy said. “If I take that
knife and stab you, you will bleed just as I would if you stabbed me.”

“No, you are wrong,” I said. “Now climb back up the
stairs, Papa will be here soon.”

My mother turned and climbed the stairs and dragged the
rope up with her. She mumbled the poem the whole way up and when she reached
the top, she stood on her tip-toes and threw the long end of the rope around
the beam over her head. She looked down at me and smiled.

“Do I look beautiful again, Lyric?”

“More than ever,” I said. “Say the words, Mommy.”

“
The darkness drops again but now I know, that twenty
centuries of stony sleep
,” my mother said.

She gazed down at me and tears fell from her eyes and hit
my face like raindrops.

“
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
,” I said
and sucked her tears into my mouth.

She put the noose around her neck and stretched her arms
out and waited.

 “Together, Mommy,” I said. “Let’s say it together.

“
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born
?” we said in unison.

The front door opened and there he stood.

He is a strikingly handsome man. He is tall and dark and
has a strong jaw and straight Roman nose. His eyes are blue and glow as if phosphorescent.
Black hair curls around his graceful neck and you know just by the breadth of
his shoulders, that you will always be taken care of. Forever.

“Papa!” I said.

My mother teetered at the top of the ladder when she
turned her head to look at him. And there he was...the man who predicted
everything, six years and six months before.

“Yes, Lyric,” Papa said as he entered the apartment. “I
have come for you. Tell your mother what she already knows...what she has
always known.”

My mother looked down at me and I stood close to the
ladder. Her tears poured from her eyes and landed all over my face. I thought I
may drown so many tears came down. But I didn’t avert my eyes from hers. I
wanted to drink her tears, to always remember the day she knew for certain I
had no use for her and I was, as my Papa told her, truly wicked.

“Lyric, please don’t,” my mother said.