Soultaker

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The sensation she felt as the hard, flat plane of the wooden paddle struck her ass rendered Penelope Simmons cross-eyed with pleasure. She stood bent over at the waist, her hands braced against the edge of Slater’s desk, her long skirt hiked up over her waist. Slater caressed her taut ass with one rough palm. His breathing was shallow. She knew the way she looked in this position was devastating to him-her long, sleek legs encased in sheer black stockings, toned calf and thigh muscles lent extra, exquisite definition by the high heels that lifted her perfect ass. Penelope gasped when he slipped the tip of a finger inside her. Any minute now, he’d unzip his pants and enter her from behind. Penelope tensed, awaiting the explosion of ecstasy she knew was coming.

A moment passed.

And another.

He was really drawing it out, prolonging her torture to the goddamn nth degree. It made her furious. And frustrated. But she loved it, too. This forced denial of pleasure was a pleasure itself, a divine level of sweet discipline. And every passing moment only increased the sweetness of the eventual reward. Every nerve ending tingled with sensual hunger. She was certain this would be her most intense sexual experience in a long, long time, perhaps even eclipsing the frenzy of ecstasy she’d known with her sister’s husband-to-be in the back of a limo on the wedding day.

But then Slater sighed.

And set the paddle on the edge of his desk. He collapsed into his chair, triggering squeals of protest from ancient casters in desperate need of oiling. He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back with his eyes closed.

Penelope remained braced against the desk a few moments longer. She wasn’t able to process what had happened right away. All day long, she’d been unable to concentrate on her classes, her head filled with fantasy images. Mad with desire by the time the final bell tolled, she’d proceeded directly to Slater’s office, knowing he’d be up to the task of giving her the rough treatment she craved. In her mind, she envisioned it being wilder than ever. There was an extra element of risk at the outset, as there always was during their rare daytime trysts. She imagined rabid, desperate couplings in every position, the two of them clawing at each other and drawing blood, throwing their sweaty bodies around the room and knocking over furniture.

This, though.

Jesus, this was more than she could have anticipated. By the time she was able to speak again, she knew she couldn’t take much more. “Oh my God. Master, you are an artist. But I can’t wait any longer. Please…”

Slater groaned. “I’m sorry, Penny. I’m not playing. I…I’m not up to this right now.”

Penelope went very still. Projecting an outer calmness she didn’t feel, she stood up straight, allowing the long skirt to fall over her ass and drift back to her ankles. She smoothed the skirt, adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses, and turned to face Slater with an expression cold enough to frost the Sahara.

“I don’t think you know what you just did,” she said, her tone as flat as Slater’s. “Do you really want to cross me, Raymond?”

She was pleased to see fear bloom in his eyes. The roles they assumed in sex play were reversed outside the sexual arena. Penelope dictated the course of their relationship, because she held all the cards. She had taped their initial encounters without his knowledge, showing him copies the first time he’d tried to break off their relationship. “I am not going to be a casual fling,” she’d told him, enjoying the sick look that crossed his face. “You belong to me now, and you’ll be mine as long as I want you.”

If he didn’t play ball, copies of the tapes would go out to the mayor and Slater’s wife.

Slater played ball.

And once he accepted the permanence of their relationship, Slater loosened up, embracing it with new enthusiasm. Two wonderful years down the road, Penelope wasn’t sure she wanted it to ever end. She’d lately entertained fantasy scenarios wherein Mrs. Slater, a portly hag inexplicably beloved by the community-at-large, met an untimely demise.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He rubbed his eyes and sagged in the chair. “I’ve had a very bad day.” He laughed without humor. “And that’s an understatement of epic proportions.” His eyes met Penelope’s gaze. “Penny…do you believe in…demons?”

She blinked. “What?”

“There’s no way you’re going to believe this until you see it for yourself.” Now there was real sadness in Slater’s expression. “I hate it, Penny, but there’s no way to keep you out of this. She’s got plans for both of us.” His eyes welled with sudden tears. “She’s going to make us do the most awful, horrible things, and…and…” Tears coursed down his cheeks as he began to blubber. “…and…there’s nothing we can do about it…oh, Penny…”

Penelope slapped him. “Snap out of it this instant, Raymond!”

But the principal just covered his face with his hands and continued to blubber.

Seeing him this way filled Penelope with disgust. She didn’t like emotional weakness in anybody, but she especially despised it in men. She expected them to be weak in matters of the flesh. They were just dumb, brute animals, after all, a failing she’d exploited many times with many men. But this sort of thing-this vulnerability-was just vile. For a few fleeting moments, she doubted her devotion to this relationship.

Then she heard his words in her head again and made an association that stirred fresh excitement within her. “My God, Raymond, are you talking about your wife? That’s the ‘demon,’ right? Did she find out about us somehow?”

Slater looked up at her and tried to speak, but his throat was too tight.

Penelope laughed. “She plans to expose us, right? Divorce you and take you for all you’ve got, right? That cunt.” She leaned close to Slater, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Well, we won’t let her get away with it, Raymond.”

Slater’s face was a mask of confusion. “What?”

“Listen to me.” She gripped his shoulders and spoke earnestly. “I know what to do about this, love. But you are going to have to be very brave for me, okay? You’ll have to be braver than you’ve ever been. And you’ll need to accept in your heart that this is the right thing to do. And of course, you’ll need to be able to stand up to questioning.”

“What are you talking about, Penelope?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Oh, Raymond, I’m talking about killing your wife, of course.”

Slater’s eyes went wide with horror. “My wife? My God, Penelope!”

Now it was Penelope’s turn to be confused. “But I thought-”

Slater shook his head. “My wife’s the least of our problems.”

Penelope scowled. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

A strange calm settled over Slater. His tears dried up. He gently removed Penelope’s hands from his shoulders and smoothed his rumpled shirt. “You have a student named Myra Lewis in your sixth period Senior English class, correct?”

“Yes. So?”

Slater swallowed with difficulty. “She’s our problem. She’s the demon, Penny. And she’s-”

Penelope’s wild laughter surprised him. She threw her head back and let it peal out. Then she met Slater’s gaze and said, “Raymond, you are a funny man. That little girl may be a bit of a hellion, but she’s no demon. Jesus, men are so threatened by strong-willed females.”

Slater shook his head. “I’m serious. She’s a demon. Literally.”

Penelope gasped when she heard the office door open. She whirled around and shuffled sideways, instinctively putting a socially acceptable space between herself and the principal. She cursed her foolishness. She’d been so certain the door was locked.

And so it had been-Myra Lewis entered the office, the extra key provided by Slater twinkling between her fingers.

Penelope gaped. “Myra, what-”

“Shut up.”

Myra closed the door and locked it. A thin, sly smile dimpled the corners of her mouth. She pocketed the key and dropped into the seat in front of Slater’s desk, draping herself over it the way she had earlier in the day.

Penelope looked at Slater. “Why does she have a key?”

Myra chuckled. “Because I wanted it.”

Penelope’s head swiveled back toward Myra. “That’s absurd. The principal doesn’t just hand out keys to any student who wants one. You do not belong in here, Ms. Lewis.”

Myra sprang out of the chair and clamped a hand around Penelope’s throat. Penelope struggled for air. The strength of the girl was astonishing. She tried to pry Myra’s hand loose, but to no avail. Myra only squeezed harder.

“Are you going to obey me now? Are you going to shut up?”

Penelope was beginning to feel light-headed, but she managed a nod. Myra loosened her grip, allowing her to suck in a lungful of air. Penelope felt better, but the girl was still holding her by the throat.

“I have something to show you,” Myra said. “Something simply amazing, Ms. Simmons.”

Slater groaned.

Penelope managed a weak smile. “Okay.” Anything to appease this strange, violent girl. “I’d love to-”

Myra’s flesh began to ripple and stretch, its smoothness shifting to a rough, scaly texture. Then she grinned. Only it was really a hideous, hellish parody of a grin. Her mouth doubled in size. Tripled. Quadrupled. Her teeth grew and multiplied, became sharp like razors, glistened with saliva. The expansion continued until it seemed the interior of the Myra-thing’s mouth encompassed the whole world. There was something at the back of the mouth, something yellow and pulsating, something obscene.

A voice inside Penelope’s head said: Here it comes.

Then it did.

Penelope fainted.