The Polished Glass 11
The Ride Back
Rayeanna's voice drops to a firm huskiness, soft but sharp enough to slice through the sticky summer air under the park's cracked gazebo. “You're coming with me. Right now. We're going to that room you did this in – that shrine, whatever the hell you made it. If you try to run, if you lie to me – if you hurt me, I swear I'll gather every spirit my grandmother ever taught me to banish and I will take your soul myself. You understand?”
Meredith's lips tremble. Her legs are trembling too – the wet trickle sliding down the inside of her thigh leaves a glossy stain on the seat slat under her. She knows she should wipe it away, close her legs, do something to hold the shame in. But she can't. She just nods – a tiny, broken bob of her head.
“Yes. Yes. Please. I want to live,” Meredith whispers. And in the same breath – a raw confession for no one but the spirit between her legs could hear: And if I die by your hands… that's worship too.
They walk back to Meredith's SUV together. Rayeanna watches the way the Karen mask tries to settle over Meredith's face again – the prim little lip purse, the stiff spine. It's laughable. She looks like a hot mess having an identity crisis. The stale scent of lavender body wash can't hide the real scent now blooming from her core and leaking down her leg: warm, floral, sticky-sweet arousal that shouldn't smell like that at all. Her mark. Her curse. Her death imminent if this continues.
Rayeanna almost says ‘girl, you are leaking like an offering bowl,’ but she swallows it. She's focused now – battle mode, the same calm she carries on her worst nights at the hospital.
The car is spotless inside – leather scrubbed, air freshener dangling, HOA meeting notes still stacked in the passenger door. But the second Meredith turns the key, the porn feed in her tablet tries to reconnect to the car's Bluetooth.
A soft, leftover moan crackles through the speakers before she fumbles to kill the connection. Rayeanna raises an eyebrow. Meredith ducks her head so fast her pearls rattle.
Rayeanna takes the wheel; Meredith sheepishly slides into the passenger seat. Unfamiliar with this side of her car, but trusting of this strange alluring golden goddess who came to her rescue. They drive mostly in silence. Meredith's eyes flick to the mirror every few seconds – watching her own reflection, pale face haloed by the afternoon sun. Next to her, Rayeanna radiates calm force: Her purse open and out of sight; Mace and taser armed and ready.
About halfway there, Meredith's thighs squeeze tight on the seat. She can feel the slick bloom of her sweet arousal forming a puddle in her perfectly detailed leather seat. Her skirt is beyond damp now. Just a wet dirty garment whose only purpose at this point is to provide public decency. Nothing more.
This type of constant arousal shouldn't feel this good, but it still does. Meredith knows this isn't normal. Now she knows that she has put her soul in danger – thanks to her golden goddess. This type of constant extreme arousal is starting to have a slow draining effect on her. The novelty of this feeling has been replaced with a simple knowing: A knowing that this cannot continue no matter how good it feels.
As her pussy continues to throb and leak, she steals a glance at Rayeanna's soft belly under her seatbelt. It takes all of her willpower to keep her hands from between her legs. She just trembles and lets out a soft whimper from primal and otherworldly need. In between her throbs and gasps, she guides Rayeanna through the city and to her neighborhood.
This is the first time anyone has crossed the line into her private world – her perfect, sterile fortress – not as a fantasy on a screen but real. Warm. Breathing. And through all odds, it was a beautiful black woman. Even though she's a complete stranger, Meredith would worship her if Rayeanna commanded.
This type of constant arousal shouldn't feel this good but it still does. Meredith knows this isn't normal. Now she knows that she has put her soul in danger now, thanks to her golden goddess. This type of constant extreme arousal is starting to have a slow draining effect on her. The novelty of this feeling has been replaced with a simple knowing: A knowing that this cannot continue no matter how good it feels.
As they pull into the driveway – the big white house on its perfect cul-de-sac – Meredith's hands shake. Rayeanna kills the ignition. She looks at Rayeanna, eyes huge, voice so small it sounds like a child. “You're the first... to ever... come inside. That... knows my secret... I never let... never let anyone... like you…”
She doesn't mean it how it sounds. But it does sound like that – worship, guilt, terror all braided together.
They get out of the car, Rayeanna cautious and ready for anything. Her eyes flick to the prim hedges, the spotless front step, the dead flowerpots. She feels the spirit's weight before they even open the door – a vibration behind her throat, a warmth prickling her scalp.
The sweet smell hits her again when Meredith shifts in her seat and steps out of the car. Rayeanna hears an audible slurp noise. Her skirt is visibly soaked through. Fluid wet and making an audible plop down onto the concrete. Her almost non-existent ass cheeks clinging to the faint hint of curves she was almost blessed with. The woman can barely stand.
“Oh, poor woman,” Rayeanna says to herself. “This demon will literally drain her dry from her pussy.”
They walk into the house, and Meredith hesitates – trembling so badly her keys jingle against the knob. “This is... my sanctuary,” she whispers. “My shrine. My—” Rayeanna cuts her off with a single look. Open it.
Meredith obeys. The door swings wide on squeaky hinges.
Inside, it's exactly what Rayeanna expected – and worse. Blackout curtains pinned tight, candles half-melted down to scorched stubs. An oversized monitor glows with a dozen open clips: black bodies moving and fucking themselves silly, fucking each other – very perverted sexual act bouncing off cold beige walls. Sound echoing into the room.
But at the center, over the low dresser where Meredith first spread her legs and whispered her curse, there's the eye. And it certainly was not there before: a chalk shape scrawled on the mirror, rough but alive, lines pulsing just beneath the silvered glass like veins under skin. It's not a drawing anymore. It's a vortex. A pupil that breathes. The air hums with sugar and wet flowers – cloying, rotten, sweet.
Rayeanna stands in front of the eye. She maintains her resolve. The room is heavy and all of the weight is coming from that one otherworldly symbol. She feels her grandmother's old warnings slip into her ribs, anchoring her spine. Taking slow, deep, focused breaths. She knows what must be done, even if she doesn't know how – she knows.
“Strip,” Rayeanna says, calm as if she's reading blood pressure.
Meredith shudders. She peels off her blouse, her skirt, her bra – until she's nothing but small, pale skin and trembling thighs slick with the demon's nectar of fate. Her pussy is engorged. Lips puffy and red. Her clit sticking out proud and prominent. Pointing forward leading the way.
“Open your legs,” Rayeanna says. Meredith obeys, stepping wide, pussy bare and glistening to the eye scrawled on the wall.
Rayeanna thinks for a second – then moves on instinct. She pops the buttons on her blouse, slides it off, peels her bra away. Her breasts are soft, brown, perfect.
Meredith's eyes snap to them, her clit twitching so hard she gasps. Her pulse rises. Her hips buck the air uncontrollably.
“Look at me,” Rayeanna says. “Not the porn. Me. You keep your eyes on me the whole time. You're going to rub it out. You're going to push it back where it came from.”
Meredith's mouth drops open. She whimpers. “I – I'll do anything.”
Rayeanna points to the eye. “Face it. Crotch open. Rub. And say 'Demon be gone until you believe it. Until you feel every last drop leave your body.'”
Rayeanna's breast sway and jiggle. Meredith's eyes never leave her chest. This is her dream come true.
She masturbates furiously. However, this time, her orgasm won't come. Clearly the demon wants to root itself until it's done feeding.
Meredith's fingers slam against her clit so fast they slap. Her clit unyielding to the sudden onslaught. She literally feels her whole uterus convulse. As if her own womanhood wants to leave her body. Her engorged pussy envelops her hands like a glove, as if it has grown three times its size instantly.
Meredith smells it: The unnaturally sweet, warm, flowering supernatural scent. Meredith finally crossed the veil through her cursed pussy. This smell is not hers. Now she understands Rayeanna's concern. Real fear creeps in.
“Don't you stop now,” Rayeanna barked.
She stares at Rayeanna's tits, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her voice cracks into a high squeaky moan: “D-demon be gone… demon be gone...”
“Say it like your life depends on it,” Rayeanna says, starting to pinch her nipples. Trying to trigger Meredith to focus.
Rayeanna stands tall over her – the nurse, the keeper, the reluctant priestess. The eye on the wall quivers, as if tasting the nectar leaking from Meredith's core. There is also a knowing that it's time in this realm may be coming to an end. It watches, It feeds. It tries to keep roots.
The porn loops on the screen start to flicker, stuttering in pixel static. Their digital presence warped by the spiritual pressure building in the room. Meredith continues to focus on Rayeanna's bare breasts. She knows it's a distraction. She knows she has to obey her golden goddess.
This may be their only chance to banish the demon and undo Meredith's foolish ritual. Then the lights start to flicker.
Meredith's hips buck – her thighs slap together – the sweetness gushes in warm waves that catch the light like glittering nectar. But her went slick womanly fluids do not hit the ground. They float.
Little droplets lift off her slick folds, drift into the room's stale air like pollen in spring sun. They swirl toward the mirror, pulled to the eye's black pupil like iron filings to a magnet.
The chalk lines hiss – the pupil swells, Meredith's levitating flood of arousal binds itself in a sticky coat of her unnatural bloom. Meredith screams – a wordless cry that shreds into another chant: “Demon be gone… demon be gone…” Finally the orgasms break free.
She cums once, twice, three times – each wave pushing more of the fake sweetness out of her and into the wide and now fearful eye. She doesn't stop rubbing. This is life or death.
Rayeanna says “good girl” unblinking with a cold hard stare. She maintains control of the situation and monitors closely. She's still touching her nipples. Meredith's gaze continues to lock onto Rayeanna's perfect topless body.
The eye fades. The chalk smears. The sweet flower scent curdles, then goes thin – gone.
Meredith's thighs quake. She keeps rubbing – mindless now. Her gaze distant and unfocused. She's drooling… chasing a final echo she can't find.
Rayeanna watches her, chest bare, sweat prickling between her breasts. The mirror is clean but the woman isn't. She sees the truth: the demon's gone – but its hook is still lodged somewhere deeper, a curse that leaves the cage door open.
Meredith turns to Rayeanna, naked and afraid. “Help.” She's still rubbing her pussy raw. “What have I done to myself?”
Rayeanna's shoulders drop. She feels the fight drain into her bones – half dread, half pity. The spirit is gone but it left its echo. It may be gone but it took away all of Meredith's impulse control. The woman is spiritually broken and this is what filled the void.
Slick wet slurping sounds fill the room.. with the other hand, Meredith grabs her remote and turns up the volume on her screens. Porn begins to drown out Meredith's mindless uncontrollable rubbing.
Rayeanna knows she can't walk away. She also knows she can't do this alone. Her grandmother's words, her friend on standby – this is bigger than porn and shame. This is ancient. Meredith is not healed yet.
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keep touching yourself