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The Satanic Orgy

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Can man “sell his soul to the devil?” Will he, if given the opportunity? That is the question raised and discussed so vividly and dramatically in this philosophically penetrating work by the author. Also, if one reads carefully, he might detect rather significant threads of satire interwoven masterfully into the plot. After all, evil is evil, no matter what rationalization we may use to explain its existence. Ergo: the devil may not be the devil, but may be the mind of man himself.


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The Satanic Orgy
Edmund Blackmoor
This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.
FOREWARD
The idea and theory that certain humans have been a nd are “possessed by the devil” is as old as the bible and has persisted dow n through the ages. Even certain sects among America's earliest settlers believed that some members of the community were “witches” and could cast the “ev il eye” on those to whom they took a dislike or misguided hatred. It is on this theme that the author has based this interesting treatise set in our own times in any middle class and middle sized city or town in the United States. The place might even be where you yourself live. The recent motion picture “The Exorcist” is what st arted the wheels churning in the mind of the writer and intrigued him with the idea of what might happen were one or more “witches” to infiltrate a community and place it under the complete domination of “The Devil.” In the book the author offers no explanations or fi rm answers; nor does he come to any definite conclusions on the subject — are there or are there not “witches?” We all know that evil exists in the world. Surely, the “evil that exists in men's souls.” as Shakespeare put it, was not born within them at birth or placed there by God. To imagine this would be to deny all the teachings and beliefs of practically every civilized religion. Who put it there then? Does man “acquire” it through living with his fellow man? Or is it rather the work of some mysterious hidden force which we do not understand? Is the “Faustus” story true? Can man “sell his soul to the devil?” Will he, if g iven the opportunity? That is the question raised and discussed so vividl y and dramatically in this philosophically penetrating work by the author. Als o, if one reads carefully, he might detect rather significant threads of satire interwo ven masterfully into the plot. After all, evil is evil, no matter what rationalization we may use to explain its existence. Ergo: the devil may not be the devil, but may be the mind of man himself. The Publishers Sausalito, California April, 1974
CHAPTER ONE
It was as they say, “a lovely wedding.” It was made doubly lovely-lovely because the groom was not only taking the bride, he had just been elected Mayor of the town. Yes, Ralph Jered Doyle had overwhelmingly defeated his opponent in Garden City's recent mayoralty campaign and was the youngest man ever elected to that prestigious office. Ralph or “Red,” as he was sometimes called by intim ate friends, not only because it was a shortened version of his middle name, but bec ause his hair was of that flamed color, had been going with Rena practically since they were in grade school.
She was blonde and lovely in a kind of “girl-next-d oor” sort of way; the epitome of the All-American girl as was Ralph representative o f the new and upcoming breed of young politicos so well formerly represented by the Kennedys. Rena had gone with him all through high school and then waited patiently while he went to college, and she went to a fashionable girl 's school and then continued to wait patiently until Ralph took his degrees in Law and B usiness Administration. One degree wasn't enough for Ralph J. Doyle. He always had to do things a bit better than anyone else. Rena contented herself with a simple English major and spent most of her time fending off would-be daters and suitors. She was co mmitted to Ralph. He knew it, and she knew it. But that didn't stop other guys from t rying. She was so young and so attractive — and so sexy, in a “wholesome way,” of course. Even after all that waiting, neither Ralph nor Rena were very old; Ralph in his late twenties, Rena about twenty-three. It had only seem ed a long time. They were both still very young with plenty of time to enjoy life. Rena had campaigned with her fiance, naturally, and it had been a hard fight. In some ways, Ralph's youth and lack of political expe rience had been against him. But in the final analysis, it helped put him over the top. The people were tired of the same old, tired speeches and cliches. Ralph gave them new ide as and new thoughts — the ideas and thoughts of youth. It's a shame that his ideas about politics and city government didn't extend into the bedroom. Both he and his bride had been brought up in the strictest of moral and religious codes. They had done a great deal of “sof t” petting in the summers between college terms, and once during the last year, Rena had gotten so hot she thought she would burst her panties. Ralph's shorts were alread y wet with some cum that had started to seep from the tip of his penis. And all that was just from some hot wet kisses, a squeeze of Ralph's hand on her breasts and before she knew it, she had squirmed her dress up to her navel and Ralph's hand was unde r it, fondling her pussy. Mind you, shea was the most sacred thing insquirmed it up, not Ralph. To him, a woman's vagin the world, especially Rena's. He would never have d ared to violate it. But now they were finally married. Everything was l egal and holy sanctioned. They were not extravagant on their honeymoon. They could not go very far away or stay for an extended time. Ralph had to be back to be sworn in as the Mayor. But they took a small trip to the mountains and prepared to enjoy their first night as a married couple. They were both quite trepidatious and nervous: Ralp h because he wanted to be sure and not “hurt” Rena and Rena because she didn't wan t to disappoint Ralph. It wasn't that either one was completely unknowledg eable about sex, its deviations, variations and perversions. Both had studied abnorm al psychology in school and had done their share of reading — technical books, of c ourse — that treated on sexual matters. But their upbringing precluded that either of them would even think of indulging or engaging in anything but “normal,” heterosexual relationships for the purpose of having children. They weren't even Catholic. But th at's the way they naturally, by their upbringing, thought of the subject. Hence, their first night together was typical of a young couple that might have become married twenty or thirty or even fifty years ago. Rena retired modestly into the bathroom while Ralph hastily undressed in the semi-darkness of the room, donning his brand new pajamas . Rena undressed, carefully folding her traveling suit and undergarments so the y wouldn't be mussed. As she unhooked her bra and pulled down her panty girdle, she did permit herself a brief sneaky look at her naked body in the full length mi rror. She had to admit, even
immodestly, that she was as beautiful as any girl w ho ever adorned the center cover of “Playboy.” Maybe not as sexy or provocative, but ce rtainly as beautiful. Her high firm breasts, practically untouched by human hands, jutt ed out pointedly, the nipples large and firm with a dark center ring. The skin on her b ody was as perfect as her facial complexion: smooth and milky white. Her blue eyes w ere dazzling: her blonde hair a fitting crown. Her legs were long and graceful. She permitted herself a small smile at what she was reflected back from the mirror and hop ed that Ralph would not be sorry they had had to wait so long. For just a fleet seco nd her eyes darted to that sacred sanctorum below her navel, and she glanced at the a lso-blonde pubic hair that adorned the outer flanges of her vaginal slit running down between her legs. She rubbed her hand over it gently then quickly drew it away. That wasn't “nice.” As she looked, she heard Ralph's voice calling from the bedroom. “You almost ready, hon?” “Almost,” she replied gaily. Oh, she wanted this to be fun. Love should be fun, she thought as she put her flimsy sheer nightgown over her head and let it drop in clinging folds around her body. She clicked off the bathroom light and went into the bedroom. In the semi-darkened room her eyes took a moment to adjust. She could not see her new husband. He had already climbed into bed and wa s steeling himself for an ordeal. He remembered every bit of literature and piece of information he had ever read about how a husband should treat his wife on the wedding night, especially if she was a virgin. Kindness. Gentleness. Take it easy. Remember, it's painful the first time for a virgin. He was willing himself not to become too excited to o soon when Rena opened the door and stood framed in the window between the bat hroom and where he lay on the bed. Ralph had opened the curtains and the windows a bit. Health, you know. Fresh air in the bedroom at night, the way he had been taught. Just enough moonlight lit the room to frame and out line every luscious curve of Rena's body. His penis stirred and began rising jus t at the sight of her through the night-wearing apparel she wore. It was an even sexier sig ht to him than if Rena had appeared completely nude. Had Rena known that fact of life s he probably would have been nude rather than clothed in a piece of silk that only en ticed more than it hid. She did not want to overly excite Ralph on this, their first night a nd spoil things for him. “Ralph?” she whispered in a small voice. “Over here, sweetheart,” he replied. Her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and sh e moved toward the bed. She lifted the covers, climbed in on the opposite side and rolled into Ralph's arms. She pressed herself close to him as he embraced her as tenderly as possible. His hands moved to her breasts, cupped one of them and squeez ed. She gave a little moan which Ralph completely misinterpreted. He was hurting her, he thought. He withdrew his hand. She pressed herself closer to him and almost melted her pelvis into his legs. She felt the large, hard lump and hoped she wasn't rushing t hings. She did want him with all the fervor of young passion. She hoped he would take hi s time, but she needed to be prepared for this first invasion of her most sacred possession. She wanted to feel her husband's organ — feel it fo r the first time with her hand and not be ashamed of the wanting and of thinking the t hought. But did she dare? She returned Ralph's squeeze with one of her own in his hand then slowly inched her hand down his side and leg, approaching his prick closer and closer. She sensed its hardness now and its heat. Ralph felt her hand coming down lower and lower and could hardly stand it. He reached for her shoulder, found the top of the flim sy garment that protected her tits and
thrust his hand inside it. He cradled a bare breast with one hand and tried to struggle out of his pajama pants with the other. He untied i t as quickly as he could and was inching it down his thighs with his feet: first one then the other. It wouldn't move quickly enough. The pain and throbbing of his cock was agon izing. Finally he managed to expose his prick and rolled over and on top of his wife. “Not yet, darling, not yet,” Rena almost moaned. Ralph J. Doyle reached down with both hands and lif ted Rena's sheer nightgown. His penis contacted her pubic hair and he spurted c um all over it. “Oh God! Oh God no! We've waited so long.” Rena realized what had happened and could feel his large member pulsating and throbbing. She felt the moistness on her body and b egan sobbing. “Oh, I'm sorry Ralph. I'm sorry!” Ralph rolled off her like a shot. He was embarrasse d and ashamed. He had never had so little control before, not with any of the f ew women he had fucked. He threw off the covers and almost ran into the bathroom, slammi ng the door as Rena called out, “Ralph!” Then she lay there, trying to think what to do. Bei ng a woman, she had not been nearly ready for that first insertion and thrust, b ut she wanted her husband. Perhaps if she gave him time to recover? That's what he needed , she thought, just some time. But Ralph continued to stay in the bathroom. A half hour went by: an hour. Rena began to wonder if something was seriously wrong. S he got out of bed, tiptoed to the bathroom door and knocked on it gently. “Ralph?” sh e whispered again. There was no reply. “Sweetheart, it's all right. Come back to be d. Please.” When there was still no reply, she called again, “Ralph? Please come to bed .” The door opened and Ralph stood there looking like the wrath of God. He was almost in a daze. Rena took him by the hand and gen tly led him back into their marital bed. They both just lay there quietly for several m oments. Finally, Rena broke the silence. “Sweetheart?” He did not reply. “I-I've heard...” she began, hesitantly, ”... I've heard that there are other ways.” “No!” Ralph almost shouted the word. It was almost a snarl: a grunt. He, too, “had heard,” and once a whore had sucked him. He did not intend to permit his wife to humiliate herself in that way. Rena sensed what he was thinking and hastened to add, “Not for you darling—for me.” “What???” Ralph J. Doyle was flabbergasted. He coul d hardly believe his ears. Was his wife — his sweet, innocent Rena suggesting that he commit an act of perversion on her? “I'm sorry,” Rena said again. It seems that she cou ld do nothing right on this night of all nights. “I—I only thought it might excite you a gain—and make me more — more ready,” she Finished lamely. Ralph inhaled and exhaled with a deep long sigh. “R ena, I'm sorry for what happened. Sorrier than you are, I assure you.” He s ounded more like a lawyer in a courtroom than a husband on his honeymoon. “But,” h e went on, his voice beginning to sound more and more businesslike and authoritative, “it-it's just one of those unfortunate things. I—I should have been in more co ntrol of myself, but the whole thing was just too much for me; the wedding, the exciteme nt, the election. It's no great catastrophe. We'll be married a long time. There'll be lots of other nights. But please don't suggest anything overt—something that we migh t both be sorry that we did. I-I
have the greatest of respect for you,” he continued , compounding the felony, “the same as I have for myself. I wouldn't want either of us to engage in any perverse acts that we might be ashamed of later.” With that, Ralph J. Joyle turned away from his brid e and moved away to his extreme side of the bed. Rena thought for a moment that she was going to cry. She contained herself and spent a moment reflecting. Ralph was ri ght. She was a little hussy to even suggest it. Sweet, pure little Rena, wanting her hu sband to play with her pussy with his fingers or to go even farther — with his lips and t ongue. No! Ralph was absolutely right to have reprimanded her. Why, she was acting no better than a whore. “I'm sorry, darling,” she said for the third time a nd ran her hand down her stomach, touching the top of her pussy. It was still wet and moist with her husband's semen. Quietly, she got out of the bed on her side and tip toed to the bathroom to wash herself. The very least she could do was to elimina te any reminder to Ralph of his failure. In the shower she soaped herself good and had to restrain the desire to put her own fingers down between her lips and play with her self. That wasn't “nice” either. But Rena was as passionate as the next woman and desire d sex with all of the heat and abandon of her female sex, whether she knew or admi tted it at the moment or not. Finally, she was clean again and had dried herself, rubbing briskly with the large fluffy towel. She carefully extinguished the bathro om light and crept back into her marital bet. Ralph was breathing deeply. She couldn 't tell whether he was really asleep or merely feigning because he was too embarrassed t o talk further. Rena only hoped that she hadn't disappointed her husband too much. She moved close to him and gently allowed her hand to rest on his stomach, being care ful not to touch his by now limp and useless organ. * * * Almost at the same moment when Ralph failed in his attempt to consummate his marriage, another scene was taking place in the hom e of Mrs. Lillian Thayer back in Garden City. Mrs. Thayer had moved into the community about thre e months before Ralph and Rena were married and Ralph's election as Mayor. She had campaigned for Ralph and had made a sizeabl e donation to his campaign fund. In this way she met not only Ralph and Rena, but most of their friends. She did not confine her activities and circle of ac quaintanceships entirely to the society that the young Mayor and his wife moved in, but Ralph J. Doyle and Rena were her principal targets and prey. The “scene” taking place in an upstairs room of Mrs . Thayer's lavish home was like something straight out of “Rosemary's Baby.” Attended by her faithful servant, Mrs. Ross, Lillia n Thayer was conducting a “Black Mass.” The room itself had been changed from an ord inary room into something resembling a “Chapel.” There was an alter, hanging draperies and large tapers or candled, all in black. Above the altar in place of the expected Christ or Virgin Mary, hung a representation of His Most Satanic Majesty — The Devil! Beelzebub Himself. Mrs. Thayer and her assistant were praying to the L ord of Darkness, asking for guidance, instructions and swearing to do His biddi ng as He commanded. As they offered up their prayers and themselves into His unholy hands, they seemed to hear His Voice, commanding them and instructing them. They replied aloud, speaking to His Image. “We understand Sire,” Mrs. Thayer murmured, her two index fingers making a sign of “The Horns” above her head. “Yes Sire. Ralph Doy le and his wife. I have already told
You about their marriage. I have prayed to You to d esecrate their wedding night.” She listened a moment and then smiled evilly. An ev il smile was not something that Lillian Thayer managed easily. She was a beautiful and voluptuous woman who appeared to be about twenty-five years old. She con trasted Rena with her coal-black hair but had the same milky-white perfect complexio n. Her breasts were almost twice the size of Rena's, perhaps not quite as firm in ti ssue, but every bit as delectable, if not moreso. Her figure was “hour-glass” in shape: a ver y thin waist with well-rounded hips that tapered down into legs resembling the drawings of Petty or Varga in the oldEsquire magazine. She was sex personified. Her lips were fu ll and overly-red: not because of using too much makeup. They were just naturally blo od-red and inviting. There wasn't a trace of a wrinkle, not even “laugh lines” around h er eyes. Mrs. Thayer rarely, if ever, laughed. That was not what she had been put on earth to do. After listening intently for a moment, she nodded w ith satisfaction. “Good. Good,” she murmured again. Apparently her supernatural con tact had informed her of Ralph's failure with his wife almost at the moment that it was happening. Impossible? Who is to say? The very religious believe in the existence of “The Devil.” And those who are either open-minded or know about these things believe in “ witches.” After all, our forefathers and the Pilgrims believed in them. Perhaps they kne w something that we of the more “enlightened” and modern society do not. Yes, Lillian Thayer was a real “Witch.” She was not twenty-five years old. Her age is indeterminable. She herself has forgotten how many decades she has lived, always doing The Devil's bidding and remaining always perp etually young. Like the picture of Dorian Grey. Other things grow old but not Mrs. Tha yer. To begin with, that wasn't even her real name. She had countless names and was forced to adopt a new one each time she moved into a new community. Mrs. Thayer moved quite often. It usually took some time for pe ople to become suspicious of her, but eventually either because her appearance never changed or because in doing the Satanic bidding, she managed to enrage so many peop le that they grew to hate her, she was unable to remain in the community any longe r. It really didn't matter. The world is large and Satan has many places and people to co nquer. She was always welcomed into any community where sh e moved — at first. She appeared to have plenty of money—and did. She moved in the best circles, lived in a style and manner that only a millionaire could affo rd, entertained lavishly and was a most gracious and charming hostess. For all this, she was nevertheless a witch. Her rea l name was Riva Blake, but no one ever called her Riva or Madame Blake except her “as sistant” who posed as her housekeeper and companion, Mrs. Ross. Mrs. Ross was only an “apprentice” in witchdom. She was old and appeared to be old. But s he had almost served out her time as a Devil's Disciple and was shortly due to be rew arded with the same beautiful face and figure as well as the assignments of Mrs. Thaye r. She was growing impatient with her secondary role to Lillian and wanted more than anything else in the world to become a full-fledged number one Witch. She tried t o conceal her growing impatience from Mrs. Thayer, not always with total success. Th ere were times when Lillian had to remind Mrs. Ross of her position and that she, Mrs. Ross, was required to merely assist her. However, the old woman did pester Mrs. Thayer quite often and wanted to know, “When? When?” She was doing it now while Riva prayed to her god, The Devil. “Ask Him,” she urged
Mrs. Thayer. “Ask Him!” ...

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