There is substance and there is shadow; of this, I am certain. 

While we envision ourselves as children of the light, the essence of the divine, our view of the multiverse may very well be askew. It is entirely possible that we, so self-absorbed in the mundane drudgery of the reality we’ve built for ourselves, are sculpted from darkness, negative energy, and have misconstrued our place in the cosmos. Objective looks into our immortal souls are never flattering. 

Perhaps we are creatures with a foot in both worlds, the shining light, and the bleak darkness. Emboldened by the life-giving sun, we prance about as child-kings, filled with our righteousness, convinced that we are creatures of good. When the darkness eats the world, we devolve into a more primal state, instinctive and uncaring for all but our desires. Perhaps the disjointed realm of our dreams is merely the other face of our Jungian duality. 

Many ancient beliefs opine that the spirit world, our dream world, is every bit as tangible as our waking existence. While the thought that our every whim and dream is made manifest, somewhere, is comforting and feeds our fragile egos, this belief is also abhorrent. If our dream world is a thing of substance, then the dark realm of our nightmares is also a concrete manifestation. Of this, I am also certain, having barely survived the collision of these two worlds. The darkness beckons and is filled with horrors. 

Scant few of us are sensitive to the terrors of the cosmos; fewer, still, are ignorant enough to pull on those loose threads and unravel the barriers of existence, itself. They should have known better. What began as sexy role-play ended in a desperate fight for survival, to save all creation. I had my hand in it, as well. If only we had known. 

The ominous night brought darkness and oppressive clouds, shaking their fists at the ground, too cowardly to rain down on our bliss. Meekly teasing, the blood moon intermittently peeked out from behind the curtain of the night. I was joyously carousing with my motley band of friends, medieval, re-creationist cosplayers, in their camp, a veritable renaissance escape from modern, daily life. Dressed in slutty wench garb, more skin showing than covered, my two best friends and I were passing a bottle of honeyed wine between us, chattering about our sex lives, and perusing an ancient, dusty tome, a book of incantations written in archaic Latin. 

“I’m horny,” Kiera characteristically volunteered. “Let’s have a sex ritual.” 

Well-versed in paganism, I should have resisted the temptation. One does not play with the forces of magick. Without thought, I replied, “Sounds like a good idea. What do you have in mind?” 

“We inscribe a magic circle, wear only cloaks. You, Sylva, and some guys go at it in the middle of the sacred circle, and I’ll conduct the ritual. Worst case, we release sexual energy and end up in an orgy.” 

Thus, the stage was set. At the stroke of midnight, the bleak clouds parted just enough to allow the full, reddish moon to timidly wink through the forlorn sky. Ebony candles, flickering along the perimeter of a hastily inscribed circle, licked at the shadows, washing diaphanous waves of eerie, wavering light over the ground. Jagged spears of lightning, white fire followed by booming claps, thrust through the rainless night.

 A weathered rock, worn smooth by the elements, served well as Kiera’s altar. Partially shrouded in a blood-red velvet cloak, the hood thrown back, her nude body otherwise exposed, she held a shining dagger aloft, traces of lightning glinting off the cold steel. On his knees, before her as if in worship, one of her harem of young men serviced her, orally, her hips thrusting into his face as she read from the tome. 

Sylva and I writhed in the center of the magic circle. She was on her back, me on my hands and knees. My tongue lashed at her clit with desperate, horny need as her fingers thrust into my core, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, her lips sucking my engorged clit as the wetness poured from between my thighs. 

Three men encircled us, clad only in occult robes, their hard cocks in their hands, stroking over us, grunting and moaning, their energies focused on us, not the ritual. My orgasm came quickly, intensely. Sylva’s release followed mine, her mouth announcing, in lust-filled screams, the intensity of her orgasmic release. 

“Kiss each other on your hands and knees while you get fucked from behind,” Kiera’s mirthful voice commanded as she opened the ancient spell book to a random page. “Fuck each other while I conduct the ritual. When you’ve made all three of them cum on you, the ritual will be concluded.” 

Sexually, there’s nothing new, except someone new or doing the same thing under different circumstances. Kissing my friend deeply, sharing the unsheathed cock between us, licking it, sucking it, we obliged our friend’s whims. As another cock penetrated me from behind, one of his hands reaching under my torso to finger my clit, I couldn’t help but moan loudly, my cries mingling with the thunder. 

Kiera’s voice rang out through the cacophony of the impending storm. Her obscenity-laced chanting, peppered with moans and grunts from the mouth eating her cunt, took on an ethereal, otherworldly, timbre. Flashes of lightning, great peals of thunder, and howling winds that shunned the candles pontificated her droning, foreign, speech. 

“Audite me dii tenebrarum.
Audi orationem meam.
Lanua caro et sanguis aperta est.
Da mihi potentiam tuam, da vires tuas, et accessum recipias.
Exi, veni, liberum esto.
Per carnem et sanguinem obsecro.
Voces meas audi.
Emitte furorem tuum, et purga indignos.
Fac me tibi clavem esse.
Audite, nunc ad me, dii tenebrarum.” 

Lighting flashed; thunder echoed. The storm broke as she chanted, searing-hot, steamy rain soaking us as we undulated within the circle, fornicating, consumed by raw desire, howling like rabid animals. As she chanted, the cock we were sharing erupted in a geyser of hot cum, spraying all over both of our faces, mixing its salty harshness with the sour rain pouring over our flesh. As the spent penis withdrew from the dual pleasuring of our lips, Sylva and I passionately licked the cum from each other’s faces, kissing one another and moaning. I felt the cock pull out of my dripping snatch and unleash its burning load all over my bare ass, while I watched Sylva’s partner do the same. Covered in hot cum and cool rain, I felt a warm, glowing power surge from within, shooting outwards into the ether. 

Kiera announced her orgasm, watching us with an alien, impassioned expression, her chants devolving into moans. As her knees buckled, her orgasm draining away her strength, she plunged her dagger into the dank soil, screaming, “fuck me; fuck us all with your power.” 

As quickly as it erupted, the storm dissipated into nothingness, leaving a chilling breeze that finally snuffed the candles, all at once. Feeling foolish, we returned to our campsite, soaked and sated, thinking nothing of what we had done. The night wind howled in premonitory warning, an unheeded warning, as we were deeply in the throes of animal lust, feeling horny, still. That orgiastic night opened the gate, rending the fabric of existence, giving the creatures of darkness entry. Unknown to any of us, darkness would soon descend. 

What little sleep was had was restless, filled with screaming nightmares, hot and cold sweats, all of my fears made flesh within the disjointed realm of my dream world. Dying from a thousand tortures beyond imagination, only to be reconstituted, for the denizens of the unhallowed to redouble their efforts and tear me apart once more, left my psyche scarred from the night’s terrors. Exhausted, weak, and sore, I applied heavy makeup over my mask of serenity, attempting to quell the sense of foreboding that attacked my mind. My smiles weren’t the only ones painted on to cover the rigors the night had held. 

An invisible sun glowered behind the day’s dark clouds, casting an eternal, bright twilight, stark and oppressive. While nothing had seemingly changed, a sense of foreboding filled me with dread, more so because I could feel the same trepidation permeating the others, emanating from them. It was as if some dark entity had stolen into our souls the prior night, sucking the enthusiasm and optimism from the marrow of our bones. The events of the day were our standard fare of revelry, but our hearts were bleak. Even in the light, shadows threatened. 

As the sunless day scorched the land, suffocating us with stifling, rancid air, we ignored the growing feelings of helplessness and panic attacking our bowels and forced merriment. Night fell, the clouds sinking beyond the horizon, following the fading light. We sat around a fire, the only solace in a haunting, foul night, drowning our feelings in alcohol. Midnight, that was when they came. 

Though the stars twinkled and the full, blood-red moon frowned down on us, the landscape took on an aura of desolation, wavering wafts of nothingness obscuring vision. At first, they seemed a mirage, mere specters of the mind, our fears made manifest. Gaining solidity as they more floated than lumbered towards us, seven cloaked and hooded figures approached, deathly silent. It was then that I noted the creatures of the night had also gone silent and cold; the entire world seemed dead, except for us few huddled around the fire. 

“Are those our cloaks?” Sylva said as she pointed toward the figures. They were. 

Fear, dread, terror, and a feeling of malice washed over me. The seven of us, the same ones from the previous night, were paralyzed, watching the seven unknown, menacing figures draw near. They had arrived, their slouching gait was inhuman. Six, in our matching, dark cloaks, where arrayed behind the leading form.  The lead entity wore Kiera’s blood-red, velvet cloak.  Its unseen eyes stabbed through me, feeling their maleficence on a level that transcended mortal vision.  The stillness of death surrounded us all.  Horrified, I sat, stunned, unable to move, as the leader pointed and lowered it’s hood.

…to be continued.