Soultaker

CHAPTER TWO

Raymond Slater, principal of Rockville High School for this past decade, was in his office at the school. It was midnight, an hour at which the school was thought to be deserted. But Principal Slater was often here at odd hours. He and the night watchman had an understanding-an understanding reinforced with a generous weekly outlay of cash.

It was important that his nocturnal activities at the school remain a secret for one very simple reason-the activities in question would be considered perverse by just about any objective set of community standards.

Principal Slater was not alone in his office. Penelope Simmons, a ravishing young Senior English teacher, was slumped in a recliner opposite his big oak desk. The way she was dressed would shock her students, who were used to seeing her wear far more conservative clothes. She wore black, knee-high boots with stiletto heels and laces up the sides, black crotchless panties, a black bikini top with conical, bulletlike cups, and a black cap with a shiny brim that resembled the kind worn by Hitler’s SS. The hat was tilted low over her pale face. Her full lips, painted a whorish bright red, looked blowjob ready. The middle finger of her right hand pushed through the open slot of her panties and slipped into her sex.

Her hand flexed.

And she writhed minutely on the leather recliner, her red lips forming a wide O of ecstasy.

Principal Slater sported an enormous erection, which strained the fabric of his trousers. He would use it on Penelope when the time was right, but that time had not yet arrived. He turned away from her and faced the little mirror above the display case of his various plaques and awards for community service. The image in the mirror showed a man with short black hair shellacked in place. His dark eyes were hard and pitiless. He smeared a dab of spirit gum above his upper lip and affixed a fake mustache. Once he was satisfied with the way it looked, he stepped back and snapped off a stiff-armed salute.

“Heil!”

He spun away from the mirror on the heels of his vintage jackboots, glared at Penelope, and barked, “Achtung! Activate the boombox, wench!”

Penelope leapt off the recliner and stood ramrod straight. She looked sleek and delectable, a dazzling Aryan goddess. “Ja, mein principal!”

She pushed the play button on the boombox, which was on Slater’s desk. The recorded voice of a dead German dictator filled the room. Penelope leaned against the edge of the desk and watched Principal Slater goose-step back and forth.

She imagined ranks of Third Reich troops marching around a town square. The image sent a shiver of delight down the length of her trim body. She closed her eyes, lifted one long, sleek leg, and placed the sole of a boot on the edge of the desk.

Then she reached between her legs again.

And her mouth formed another O.

Outside, perched on a low-hanging tree branch, a crow as black as the night itself observed the decadent scene through the principal’s office window. Principal Slater often neglected to close the blind when indulging his secret lusts. His office window was not visible from a street, and there was no one around at this time of night to bear witness to his Third Reich fetish.

It would not trouble him to know the crow was watching.

The crow flapped its wings and took to the air. Had Principal Slater been able to track its flight path, he would’ve cursed his carelessness. The crow flew high over the small town, leaving the school and the nearby main drag far behind. It flew past a residential area and over a wooded area, homing in on a flickering campfire in a clearing.

It began to descend.

Sensing its approach, its mistress turned her face skyward and smiled.

The crow landed on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.