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Capture – the Candle Cult

Capture – the Candle Cult

“Do you wanna be infected?” the man asked, pressed against the wall, his skin slick with sweat and eyes glossy. Even paces away, the boy could feel the heat radiating off the man. “Come on. You know you want to. Be another vector. Just a little touch. Just one. Come on. Come on.”

The man’s voice was low and throaty, one of his hands slipping below the waist of his skirts. The boy looked down the road, took a deep breath. The scent of sex and incense assailed him, both heady aromas wrapping around him like lovers.

All along the road there were shanties, small huts that could barely be called shelters, but within them were blankets and moans and pleasures. Swelling, flushed with the midday heat, the boy took a few steps back. His spider stepped in front of him protectively, and the man giggled.

“Eight legs,” the man said, sitting down and extending a hand towards the arachnid. “I’ve been with spiders before. Been with and done things you can’t imagine, boy, but you’d want to. Believe me. I can make you feel things and you won’t even have to thank me.”

“What if I don’t want to feel?” the boy asked.

“Of course you want to feel,” the man said, raising his half-lidded eyes to meet the boy’s gaze. “Why else would you be here?”

The boy licked his lips, shaking. He had not been born among these people, but he’d heard things about the places where the Candle Cult had claimed dominion. He remembered the way his friends had spoken of the Cultists and their pretty purple eyes, their easy ways and casual hungers. The tales had seemed so wild, so insane, but the truth was that the tales were themselves understated.

He’d been curious, so curious. Caught on the precipice of adulthood, past the cusp of puberty. He’d wanted to sate the hungers that came with age and the tales painted the Candle Cult as the best means of doing so. He’d come here, thinking to impress them and take one among their number. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time…

“Coo,” the man said, reaching out and scratching the boy’s spider along the thorax. The spider froze at the touch, then shook and relaxed. Infected. It was true what he had read. The Cultists could infect others with a touch.

The man was crawling towards him now, and the boy retreated. This wasn’t what he wanted, not the way he’d wanted this to happen, but the Cultist laughed.

“It’s going to be okay, boy,” the man crooned. “Just a touch, just a whisper. You’re going to want this again when we’re done, mark my words.”

The boy backed up, felt gentle hands brush his hips and circle his waist, tracing the faint line where leg met torso, tracing up. He felt lips on his neck, the soft breath of a girl his own age.

He turned to face her, a low groan slipping past his tongue. The man’s fingers traced his ankle, then his calf, circling his knee. The boy felt his muscles tense and then relax, a pleasant wave rocking him. He wavered, the girl behind him cradling him on the way down, pressing her lips against his, the man’s hands circling them both.

Two pairs of pretty purple eyes, two sets of hands exploring his body and stripping away his clothing. The scent of old incense swirling around them, shadows and warmth, the smell of sex no longer so old.

*

STORY AND CONCEPT BY AARON GOLDEN. PICTURE TAKEN FROM PIXABAY, AND YOU CAN FIND IT AND A HOST OF OTHER IMAGES LIKE IT BY CLICKING HERE. CAPTURE UPDATES EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY, AND YOU CAN READ THE VERY FIRST CHAPTER BY CLICKING HERE, THE NEXT CHAPTER BY CLICKING HERE, OR THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER CLICKING HERE.  



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