78 - The Hand of Glory Hole

Anya rose. The night was so much darker now, it seemed to mingle with her darker clothes. She plucked one of the remaining candles.

"This story, I heard from an...associate. She had asked me to procure something for her. An item that was potentially dangerous. My price for my help was to know how she planned to use it, and then how she had used it. So I call this story

THE HAND OF GLORY HOLE

Mina stripped to help pay her way through school. Sometimes she did a few escort jobs on the side. A young woman with natural red hair, a dancer's physique. Not the prettiest, not the biggest tips, but she wasn't ashamed to shake her ass or bare her tits. She thought she was being careful. Taking the safe jobs. Not going too far.

The private party should have been a two-woman job, but her friend had gotten sick. Upper-respiratory illness had ripped through the dorms that semester. It was a small bachelor party. Five men. Mina was being paid for a strip show and a blowjob.

She hadn't expected the bottle of ether. The rag over her mouth. Of still being conscious, but unable to move, as they took turns. The bottle of tequila **** into her ass. The darkness that closed in. The last memory she had, as the darkness closed in, was her heart slowing down. Beat. Beat...beat...

The grave had been shallow. A couple inches of loose, uncompacted soil. Mina had torn herself free and crawled, naked and caked in dirt, from what should have been her ****.

Which is when she came to me. We had joined the same coven, after we started at Dagon's Hollow University, but we hadn't interacted much. Once or twice, we had met during the orgies. I remembered dragging her down, tasting her flesh. The soft moans, so genuine. The warmth of her body, the strength like a coiled spring.

She told me what she had discovered. The men had a reputation among the local strippers. They had already been banned from the brothel by the railroad track. The one who had hired her frequented a particular glory hole, regular as clockwork. So she told me her plan...and I gave her the hand of glory.

The last lynching in Dagon's Hollow was named Jim Freedman. It was near the end of the century, and he had married a white woman. The mob took him out of his house, and carried him across the tracks to the small copse of trees there. They strung him up and let him **** his life out. When they woke in the morning, they found his hand gone...and their peckers began to grow black, an affliction that would lead to rumors of witchcraft and their ****.

The hand itself had the fingers wrapped in string, and the hand dipped in boiling human fat until it looked less like a hand and more like a waxy, five-fingered candle. Which is what it was. A hand of glory, a light that binds and unbinds. A century or more it had passed from hand to hand. Now I gave it to her.

The normal whore at the glory hole was well-paid to be somewhere else. Mina sat there, the hand in hand. Waiting for the first of her rapists to approach.

"Hey, baby," said the man who had hired her. "Five o'clock. Get sucking."

She lit the first candle.

Those caught in the light of the candle cannot move, save for those who hold it. The words died in his throat as he stood, unable to blink, unable to twitch as Mina fed the tube down his pecker. The semen had come from the lab in town that does STD tests. Gonorrhea, syphilis, chlamydia, herpes, mgen, HPV, HIV. Samples that should have been destroyed after testing. Which were now carefully pumped into his prick, the pressure building uncomfortably inside of him as his bladder filled with a mix of the nastiest, most diseased cum that Mina could get her hands on.

As the first finger burned itself down to near the knuckle, she withdrew the tube.

The 40d nail was five inches long. Mina held the cock up as she tapped it into place. The **** could hear every tink-tink-tink of the hammer. Feel the steel penetrate his shaft. When the light finally went out, he let out the scream he'd been holding in all that time.

The others, his friends, she visited one by one. Mina took her time. Stalked her prey. Waited for them to be home alone. When she was ready and standing outside their door, she lit the candle. The light that froze them in place undid all locks.

The second watched helplessly as she cut off the circulation to his testicles with a rubber band, and snipped the purple balls off with a pair of garden shears. He had been the one with the chloroform.

The third she caught masturbating in a wooden chair. He cried silently, tears streaming down his face, as she used a cordless drill to place six screws at one-inch intervals through his shaft. Four more screws pushed through his scrotum into the wooden chair beneath. She let him live. He had been the only one of the five to wear a condom.

The fourth was on the toilet, pants around his ankles. He had been the one with the bottle. When the police found him, the cause of **** was ruled as **** poisoning. Though they never explained how he had managed an enema with three liters of tequila, his abdomen distended from all the liquid **** inside.

The last. The party boy. He and his wife had just come back from their honeymoon.

Mina had saved the middle finger, the longest one, for them. She waited until the curtains were drawn and the lights were low. For the soft, fake moans to filter through the walls. Then, and only then, did she light the candle.

In the light of the candle, she pulled him out of her. She told his wife what he and his friends had done to her. Then she took her greatest ****.

The young bride had his legs apart, pussy gleaming wetly. Mina kissed her mouth, her nipples. Stroked her neck and nibbled on her ears. Her tongue traced a line down that smooth, flat stomach, and circled the stiff little clit.

The wife couldn't move, couldn't moan. Yet her face flushed. Her nipples hardened. The juices ran freely down Mina's chin. Her husband watched as the whore he'd buried gave his wife the first real orgasm she'd ever had with another human being.

And another.

And another.

When the hand of glory sputtered out, the wife's thighs clamped on Mina's head and her back arched. The young wife's scream was like some primal call of pleasure, her whole body shaking and spasming. The man himself spat thick white globs that fell uselessly on the floor, before his erection fell to a pathetic limp softness.

"After the divorce, Mina asked me to be her maid of honor," Anya said. "I didn't think the relationship would work out, but they really found common ground."

So saying, she blew out the candle.