The Lustful Codex

The First Night

by Magister Amentia

Tags: #bondage #dom:male #exhibitionism #humiliation #sub:female #sub:male #clothing #cuckold #curse #fantasy #group_sex #sadomasochism #threesomes #urban_fantasy

Jerome was already breathing heavily before the lights went out.

He threw everything he could inside his briefcase and his backpack. 

Including the book. 

But something fell to the floor and couldn’t see what it was, nor could he be bothered. He peered over the window; the car was out of the question. He could see the lights searching the inside. They were two women with pixie haircuts wearing black suits. 

It was the last attempt at whatever they were searching for, whoever they were. 

First, they broke into his home. He thought it was a simple break-in. He could not call the police, but it didn’t seem they had taken anything. Then it was his office that was trashed. And this was the closest he had seen them. 

He crawled over the floor as flashlights approached, rushing through the classroom door that was connected to the lab.

His translations, research, and notes about the book were inside his laptop. He didn’t need anything else. 

The university wasn’t safe anymore, not his house, not anywhere. He needed to find a place to lay low. 

When the flashlights went into the lab, he heard them trash around. It was his opportunity to scurry away, sneaking through the corridors of the university. 

His footsteps echoed through the halls, and someone took notice. A flashlight blinded him as he came out of the building. 

“DON’T MOVE” the female voice boomed him to stop. 

Jerome froze for a second, throwing his hands into the air. 

But inside his mind, another Voice that was not his own echoed with a bellowing commanding. It yelled at him over the will of the woman in front of him. 

RUN. It said. 

And like breaking a window, he snapped out of the order, running faster than he had ever run in his life. The woman stood frozen for a second, trying to follow his trail. 

But a mist rolled down over the campus. 

Then she shot in the dark. 

Jerome fell forward, over his computer. He heard it crash. 

It was painful, almost as painful as the searing sting on his side. 

Groaning, he pulled himself up and ran, his right hand applying pressure to the wound. He ran until he hit the metal fence that surrounded the university. 

He was breathing hard, his vision was getting blurry, the flashlights were light, distant stars over the mist that miraculously allowed him to escape. He ran through the University gardens until he reached the street wall.

He felt energy leave his body as he rested his head against the metal bars. “Fuck.” He clutched the briefcase close to his chest.

“FUCK” He groaned loudly as his knees ceded and he stumbled forward. 

He felt something searing hot against his chest and the alien Voice echoed once again. 

CLIMB. It ordered him.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, and with some effort, he pulled himself up using the metal bars. 

He had never been athletic, sure he was tall and his friends had tried to make him join the basketball team, but he was an academic, a nerd. He never pictured himself doing anything other than reading books.

Somehow he had run the fastest in his life, and now his arms were pulling him upwards along a fence, despite a wound in his abdomen. Blood in his hands made him slip a little, but his other hand picked up, and he pulled himself up with one arm. 

When he reached the top and saw how tall he had come, he got nervous. 

JUMP. The Voice commanded. 

And jump he did, scratching his leg with the spikes at the top, ripping his pants, and as he fell, he heard something pop. 

But he did not feel pain. 

RUN. The Voice came again. 

His body barely responded, but he limped as best as he could, the mist engulfing the streets as he went ahead. He heard the screeching of car tires turn and go behind him over the street, leaving the campus. 

Jerome kept limp-running in the opposite direction until he reached the suburbs. 

The energy the Voice summoned out of him began fading as he walked a block, and then the next, and so did the mist. It was almost 1AM in the morning and he could hear the cars roaring around him. 

Sirens blared, and he felt nervous once more. Freezing, he fell to one knee and hoped the mist worked its miracle once more. 

HERE. The Voice felt softer this time. Less like a painful order and more of a pleasant relief. 

Jerome turned right and followed the feeling in his mind. The fog dispersed, and he saw a suburban home with white painting, the kind he only saw in movies with the perfect lawn and a big porch. The lights were on.

He limped his way until he rested his not bloodied side against the wall. 

HERE. The Voice was soft and pleasant, seductive. 

He rang the bell. 

No one answered. 

He rang again. And again, and again, desperately. 

He knocked on the door, resting his head against the frame. 

Then the door opened. 

A man in his 40’s with peppered black hair, wearing navy blue pajamas, opened the door. He had a bat in his hand. 

“Raul, wait,” a voice said from behind him, pulling Raul back. 

It was a woman in her 30’s, she was wearing a silk robe that clung perfectly to her body, and Jerome noted, nothing more.

“Denise, I don’t think-” But she pushed him aside and rushed to Jerome.

“Are you okay?” She said, helping him stand up. 

“No.” He said earnestly.

Raul and the woman pulled him inside, closing the door behind them. Raul took a double look to the dissipating mist to see if there was anyone else waiting in the dark. 

“Here,” the woman said and laid Jerome over the couch. Raul ran upstairs and came back down with a small medkit and was already pulling alcohol and gauze. 

“What happened to you?” She asked, pouring alcohol over the wound on his leg. 

The doorbell rang again. 

Everyone froze. 

Then a cold knock resounded over the wooden door. 

No one made a sound.

“Good night” A female voice came from behind the door, Jerome recognized it, it was the same one that had ordered him to not move. 

Jerome shrank in his place, trying to hide behind the couch. 

“It’s okay,” Denise whispered. “I will take care of this.”

She stood up, her feet finding the pink slippers, and walking towards the door. 

She partially opened the door, her husband stood behind her with the bat. 

“Good night,” Denise said tentatively. 

“Good night, Ma’am,” the woman said. “We are going around the neighborhood checking if everything is alright. There was an incident at the university, someone broke in and there was gunfire. I noticed you had the lights on. I was wondering if you heard anything or saw anything out of the ordinary?”

Jerome could see the woman trying to push her way inside the house, but she could not see him, or at least he hoped so. 

Raul stepped forward and covered her field of vision. 

“I am sorry no, I was working late, and we were just about to call it a night.” He said and tried to push the door closed, “if you don’t mind.” 

The woman pushed her hand inside, holding the door open with force equal or stronger than the man. 

“If you see anything-”

“I will call the police, of course. What is your badge number?” Denise said. 

Eery silence filled the night, and Jerome could hear a smile on the woman’s voice. 

“I am sorry, sir, Raul, right,” she said, disregarding Denise. “We are the neighborhood watch.”

She pulled out a business card. “If you hear anything, call us, please?” She said in a high pitch, a coquettish voice that made Jerome shiver in place. 

Raul reached for it without thinking, but Denise reached for the card before he could even touch it. “Thank you. Good night!” She said and slammed the door shut. 

“Bitch,” she muttered and crumpled the card before throwing it to the bin by the door. 

Jerome relaxed as the couple approached. Raul’s arms were crossed, Denise knelt by his side and began to undress Jerome to clean his wound. 

“Who are you?” Raul demanded. 

“Jerome, Jerome Masters. I am a professor at the Arkham University down the road,” he groaned. 

Denise poured alcohol over the wound.

“It looks like it went through. You will need to stay put for a while. You will take some antibiotics so it doesn’t get infected… but I am more worried about your leg…”

She motioned down. 

“How did you get here?”

“Willpower?” Jerome said, ignoring the hungry Voice inside his head. 

Denise smiled and flushed. 

“Why are they looking for you?” Raul interjected. 

Jerome snapped out of it. 

“I don’t know. Maybe because of my research, but it is not exactly interesting. I mostly deal with ancient artifacts, and…”

Jerome felt his head light.

“… and… I don’t… I don’t think they say who they say they are…”

“You should rest,” Denise said, laying a hand over his leg. “We can continue in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Jerome said with a tired exhale. 

“Raul, get him a glass of water, please, darling?” Denise pulled on his pajama pants, Raul exhaled and walked over to the kitchen, and came back with a glass of water and two ice cubes.

“Drink this,” Denise handed him a couple of pills, “It’s for the pain… tho you don’t seem to be in much”

“I feel numbness on my leg and my side, but besides that, I feel fine.” Jerome stretched, his body responded to him, but numbness spread through his muscles, his leg barely moved.

“Do you think you can stand up? We have a guest room upstairs,” Denise asked, her hand going up his leg. 

Jerome gulped down the glass of water along with the pills and tried to stand up. 

“I think… I think I can limp my way.” Jerome said, pushing himself off the couch.

“Raul, dear, help him out, would you?” Denise pleaded to her husband. 

He nodded and helped Jerome, pulling his weight over his shoulder. 

“You can lean on the railing, I will help you up,” Raul said. Jerome noticed that while he was cautious, he was also very kind. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” Jerome said, his voice almost a whisper. 

“It’s okay. Denise has a good sense when judging people’s character. I trust her, and I will trust you.” He gave Jerome a tired smile. 

Jerome nodded. 

At the end of the stairs, Raul helped Jerome sit on the guest’s bed. 

Denise came back with bandages, his backpack, and his suitcase. Carefully leaving them on the desk by the side of his bed, she proceeded to bandage his foot. After she finished, she pulled her husband by the hand and led him out of the room, Jerome was barely conscious but she spoke in a whisper, “If you need anything, we will be just around the corner,” she turned off the lights and added, “If we can, we will take you to a hospital tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Jerome exhaled as he passed out from exhaustion.

That night Jerome didn’t dream. And in the following days and weeks, he would wish that it stayed that way.

As morning came and the sun woke him up, he felt like he had barely slept. His muscles were sore, his leg throbbed in pain, and his side…

His side didn’t hurt much. 

“The medication should be doing its job”, he mumbled to himself. He rose up and noticed there was a cane by the side of his bed. 

He looked around. It was a simple and mostly empty room, white with a window looking out to the suburban garden, a small cabinet, the desk and chair, where Denise had placed a glass of water, his belongings; and a standing mirror on the other side of the room. 

Reaching for the desk and his backpack, Jerome took out the broken laptop. He sighed and placed it to the side. He rummaged inside to find what else he salvaged the previous night. There was Olivia’s notebook, filled with his own post-its and scattered notes. 

Then he opened the briefcase. There it was. 

The book. 

He sighed in relief and chuckled. Was this so important? He caressed the leather cover that protected the yellowed and ancient pages. 

There was a knock at the door. Looking up, he saw Denise standing by the door. She was carrying a tray with eggs, strawberries, orange juice, and toast. “Good Morning,” she said chirpily, “May I come in?”

Jerome nodded. He gave her a tired smile and left the book on the desk. “Good morning,” his voice came out raspy and he coughed but motioned her to come inside. 

Denise rushed inside and left the tray by the desk. She handed him a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” Jerome said, his voice still raspy. He looked up at his host. The young wife’s eyes were brown and bright, filled with worry. She was wearing an old oversized heavy-metal concert t-shirt and sweatpants that fit her loosely. She was wearing her hair tied in a ponytail. 

He coughed again, and felt his voice a bit different, deeper. “But alive, thanks to you.”

She gave him a sad, forced smile and grimaced once she noticed the state of the laptop. 

Denise sat on the chair by the desk and handed the plate to Jerome. 

“Where is Raul?” He asked. 

“He just left for work. He works for a bank. His company created the app and system they use.” She said. 

“And you?” 

“I am a nurse in a small clinic not far from here. I called in sick. The doctor is very kind and told me to take a few days off. He doesn’t want me to brink any virus that might make things worse for the patients.”

Jerome took a bite from the toast, “Thanks, sorry you had to lie,”

“It wasn’t a lie,” she faked a cough, “See?” she said with a smile. There were shadows beneath her eyes. She had barely slept last night.

Denise reached for his hand. “I wanted to take you to the clinic, but the people from last night are still making rounds around the neighborhood,” she said somberly. “You will have to stay here for a while.”

Jerome gulped down a bite. 

“Sorry for all the trouble I’m causing.” He held her hand. He was shaking. 

“It’s fine. It is our duty to help people in need.” She said reassuringly. 

“Why are they after you?” Her concern was visible in her tired face. “they are not police and I had never seen them. Who are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m a simple professor of ancient languages in the university. I don’t… I mean, why would anyone want a fake old book?”

Jerome reached for The Book and waved it like nothing.


“It has to be fake, a sort of joke. A colleague of mine found it in a wooden box with runes beneath a Mayan pyramid.”

He opened the leather book. 

Denise listened attentively, getting closer. Her hand slid over his knee. 

“But it is leather-bound, as in cow-hide, and it’s written in runes, but the runes don’t make sense unless you are speaking Mayan. It has taken a lot of my time and concentration to decipher it.”

Denise’s hand slid over his leg. Jerome had her undivided attention. She leaned closer. 

“It is like someone made a mess of various ancient languages from different cultures, more like a language anthropologist would challenge another than actual history.”

Her hand moved up his thigh. 

He coughed as he felt her touch, but didn’t stop his excited rant. 

“And then there is the box, which is in runes, but it’s written with an archaic syntax. And …”

He remembered how Olivia had disappeared. He closed the book. 

Jerome looked up. Denise’s hand was over his hip. He could see the woman’s face blushing, the Voice in his head spoke softly. He could reach to her, touch the back of her neck, and kiss her. She wouldn’t resist. 

Her lips were pink, and she was breathing heavily. Denise bit her lower lip. 

Jerome coughed and touched her hand, pulling it off and placing it on the bed. 

“And this must be incredibly boring.” He said with a gulp before reaching for the glass of water. 

“No, not at all. It is fascinating.” She said, sitting on the bed. 

“Anyway,” He said, placing the book on the bed between the two of them. “The carbon data says both the box and the book are pre-Columbian. And that is just… how?”

“A true ancient history mystery.” She giggled.

Jerome smiled, “Yeah.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t aliens?” She said mockingly. 

He laughed. 

“Right, or maybe it’s cursed.” She picked up the book and placed it on the desk.

Both of them laughed. 

“Or maybe it is the Necronomicon,” Denise added between laughs. She was getting closer. 

Laughter was nice after all that happened, but it was also painful. Jerome winced and hugged his side.

“Are you okay?” Denise asked. She reached and touched his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s just the wound from last night,”

She got up from the bed and took the plates with her. “Wait just a moment, I will be back to change your bandages.”

Jerome exhaled and chuckled. He laid down on the bed and reached for the book. “Yeah right, like a mystery novel,” he said in a soft voice, thinking of how people were outside waiting for him to steal whatever this book was. 

He hugged the book. 

Denise came back soon after and he sat back, leaving the book to his side on the bed. Slowly, the young nurse took the bloodied bandages off his body. 

Jerome winced a little as the pressure against his abdomen subsided. After she was done, she took a clean rag and cleaned around the wound. 

“That’s odd,” she said as she coated the wound with alcohol. “The wound is not as big as I thought last night.” 

Denise got closer, examining his abdomen. She giggled nervously, “you heal very fast,” her fingers touched around the wound, “very fast,” she repeated. 

She applied the new bandages around his abdomen, her hands guiding the cloth against his skin. Jerome held back a moan, and she tried to dismiss it. 

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. He felt her hands slide up to his chest. Her touch was warm on his naked skin. She finished bandaging him, but her fingers slid down his abdomen. She felt her fingertips on the rim of his pants, on his hips. 

“Uhm, Denise?” Jerome said stiffly, opening his eyes.

The young wife’s voice was low and almost a growl. He felt her nails scratching his skin as she pulled down his pants. 

“Denise?” he said a bit louder.

“I am looking for any other wounds or bruises I may have not seen last night,” her voice was close. He could smell her perfume, it smelled of summer, like strawberries and…

Jerome touched the back of her neck. Moaning softly, Denise froze in place. She blinked several times, as if she suddenly realized what she was doing, or was about to do. 

Slowly, she sat back. Her hands let go of his pants, but her fingers slid over his legs. She was still breathing heavily and blushing. 

“Everything seems fine,” Denise said, getting up from the bed. She was talking fast, “I mean, besides the bullet wound and the sprained leg.” 

“I will check that out later. I need to run some errands and prepare lunch and dinner. See you later. Get well, bye.”

She took the bandages and alcohol and rushed out of the room and closed the door behind herself.

Jerome breathed out and closed his eyes. 

He could feel the blood pumping away from his head and rushing between his legs. He groaned in frustration.

“Keep it together, man,” he told himself. “I barely survived being hunted, and I am already fantasizing about a married woman.” He covered his eyes with his arm and felt his erection straining against his pants. 

“Fuck!” he groaned and tried to calm down. 


Denise ran out of the room and towards the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, letting everything she was carrying fall to the floor as she slid down. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. 

She felt hot. She felt horny. 

She couldn’t believe what she almost did with Jerome. He was hurting. 

She was married. 

“Fuck,” she moaned taking off her t-shirt. It felt constraining. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. Why wasn’t she wearing a bra underneath? Her nipples were hard. Did he notice? 

“Fuuuck.” Denise pulled on them. She couldn’t calm down. 

Her other hand slid off her sweatpants and panties in a single motion, throwing them to the side.

Her right hand slid down between her legs. 

She thought of Jerome’s chest. 

“Fuck!” she moaned and touched her clit, pulling a single strand of lube from between her legs. She could not believe how wet she was, she almost…

Her finger slid against her clit. Rubbing slowly. 

She almost…

She thought of pulling down Jerome’s pants. 


Mindlessly, two fingers slid inside her pussy. Reaching inside as her left hand pulled her hardened nipple. 

She moaned, biting her lips. 


She thought of his cock straining against his pants. 

Her fingers pressed into her g-spot, rubbing. Her other hand pinched her nipples. 


The memory of his skin live on her mind, her hands against his body, his naked chest. 

She opened her mouth, just like she did back in the room, a desire to taste him, to slide her hands below his belt and feel…



Her fingers went deeper inside her. Feel his…

Then she thought of Raul. 

She stopped. 

“Fuck!” She banged the back of her head against the door. 

She almost came. 

“Fuck,” she repeated, groaning with frustration. 

Denise pulled her hand away from her pussy. She felt like a live wire. Needy, desperate. 

Breathing deeply, Denise tried to calm down. 

She didn’t even know what she almost did, but it was certainly unprofessional and… improper. 

And still, the image of Jerome’s member straining against his pants burned inside her mind. 

She stared at her hand, glistening wet with her juices. 

What does he taste like? A soft and hungry Voice in her head echoed with curiosity. 

Denise opened her mouth. Without thinking, she brought her hand to her lips. Slowly licking her fingers clean. Tasting herself. Imagining what he would taste like. 

“Jerome.” she moaned without thinking. 

Denise turned red and closed her legs, pulling her hand away from her mouth. 

“I need a cold shower,” she told herself as she jumped up, leaving her clothes on the floor and trying to think of anything else. Lunch. Raul. Anything. 

But the Voice inside her echoed a single word that made her quiver in heat and fear. Softly, it whispered, “Master.”

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