The Necromancer Read Online Free PDF

was no doubt as to how he intended to use it.
    “You will confess. Oh, yes. You will indeed confess most profusely of your sins and the sins of your sister wenches. And lest you give thought to spending your tongue on such talk as that which you have seen, remember: It is I who chained you here with accusations and suspicion. Do not dare to bare your voice against me—a revered man of the cloth—for your testimony is but fodder for worms and shall not be believed.”
    Tituba remained silent. She feared the man too
    much to do anything else. However, silence would do little, if anything, to lessen the torture and humiliation she was about to endure, and she knew it.
    Blayne tossed off his skullcap and gripped her by the shoulders. He forced her to lie prone on the fl oor.
    “No!” she cried, struggling. “Please...no, Master Reverend!”
    Blayne responded to her pleas by smashing her in the face with his fi st, stunning her into stupidity.
    He tore her clothes open from neck to waist till her large brown breasts were exposed.
    Tituba was still dazed, but she became aware of
    the reverend’s hands peeling away her undergarments from beneath her dress as she began to regain her wits. By that time, however, it was too late for any form of cunning to extricate herself from this situation. Blayne had her securely 34
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    pinned down with the whole of his body and had successfully completed the intended breach of his desire.
    He thrusted inside her methodically, every lunge accompanied by grunts of pleasure tinged with scorn. He whispered curses in her ears.
    “Fuck...you, sow!” he hissed.
    “Cunt! You cunting wench...Fuck!”
    “I shall...tear...your cunt...piecemeal. Oh, you beast...
    your stench is strong. Oh, you savage...your cunt is wet...with blood.”
    Tituba could smell him strongly, his breath and body poisoning her with his lustful scent as their skins rubbed together, making her feel nauseated. He pressed the side of her face into the cell fl oor with his palm as he changed his position, his member still sliding violently in and out of the thicket of coarse black hairs at the fork of her thighs, tearing her fl esh.
    She felt detached from herself, as an outsider, even though she could still feel the pain, could still feel the cold, dirty fl oor beneath her, could still feel him and his weight on her, oppressing her, making it diffi cult for her to breathe. How she so dearly wished she wasn’t in this cold, heartless place.
    How she longed for the freedom and temperate climes of her peaceful homeland now so far away. Now, in the face of this wicked man, even death looked inviting.
    Blayne released her face. She turned it back toward him speckled with grit. Her eye was cut and swelling shut from the blow he had delivered earlier. Tituba felt certain she would die here as a consequence of Blayne’s rape of her. She was desperate, and certain she had nothing to lose, made a struggle to free herself.
    “Oh, wench!” Blayne cursed. “You dare resist me!”
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    Tituba, knowing deeply the failure of her effort to escape, said nothing.
    “Then feel the lash of my belt!”
    He reached for the belt, folded it in half, and whacked her in the side of the head with it, dazing her again, but slightly. She recovered quickly, but before she had time to initiate another escape attempt, Blayne’s hand found her throat and throttled it. Tituba choked and whimpered as tears rolled down her cheeks. She grabbed his arm with both hands in an effort to break his grip on her throat, but he was too strong.
    The hold subdued her effectively as the circulation of blood and oxygen was abruptly cut off from her brain.
    This excited Blayne all the more and quickly brought the act to its conclusion with a series of moans and grunts at the same moment Tituba lost consciousness.
    The coupling thus completed, Blayne stood up, pulled up his trousers, and brushed himself off with his hands.
    A few minutes later,