The Circle Jennifer snuggled close to Wimple as they walked down the red brick cobbled street. They moved as one, casting a four legged shadow in the dim moonlight, tapping an almost equine rhythm with their feet. Wimple couldn't remember when he felt this good, maybe he never had, in any case he knew better than to analize good luck too closely. Tonight was one of those rare moments in time when nothing could go wrong. She leaned on him, but he was following her. The street veered in a slow arc to the right, Wimple went with its flow. No silly, not to the right, the left, she said. You'll like my sisters, they'll love you ... The narrow alley spoke of age, somehow it seemed older than the city itself. The red stones took on a brownish glint, moist, each framed with just a touch of algae. Obviously few feet had passed to sterilize their surfaces barren of one of Earths earliest citizens. He felt a twinge of uneasiness as the light dimmed into dark gloom. Long forgotten protective instincts wellhead up inside him, visions of hoodlums threatening violence passed through his imagination. He saw potential threat in every doorway and crevice. Automatically simple logic came to his rescue and stood before his imagination. The stones themselves spoke of little traffic, felons such as those would haunt more productive streets. Nothing threatened here save an over protective nature. Jennifer broke his reverie; "we're almost there, see the light?". A solitary lamppost partially obscured by a bend in the lane bravely pushed away the blackness a meager half a block ahead. Near there must be the house of her sisters, Wimple thought. His mood lifted, the evenings earlier enchantment flowed back into his chilled consciousness, perfection returned. He resumed his strategies of how to be charming to her family; he adored her, she loved them, her sisters must love him too! Charm was not a practiced skill for him, but tonight he would be charming, he must be. As they rounded the curve and gained the company of the street lamp, Wimple saw that the alley ended in a circular cul-de-sac with the lamppost at the far end. He expected an old Victorian house to grace its edge, what he saw was a shabby abandoned warehouse. Where do your sisters live, he asked in bewilderment. Jennifer smiled as though he had said something foolish. Sue, she called. As if from nowhere a tall, obviously athletic brunette stepped from the shadows wearing a smile hauntingly similar to Jennifers'. Again and again she beckoned; Betty... Ellen... Marguerite... Diana... Jill... Hellene... Cathy... Linda... Kimberly... Marilyn... Raven. With each name another emerged, one to the left, to the right, behind, until the curb was encircled by thirteen women. Each and every one profoundly different from Jennifer execpt her smile. Every male since Adam knows and has been subjected to that smile; cool, superior, slightly amused, painfully tolerant, shown by women to errant children and foolish men. Wimple had planned to be charming, witty and at all costs likable, his wildest imagining had conjured nothing like this. For him sisters meant more than one, this was a platoon of relatives to appease. He might ingratiate himself with two or even three but this wasn't a frailly, it was a crowd. His heart sank, Jennifer had made it all too clear how important it was that her sisters approve of their union. He was deeply dubious of his prowess as a charmer and despaired of his chances. These are your sisters, all twelve, Wimple gasped! The ring of smiles closed until he was encircled, each hand in hand. Not of the flesh, Jennifer answered in a husky voice, but of the coven. Jennifer stood directly in front of him, she pushed him playfully backwards with outstretched arms, palms flat. Caught off balance, he stumbled backwards and fell hard against the woman behind him. Hellene giggled, bit him coquettishly on the nap of his neck and flung him forward into the ready arms of the buxom brunette first called. With astonishing speed Sues' powerful enfolding embrace took the breath from him, she kissed him deeply, driving her wet tongue down his throat like a snake in pursuit of a gofer. Just as abruptly she sent him careening into yet another embrace, fondled provocatively, teased beyond endurance, and then cast off to the next in line, as if a toy in a round game. With each erotic welcome his disorientation expanded at equal pace with his rising passion until finally he fetched up, falling heavily forwards into Ravens' powerful grasp. She cradled his head between her hands, her long jet black hair cascaded about him forming a dark canopy shutting out everthing. Her face filled his world. She looked down at him, eyes piercing, breath hot on his face. He was transfixed by their deep and penetrating stare. She was breathtakingly bountiful, yet he felt coldly scrutinized, the way a mouse must feel in the inescapable presence of a sleek and hungry cat. He grinned self-consciously up at her, Her persistent, communal and enigmatic smile deepened into an unyielding and pitiless leer. For the first time Wimple was afraid of loosing more than his dignity. His confusion was replaced by fear dangerously close to panic. With a single thrust she ejected him from their shared canopy, sending him sprawling, face down, dead center, within the ring of protagonists sisters. Wimple feebly picked himself up, gasping for breath, reeling near exhaustion, trying desperately to regain some measure of control. His body pounded with ragging lust, while his mind sought an avenue of escape. He floundered looking from face to face, pleading with his eyes. Their girlish tittering laughter profoundly deepened his sensation of surrealism. There was nothing his mind could fix on. It was as if reality had abandoned him the way it often does in dreams. Smiles, still uniform, had lost their subtlety, now they mimicked Sues' portending leer. Jennifer advanced slowly, swaying seductivly and locked her hands behind his neck. She cooed in his ear, as if to a frightened child, kissed him ever so gently, still advancing as though leading in a dance. Wimples' fear and confusion evaporated under her caressing touch. The succor of her comforting, rhythmic advance belayed all reason. As if in a slow waltz, Wimple retreated backwards retracing the distance between he and Raven standing, hips wide, like a catcher at the ready, directly behind. Minutes later his back felt the firm, warm points of her generous breasts press into him. From behind the tall womans' voluptuous body sent near electric thrills through his frame and in the fore was Jennifers' delicate, titillating, reassuming kiss. At that moment Wimples' effort to understand desolved into total surrender. THe urgency of his need thrust forward as if driven by an independent will, while his self went into total retreat. He would try to understand later, now all of existence was need, dignity, self, even his apprehensions where abstractions far too remote to intrude. He had spent his entire adult life in a manic effort to control events around him, he could grapple with pain, control it, if not defeat it, but he was defencless against pleasure. letting his will go filled him with a comfortable weakness, an odd contentment almost religious in texture. Sudenly something cool and unyielding dropped tightly around his throat. His arms flailed involuntarily straight out from his sides to be captured by Linda and Kimberly pulling hard in opposition, like twin cats clutching an escaping bird. Raven slowly tightened the leather belt around Wimples' neck, her body quivering with an intensity of excitement even Wimple could feel through his dimming consciousness. Too quickly, too quickly! Jennifer shouted. You'll spoil it! Raven relinquished her implacable grasp, just enough to bring Wimples' consciousness back from the yawning pit of consuming darkness that had opened before him. Wimples' eyes spoke to Jennifer, imploring to know why? Why not, she answered, as though talking about the weather. Its not as though you mattered, no one does, there are plenty more where you came from. If there is a point, it is simply that; as in nature, there are two types of entities, pray and predator. We play the part of predators, you are cast in the role of pray. Which is which is of no consequence, how the piece is played is everything. You and we have auditioned our entire lives, this is your moment, you're on. Wimple struggled convulsively against his restraints of noose and hands, but he was far too weak and his captors resolve too firm. Don't fight it, Jennifer said, it will go much better if you don't. We love all you! Predators don't hate their pray, they love them. We kill for the love of killing, but only those marked by thier nature for death. Not sadists but saviors, we give your life meaning in the manner of its passing. Is it better to vomit up your life, fed on by some hideous disease, or leave your remains painted on a lonely highway? Surly we are a better prospect than that? With that she kissed him as departing lovers do at train stations. Sighed wistfully and knelt in front of him, Japanese fashion, tidy and demure. She paused for a long, moment meditating, and then reached out and unzipped his pants, brushed aside their fastenings and pulled them, undergarments and all, to the ground in a single fluid motion. Besides, she continued, we are only doing what you want, what you have always wanted. What we do, we do for love of you. If you cannot accept the logic, then concede the evidence of your own body. I will prove it to you. If your body refuses, we will let you go, if not then we will know that you are well chosen. She fondled his now limp penis as she expounded her philosophy, stroking in syncopation with her words, punctuating each phrase with a squeeze of supurbe craftsmanship and clinical detachment. Massaging slowly her hand moved up and down his organ. In defiance of his will, his flagging member began to show signs of life. She shifted his growing erection from hand to lips. Moving her tongue expertly down its length, abrading its surface with her teeth just enough to produce the desired effect. See, she said, isn't that much better? Do you really want me to stop, all you have to do is go limp and we will believe you. Jennifer looked up at Raven approvingly, I think he'll do just fine, she said. She turned toward her sisters, he's ready. One by one, each in her turn, knelt before him. Each in her turn suckled, stroked and fondled with infinite care and consummate skill, as though talking part in a sacrament of lust. As each finished, the noose around his neck tightened a fraction more, orchestrated by Raven in perfect harmony with her sisters ministrations and Wimples' reflex. The shimmering moonlight bore whiteness to a slow execution administered in lascivious black erotica. Like feeding animals atom by atom they sucked, tongued and probed their victums life away. Raven waited patently, her ever tightening noose ready for Whimples' final reply. The last sensation Wimple knew was the pulsating throb of his exploding climax tearing at his soul, searing every cell in his body as he fell into to utter nothingness under Ravens' prefect timing. His body now hung limp, held half erect by Ravens' black leather belt. She smiled, bit into the back of his neck, ran her tongue through the ravaged tear and tasted his blood approvingly. With deep satisfaction she let him drop, in a forgotten heap, on the cold wet paving stones of an equally forgotten lane.