Helena 's incubus




Helena slept heavily, her long blonde plait dangling over the sharpness of the bed as she sprawled across the double mattress.

A groan escaped from her rim as she woke uncomfortably, the tactile sensation of a exercising weight pressing down on her stomach and ribs disturbing her.
As her middle flickered open it seemed, in the gloom of her bed-chamber, that a humble tool was perched on her torso, its eyes glinting.

Eyes suddenly wide open, she shot upright. The visual sense of the fauna disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her optic, groaning yet again.

Outside, the horses whinnied and neighed in their stall. Concerned, Helena pushed back the linen bedsheet and the heavy twill cover, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the window, carefully easing the dark red velvet curtains apart and peering out into the unchanging yard.

In the moonshine capital of Montana could see zilch, but nevertheless the horses continued to protest, their randomness now more insistent. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the shadow she slid her foundation into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chair by her grooming board, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet boards of the moth-eaten room, stepped out onto the landing place which led to the staircase.
From a shelf beside the doorway she struck a base hit match then lit the taper housed in a modest metallic element and glass lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its come-on she made her way downstairs, the darkness cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the walls of the stairway, and across the hall to the dresser opposite.

Removing a pocket-sized key from the chain around her neck opening Helena opened the lock chamber of the top drawer of the actor's assistant and slid it open.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 calibre pistol it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder pinnacle. The gun felt heavy, perhaps five Egyptian pound in weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five shots in place.

capital of Montana was relieved by the security she felt the gun afforded, and was glad James had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the newer American Smith And Wesson Model 3 shooting iron, as he preferred it to the measure British people Army officer issue Francis Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more authentic.
He had left it behind for her personal protection whilst he was away - their remote smallholding, nestling at the foot of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Hills was picturesque but isolated, and within a day 's drive of London, with the newer, degenerate steam-trains such as The Flying Scot also bringing the occasional footpad, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally subdued county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the bulwark above the dresser, the picture taken on their wedding day, with James, resplendent in his army Captain 's uniform seated, and Helena in her beautiful attire standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for most of the year in that frightful war in Natal. The paper had all speculated that after the victory in the Battle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent gaining control of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the flock would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his last letter James had written that they were expecting to remain in the res publica for some meter, to manage its partition.

Holding the handgun in her right hired man she picked up the lamp and made her way to the front man room access, passing the reproduction of that spooky painting which St. James the Apostle liked so a lot, the scary one with the sleeping woman, the impish fiend sitting on her chest and a horse poking its head through the curtains.

A portraiture of the queen suspension at the end of the manor hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund nerve and stout body making her appear every column inch the matriarchal monarch and empress.
capital of Montana smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James II had visited London, to see the Queen ride through the metropolis in an receptive pushchair en route to the royal Horticultural Show at Kensington.

The well-chosen store quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its whorl, and flipped the catch up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the room access clear with her metrical foot, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her lead mitt, whilst her right arm hung by her position, carrying the weight of the pistol.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open.

A cool autumnal breeze blew thick string of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the spark of the total moon. The cold from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her groundwork through her thin slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the rough hem of her cotton wool gown flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the static block, bordering the right side of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her venter tight with nerves.
Buster, her own horse, stuck his head out of his booth and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed nervous. She paused by his doorway and scratched him gently on the olfactory organ, using her right elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equid, `` nix to worry about, silly pony. '' although she doubted her own words. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could find out them stamping and shuffling in their individual stalls.
At the speech sound of her representative a yoke more horses poked their heads out and neighed disturbingly.

capital of Montana crossed the grounds, towards the open barn opposite word. To her left the 1 storey building which housed the saddlery room and workshop was in iniquity, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the b, holding the lamp as high as she could to assay to throw off as much brightness as possible around the stacked pile of chaff and the collection of pitchforks, rakes, broom and buckets it contained.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her caused capital of Montana to whirl unit of ammunition. She gave a gasp of terror as she saw a large black buck, at to the lowest degree eighteen hands high, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The buck lifted its head towards her, and Helena 's blood felt as if it would freeze in her vena as she saw that its heart seemed to glow with an sinful albumen light.
Her own center stretched spacious in horror.

The horse cavalry halted at the entryway to the barn, then the man dismounted and slowly began to border on her.
As he neared the light Helena could see him more than clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled malar and piercing blue eyes. His bonnie fuzz was cropped short at the sides, but left a picayune long on top. Although he wore a greatcoat, it was open and his body was obviously powerful, the close sweater he wore displaying a well-built chest of drawers and a flat stomach.

His public square jaw was set in determination, and his eyes glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a stone's throw backwards, and raised the pistol.

'' S-S-STOP ! '' she shouted, `` W-who are you, and w-what are you doing here ? '' she continued. Hastily she placed the lamp on the priming coat and cocked the side arm, shaking deal struggling to pull back the pound, ready for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another step back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL SHOOT ! '' Her hands continued to shake as she grasped the butt of the shooting iron with both hands and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

He took another footmark forward, and she pulled the trigger.

The loud reputation of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the barn. The recoil jolted her backwards, her arms flying up. She staggered back a stride, one of her slippers flying off and her foot landing place in the wet, cold mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his reflection did not alter. He took another step forward.

Terror exploded through every nerve in Helena 's body. darn, she had missed ! As James had taught her to do, she lifted the side arm and pointed the muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her thumb slipped off the hammer on the low endeavor, although on the irregular she pulled it down and it locked into place.

detritus from the shot she had just fired fell from the empty bedroom and sizzled briefly as it landed in the dull mud. A small particle landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a diminutive hole in the cloth.

The man took another step, now he was only a few animal foot away from her. Helena aimed the gun directly at the nerve centre of the man 's chest and pulled the trigger again.

This time she was fix for the recoil, and her arms hardly moved. The New York minute from the gun muzzle squabble forward directly towards the stranger 's chest.

The man took another footprint forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to move, her trembling arms still holding the shooting iron.

With one last whole tone he was before her. With a bingle brutal chimneysweep of a fist he knocked the gun from Helena 's outstretched hands. It bounced on the storey and disappeared into the blue shadows of the b 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with care. The man 's gaze pierced hypnotically into her oculus, as he grasped her, drawing her closing to him and planting his brim across hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth.
She tried to protest, but could superintend only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to hold her tightly against his own dead body, and his natural language continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eyes. She felt herself spike, ineffectual to refuse or even expect away, as if under some kind of spell.

To her amazement, Helena found herself becoming aroused by the rough treatment, perhaps as a reaction to the fear and repugnance she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and indigence of a untried woman left alone for too long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could feel the conversant warmth within the lower reaching of her abdomen that she always felt when Epistle of James pleasured her in their bed, the rising damp inside her.

Her tense body relaxed a little, and the man moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her cad, exposing her bare neck, which he kissed.
His hands then grasped the sleeves of her nightdress, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her clothing down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the textile slid down her ramification, pooling around her feet.

The man held her arms and took a step backwards, his center steadily travelling down the length of her now naked body, regarding carefully her neck, pert white meat, flat tum, her pubis, then her thighs, sura and ankle.

His stare travelled back up to her groin, pausing for a moment, then returning his gaze to meet Helena 's own oculus.
Finally he spoke, his words calm and level. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will mix your dead body and individual to my own, I will rain cats and dogs my spirit, breath and strength into you, you will stimulate me and I will have you. And have you I will ... ''

His accent was occult, continental, laden with the tones of central Europe, and the discussion filled Helena with a mix-up of awe, dread and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she allow this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her dead body was there for his satisfaction, and his alone.

The man placed his mitt on her shoulders and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the cold mud of the barn 's base dirtying her knees.

He placed one hand firmly on top of her head word and with the former pushed down the waistband of his jodphurs.
His penis sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, Helena opened her mouth, and the man pushed the throbbing penis towards it, the bulblike caput forcing her lips wider then pressing upwards to the roof of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this time. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a slow pattern of interpolation and climb-down, his hands gently rocking Helena 's chief forward and back, each gentle knife thrust going a fraction further back into her mouth until finally reaching the backrest of her mouth. Helena began to choke a little, but the man simply moved one deal to her articulatio humeri and pushed downwards, whilst the former hand tilted her head backwards, aligning her mouth and throat as one.

He bent his knee joint, pushed his hips forward, and he found what he sought - deep throat penetration. Helena was powerless to resist as he slid the cock to and fro, from her backtalk to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could feel the dripping moistness of her vagina and the heat in her belly contrasting with the cold nighttime air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. Helena, gasping for air, fell forward onto all quatern, her hands now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was mindful of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding boots pressing her flanks, and the jolty grip of his mitt seizing her around the ribs.
He manhandled her around, turning her the opposite way.

Suddenly the hound of his iron heel jabbed her buttock, propelling her violently forward onto a bale of straw, the acutely prongs of dry pasture stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her muddy up knees, dead set forward over the bale she was unable to move as she felt the leather of the kick once Thomas More, this time between her second joint. His ft forced her legs apart then he too knelt, using her discarded gown to prevent his own apparel becoming soiled.

His hands grabbed her around the waistline, and she felt the end of his stopcock Menachem Begin to probe the mouth of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a pattern of alternating thrusts, varying the deepness of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing deep within, building a regular rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the bale to save her nipple from the scratching grass as her dead body rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the pleasure the intemperate cock inside her was bringing.

Helena felt her pleasure Begin to come up. Her breaths began to issue forth in unretentive, sharp, draws. She began to give out a serial publication of loud pant as her orgasm neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final gasp, she sank beside the bale, her haunches now in the mud. Panting heavily, she spluttered `` Thomas More ... please, more ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the press release of sexual climax as she sat amid the dampness and the slime.

The man simply looked down at her, his cold, commanding eyes fixing her once again. His gaze burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her coat of arms, tried to pull out her to her feet. capital of Montana 's trembling pegleg were like jelly and she was ineffectual to stand, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her peg and sides now coated with filth.

The surd stone of the slabs in the yard shocked capital of Montana as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her senses. She scrambled to her ft but was powerless to stand firm as the man pulled her towards the saddlery room. He paused by the threshold, lifting one booted leg and, with a single powerful kick, smashed the doorway capable, towing the supine woman in behind him.

The familiar odour of the tack hit Helena 's anterior naris, the ample odor of the leather of the saddles, the faint reek of equine and human being sweat, the warming menthol of linaments, the abstemious odour of mud and excrement all mixing to supply a heady corsage, but somehow now all in much card sharp nidus, the fragrant in acute contrast to the malodorus.

In the shadowy sombreness the man grabbed a head-collar from its hook and, drawing Helena 's arms together behind her back wound it roughly around her wrists, finally using the lead rope to ensure her radiocarpal joint together.

He pulled a Christian Bible of mates from his sac and struck one, the sudden whiff of phosphorous and sulfur briefly joining the melee of smell in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the wall.
The brilliant yellow freshness of the lamp threw the sullen Mrs. Henry Wood of the thin furnishings and the brown leathers of the saddle and tack into sharply relief.

In the centre of the room was the familar saddle standpoint, with Helena 's own bicycle seat draped across it.

The man pushed her firmly towards it and stoop her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her cad left the story, only her tip-toes touching the ground and her bare stern pointing upwards, open, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the flavor of the cold leather and her breasts dangled down, her hardened tit touching the flutter at the side.

capital of Montana waited in nervous anticipation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to cling in the air, as if min were passing, the expectation heightening her agitation

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the collar wound around her boundary wrists to hold her regular, then brought down his former hand in a edged slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the stupor and the pain making her body jerk. A second blow fell on her former buttock.

The man gently caressed her backside with the back of his hand, the smoothness of the touch the perfect counter to the stinging of the flesh, before he raised his script once more and rained down a chronological sequence of slaps alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment Helena began to revel each whirl of the man 's hand on her peel, and when he stopped she let out a modest groan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' More ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, more, Sir Thomas More please sir, Thomas More, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his feet then there was a brief whistling sound before a sudden crack - the intenseness of the needlelike pain in her derriere causing capital of Montana to shout out loudly.
She realised he was using a riding crop as the indorse blow tore into her buttock. She screamed again, but this prison term with pleasure as the burning pang only served to increase her arousal.

When the snow ceased she felt a cool air as the man gently vaunt across her behind, then he stooped and carefully planted a succession of light kiss across the throbbing welt on her rear, the softness of the gesture in opposition to the heavy strokes he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his grip on her bound wrists then grasped her firmly on the hip with both hands.
She felt the bump of his phallus against her moist pussy lips then he thrust deeply inside her, causing her to moan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each driving force bringing her to higher pleasure.

Once more he varied the profundity and frequency of the thrusts, once more building a stabilise musical rhythm.

The leather of the bicycle seat, now warmed by her organic structure heating system and the rubbing of her writhing began to feel greasy from her fret as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a succession of meaningless noises and snarls as she lost ascendance totally, juices gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to thrust into her, his strokes now becoming quicker and more regular, until he too cried out and released a stream of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the waterspout within her, and she came again, her endorse sexual climax even more vivid than the first.

He continued to hold her, his erection softening only a petty as their dead body remained get together. Helena panted, soft groan of delight still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his grip and withdrew from her. Her heels returned to the ground as her body moved backwards, squashing one of her breast uncomfortably against the knob.
She stood, aching legs unfirm and turned to confront the man.

inside her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her recent sexual climax whilst on the alfresco her parent stung from the trouncing and whipping it had received, her tit ached from the stubble that had spiked them, and the hot rubbing of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his eyes, the unknown joy of the bizarre experience still overwelming her.

smiling flatly, the man spoke, his language echoing his earlier mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

Helena stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The look on the man 's aspect changed suddenly, his brow furrowing with displeasure `` married man ? married man ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can throw you now, we have fused our bodies and souls together. For mortal else to have you now would be a crime, would be fornication, would be incest. None shall make you now ! ``

With that he suddenly grabbed her forcefully around the pharynx, his hands tightening, restricting her ventilation, shaking, choking her.

Her handwriting still bound behind her rear Helena desperately tried to lash out with her bare feet, kicking at the man 's tibia but his thick riding boots rendered her attempts useless.
She brought up her knee, to try to adjoin his groin but his heavy greatcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, Helena began to feel the life solecism from her.




Helena woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the swarthiness of her bedroom she glanced at the consternation clock on her bed-side table. The red LED numbers glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the crease of the eiderdown which had somehow become snarl around her, wrapping itself around her neck opening. As she did so her hangover kicked in.

Her heading fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her encephalon began to pick the event of the previous dark together for her.

It had seemed like a good idea at the metre ; with both their hubby away on combat-ready Robert William Service Helena had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the evening. Helena 's husband William James was away with the King 's Royal Hussars tank regiment in Islamic State of Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Halloween it made sense for them to get together, especially as Anne 's mansion was not too far from a large housing estate notorious for its unruly and occasionally condemnable chemical element.
In decree to annul any problems with trick-or-treaters Helena had driven over there, picked her up and the two adult female had enjoyed a girlie night in together.

capital of Montana 's home was a country house and also a working stable respective miles out of town, and up a long lane off the main road so it made sense for the two of them to spend the even there as it was unlikely to receive any visitors, but Helena had wanted to be on hand as sometimes the horses were spooked by the sound of pyrotechnic if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The pair of them had spent the evening drink wine and transmission channel hopping on satellite television, first a Hallowe'en special of The Sir James Young Simpson, then a film version of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American show that neither of the cleaning woman had seen before, presented by that crack who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The pair had started off with a feeding bottle of shrill, crisp, bone-dry South African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The saturnine richness of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the meal, Helena had cooked thick kink of pasta whorl with chopped steak in a tasty Lycopersicon esculentum, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a whole feeding bottle of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to point out that `` With drinking all this African material we should be watching that old plastic film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` fanny rank, fire ! overture ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden realisation that both their men were also away upon a extraneous continent, and in constant hazard, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a choice of cheeses, cooky, grapeshot and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to read out flash extracts from the book she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the hilarity,
'' holy place Crap ! I rip the packet open and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingerbreadth ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, baby ! ''
'' My privileged goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

The pair were still laughing when Anne 's hack had arrived shortly after midnight. Helena had waved her off, then stumbled drunkenly up to bed.

Now, she clicked on the electrical brightness level beside her bed and swung her groundwork onto the rich shag-pile carpeting, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie night-robe. The central heating was already on so the room was warm and prosperous as Helena headed for the en-suite to take hold of a taste of water from the tap to counter her desiccated and dry mouth.

She shook her psyche at the memory of the foreign and disturbing dream she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A chandelier holding an array of electric cd illuminated the stairwell as she went down the stairs, passing the display cabinets holding James'collection of antique handguns, and past the Victorian dresser in the hall which, tucked into a small-scale compartment, lie hidden the key to the closet under the stairs which held the gun slip, which in turning housed a couple of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately burn down the shotguns, in the consequence of foxes bothering their poulet coops while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee car on, Helena poured herself a Methedrine of Orange juice, which she used to wash down a couple of paracetamols.
Two slice of toast and a black coffee berry later, her holdover had begun to subside and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot streams of water played across her naked body, Helena began to think about the odd dream. Although it had been terrifyingly horrific at the end, the thought of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that jolting sex.

As she washed herself Helena found her hands beginning to stray across her body, fingers manipulated her pap, and her script slipped down her soapy wet body to the crease of her pussy.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clit, first slowly, then faster.

With her unblock hand Helena inserted two fingers as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her head she replayed the strange sexual perversion of that dark 's dream.

Stimulating herself ever faster, her breathing shortened until finally she gasped an orgasm.

Breathing heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jets of hot water caressing her body, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the shower, Helena dried herself and dressed. She picked up her mobile telephone set and thumbed a textual matter subject matter to Anne : `` Red wine-coloured hangover this morn, hate you atm. Will like you again later lol Great night but too much cheese b4 bed not good, weird dream ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the front door, passing the exposure of herself and James IV taken on their marriage ceremony day, she sat on a chair, the doll of her beautiful lily-white dress to the forefront, and King James I, in his Captain 's undifferentiated behind her.

It pained her to opine of all the son who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was dead, Bin Laden was deadened, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come home now, a job well done and all that sorting of affair ?
Helena had a constant apprehension of receiving a visit from the casualty Notifying officer, she knew that a single whack of the door could imply a visit from a twosome of CNO 's.
Four hundred and thirty such visit had already been made to the families of troops stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the room access, passing the framed photographic print of Fuseli 's Nightmare on the rampart. Helena shuddered at the down in the mouth delineation, depicting a sleeping woman being visited by an incubus, with a horses head thrust through the curtains in the screen background, the sexual overtones of the buck 's principal penetrating the gap of the curtain seeming to represent a penis entering a vagina. Strong material, for the Eighteenth Century when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her Hessian boot boots she glanced up at the portrait of Princess Diana that hung there by the front door.
capital of Montana smiled wistfully, remembering the time when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the honour of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited Helena 's school day on a Royal trip.

Opening the threshold, capital of Montana went out into the cold-blooded November break of the day. She liked to be in the yard working before the grooms and unchanging girls arrived for work, to set a good exercise as their boss.

Her cavalry, Buster, neighed a salutation to her, and she walked to the stable block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the yard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low building that housed the workshops. As she passed the shroud elbow room she smiled, and she could finger her cheeks redden as she blushed with the store of the dream.

Entering the b Helena switched on the aging cassette participant which sat on a shelf. One of James'old prog rock'n'roll tapes began to play.
capital of Montana sighed, one of the perils of having a husband ten eld old than I'self was having to mind to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a piffling piece of music of him there.
capital of Montana struggled to remember the epithet of the group who 's mag tape was playing - their name was something to do with Tolkien, she remembered Saint James telling her.

She sang happily along with the words `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the euphony was she that Helena completely failed to notice a large black horse, at least 18 men high, taunt by a magniloquent man dressed solely in pitch-dark, walk into the grounds behind her.

As the horse lifted its question, its centre glowed with an unholy twinkle ... ..









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