Black StigmataChapter 9 free porn video

"So how did your parents take it?" Christi asked, speaking to Jason through their cell phones.

He was sitting in a snowy parking lot in Portland, having just filled out his fifth job application. In front of him now was a McDonalds application. Damn, his parents had always told him to study hard and get into a good college so that he would never have to flip burgers. Thanks a lot, Black Stigmata.

"I can't really say, I went to bed as soon as I got home and left before anyone else got up. Actually, I just hid in my room and kept rereading the manual until I finally fell asleep. You should have seen my mom when I stepped through that door. She was like the old woman from Legion but taller and younger. Luckily, my story was so outlandish and unbelievable that they couldn't even continue yelling."

As he spoke, he blew into his hands for the umpteenth time. He would have to start up the engine and turn the heat on for a couple minutes before the car became an icebox. He missed Australia.

"I can't blame them, I still can't believe it's all true. So will you please tell me what you found or where you went?"

"Nelson was already pissed off at himself for saying we were leaving for Australia in front of you. I shouldn't have even told my family about the Black Stigmata and the BSC. If I tell anyone anything, he'll rip off the top of my cranium and use it as an ashtray. Those were his exact words. Listen, I will tell you someday. Let's just say that what we found will revolutionize everything. We may finally able to stop the Black Stigmata or at least fight back."

"I sure hope so, I don't feel safe leaving the house anymore."

"I can't say I blame you. Listen, I'm going to keep looking around for any places hiring, then I'll head over."

"That might be a bad idea, then you'll have to explain to MY parents where you were."

"Well I'll just tell them that I had a very vivid dream of a music festival somewhere and I felt that I HAD to attend. I'll say it had something to do with my PTSD."

"Why didn't you say that to your parents?"

"Even if I tried to milk the PTSD thing, they still would have beaten the shit out of me. Colleen wouldn't be the only one in a wheelchair."

"If you say so. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

After turning on his car for a brief few minutes to enjoy the warmth of the heater, he finished the last of his job applications and put aside his pen with an achy hand. He had been sitting in his car for more than an hour and he wanted to get up and move, even if meant walking through the snowy November weather. Having lost the heightened endurance to cold from his coma, he got out of his car and started walking with the job application forms held tightly under his arm, shivering with every step. If he remembered correctly, the bookstore was closest to his position. Trekking through the falling snow on the filthy sidewalk, he noted the absence of people out in the streets. It seemed that Christi wasn't the only person afraid of leaving their home. With all the chaos going on, there were probably more cops and BSC agents than civilians outside at the moment.

But it could also have been the weather keeping everyone inside. This November was exceptionally raw, and the snowy wind did not make it any better. So much sand and salt had already been laid out to fight the endless layers of snow and ice that the lines on the road and even the bricks in the sidewalk were no longer visible. As he turned his attention away from the first car to drive by in over five minutes, he spotted a piece of paper stuck to the ground with something written on it in pen. Normally not drawn to pieces of garbage, he felt compelled to see the scribbles. It was a receipt, probably dropped earlier that day or the day before, listing for two coffees and a bag of cinnamon rolls from Dunkin Donuts. Drawn on the back in pen was a line of symbols from the Black Stigmata. This was clearly the work of a Host. Jason had always felt a nearly overwhelming urge to write down the symbols of the Black Stigmata when he was in his prison cell.

Pulling out his cellphone and his wallet, he checked his BSC ID card and typed in the number on the back.

"Operator," a woman on the other end of the line announced.

He had read this in his instruction manual; BSC receptionists did this to make sure that the person calling was a fellow employee, and not someone who had made a mistake or were just messing around on their phone. Funny, it reminded him of The Matrix.

"This is Jason Stevens, intern in Section 8. My ID number is 6347H2I9Q2."

"Welcome to the office of the BSC. How may I direct your call?"

"I've identified a possible Host in or around the Portland area in Maine. The name is Michele Donovan, that's all I know. From what I understand, she's starting to see the symbols," he answered, squinting at her name on the receipt.

"A search is now underway, thank you for the information."

"Happy to help."

Jason then turned off his phone and stowed it, his wallet, and the receipt in his pocket. 'I wonder how long it will be before I get a promotion... '

"So what would you say are your best qualities?" the man asked, sitting across his desk from Jason in the medium-sized office. Having returned to the bookstore to hand his application form, he was lucky to be called right in to the manager's office for an interview. The manager was a scrawny man with pale skin and thinning hair. He seemed very tired and sported distinct bags under his eyes.

"Well I consider myself quite charismatic and a hard worker. I also work very well with others."

"And what kind of position are you looking for?" the manager asked, skimming through Jason's application while yawning frequently.

"I will take anything you can give me. I'll work cashier, I'll stock the shelves, I'll mop the floors, I'll clean the toilets, and I'll even shine your shoes and bring you your coffee. Just sign my paycheck and I'm all yours."

"And how open is your schedule?"

"I have very little going for me right now but there may be times when I will have to leave for business. Times like those should be rare, so other than that, I can work any possible shift."

As he spoke, he watched the manager roll a pen around in his hand. The tip was poking against his thumb, which already had a blister on it. Jason remembered doing the same thing in jail when he was doing homework. He still had the small round scar on his thumb to prove it. Was this guy... ?

"Alright, once I review the other applications I've received, I'll call you if you get the job. But from what I've heard, you seem like the best candidate."

The manager stood up with a yawn and extended his arm to shake Jason's hand. Grasping the manager's hand Jason decided to test his hypothesis.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"What? Oh ... uh, yeah," the man shrugged.

"Yeah, I had that same problem. Bad dreams?"

"You could say that. They keep waking me up."

"I know what you mean. I would always be surrounded in darkness with voices screaming in my ears and a bright red light overhead."

The manager's hand came to a dead stop and he pulled it free from Jason's grip. "Huh ... that sounds ... pretty creepy."

"What are your dreams like?"

"What? Oh, I never remember them. Now if you would please excuse me, I have work to do."

"Oh course, of course."

Turning to the exit and about to grasp the doorknob, Jason stopped.

"Oh, before I go, there is something I want to ask you..."

He then reached into his pocket and drew the receipt he had found out in the street. "This is some kind of puzzle I saw, and supposedly there is a hidden image or message only certain people will see. Can you just take a quick glance at it and tell me if you see anything? I've been staring at it all day and can't figure it out."

He handed the receipt to the manager, and as soon as his eyes swerved across the scribbled symbols, the paleness in his face became like that of a frozen corpse and he began to tremble. He took a step back, nearly losing his balance as he stared at the symbols. Bingo.

"Do you have it with you?" Jason asked, dropped the façade.

"Have what?"

"The nail. Do you have the nail with you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

'It's just like Nelson said; Hosts are compelled to lie in order to protect their possession of the nails. I lied because I took the nail as evidence, but he's lying because it's twisting his soul like Gollum and the One Ring.'

"Achieve death. Do those words mean anything to you?"

The phrase struck the manager like a slap and he staggered back his face eclipsed with fear.

"Who are you?! Have you been watching me?! Are you some kind of spy?!" he demanded, almost foaming at the mouth.

"No, I haven't been watching you. Until this meeting, I had no idea you even existed. But I am probably the best person for you to meet today. Listen, you aren't the only person with a nail like that, but if you hold onto it, you will meet a horrible fate like them! That nail will ruin your life!"

"Stay away form me!" the manager screamed, jumping over the desk and shoving Jason aside.

Ripping open the office door, he sprinted down the back corridors with Jason chasing after him. Mentally scolding himself for not yet setting it on speed-dial, Jason typed in the number on the back of his ID card into his cell phone.

"This is Jason Stevens, intern in Section 8. My ID number is 6347H2I9Q2," he panted, running through the halls and seeing the back door close as he rounded a corner.

"Welcome to the office of the BSC. How may I direct your call?" the receptionist asked as Jason sprinted through the dirty back alley, following the manager's footprints in the fresh snow.

"I'm in pursuit of a host on Congress Street. He's a skinny white guy with thinning hair, early to mid forties. His name is Michael Roy."

"Mr. Stevens, stop what you are doing right now."

Jason skidded through the snow with the phone still pressed against his ear.

"What, why?!"

"You are only an intern, correct? Chasing him down now will only draw attention to the two of you, and unless you have received proper training, you will be unable to defend yourself if he turns violent."

"But I can catch him! I can stop him!"

"You'll just get in the way. You've identified him and that's more than enough. It's time for you to stand down."

"There has to be something I can do!"

"You've already done all you are capable of. We will freeze his assets, put lookouts at his home and friends' homes, and send his image to the media and local police. Your job is done, now let us do ours."

Jason sighed. "Very well."

As he turned off his phone, a thought entered his mind. Was it possible? Returning to the bookstore, he entered through the front door and walked right past the cashiers, ignoring their questions as he strolled into the back of the building and found the manager's office. After pulling out and putting on a pair of surgical gloves, he searched through the manager's desk for the nail. Receiving no promising results, he turned his attention to the manager's coat, hanging from the back of his chair.

Reaching into the right pocket, his blood became like cold mud in his veins as his fingers brushed up against the solid iron of the Black Stigmata nail. Even with latex separating him from the smooth surface, Jason felt like the nail was fusing to his fingers. He gripped his skull and cursed, the Black Stigmata's will weighing down on his mind like a lead collar. The relic was trying to re-establish its hold on him, but the damage his mind had received in the coma had left him as an unsuitable Host and given him some immunity. Regardless, Jason now felt like he had just reached into the den of a Black Mamba and its tail was writhing against his fingers.

Taking a deep breath, he drew the nail from the coat pocket and examined it in the light. Its appearance was exactly like the nail he had found in his neighbor's home and the nail that had triggered the prison riot. Regardless of age and regardless of their existence as separate objects, these nails shared a hive mind that transcended the logical realm. In his hands, he was holding the very same force that had ruined his life. He was holding the nail that had killed that cop, that had raped his sister, and had forced him to torture and eat an innocent woman. He felt like a child holding the weapon used to murder his parents.

Shaking aside these troubling thoughts, he quickly left the bookstore and walked back to his car. Once inside, he opened up his sealing canister, submerged the nail in the interior water-filled capsule, and secured it in a hovering vacuum, thereby locking away its influence. Once again, Jason drew his cellphone and typed in the thirteen digit number,

"This is Jason Stevens, intern in Section 8. My ID number is 6347H2I9Q2."

"Welcome to the office of the BSC. How may I direct your call?" a woman asked.

"I have found a Black Stigmata nail. I've locked it up in my canister and now I just need someone to pick it up."

Jason arrived home just before midnight, happy with the knowledge that his family had gone to bed. In the fridge, he found a plate of leftovers from dinner, but no note or anything. It seemed like his parents weren't even comfortable with one-way communication. He ate the food cold and went upstairs. His evening with Christi hadn't been as restful as he had hoped; he had been unable to take his mind of the escaped bookstore manager. As he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, the activation of the light shined down the hallway and passed through Colleen's open door.

Awoken by the fluorescent beam, she rubbed the tiredness from her eyes and checked the time. Jason must have come back. She hadn't seen him since his arrival home the day before, and he had left her with more questions than answers. Every moment since his arrival had been spent wondering if he was telling the truth. Now was the best time she would have to confront him. Still unable to fully walk on her own, she pulled herself out of bed and balanced herself on her crutches. By the time she was up on her feet, Jason had left the bathroom and gone to his room.

Wanting to avoid waking her parents, Colleen moved down the hall as silently as she could, approaching Jason's door. It was open just enough for her to poke her head through and see Jason sitting on his bed. His alarm clock and the moonlit window shades were the only sources of illumination. Sitting there, Jason was unable to keep his mind away from that man. What had happened to him? Had he escaped? Had he been found? Was he still trapped in the Black Stigmata's web? Had he even degenerated into the psychotic stage or possibly begun performing the steps to create new nails? Would Jason have done the same thing if he had possessed his nail any longer? Would he have freaked out when the cop tried to take it from him? He had found a nail and identified two Hosts ... but he felt hollow.

About to make her presence known, Colleen hesitated when Jason's phone began to ring. It was Nelson.

"Professor?"

"I heard you had a busy first day."

"It's not like you to be so concerned."

"I'm not, I'm calling to scold you. I heard that a receptionist had to talk you down from a Die Hard adrenalin rush? You were supposed to have gone through proper training before even SPEAKING to a host."

"It wasn't like that! I just didn't want him to get away! He was in my sight! I could have caught him! I could have stopped him! I was right there! I've read everything I've been given over and over again! I've memorized every page! Doesn't that count for anything?" Jason shot back as he stood up and turned to the window.

"Well what could you have done then, Jason? What could you have done? Would you have taken him down with some fancy martial arts or shoot him like Jason Bourne? What could you have possibly done other than get in the way and get yourself hurt or killed?"

"I could have done SOMETHING! I could have actually made a difference! I got his nail but I didn't get him! For all I know, he could be out there killing people because I couldn't catch him!"

"Learn your place and learn your role. It's far too early for you to confront Hosts, let alone chase them down. Crazed targets have killed better members of the BSC than you, you wouldn't last a minute if you tried to go out on your own without weapons and training. Give it time, you'll get the proper training and experience soon enough."

"Damn it, Nelson, there isn't time! How can you expect me to wait when the people around me are slowly burning in this Hell on earth?! I don't care if I get hurt, I don't care if I die! I just want to protect people from the same cursed life you and I have been forced to live, and save them from being victimized like my sister! The people of this state can't afford to wait for me to slowly figure this out over time! I've been selfish and indifferent my whole life, and now I've finally found something to give my life for. If I died tomorrow, I would be happy, as long as I died knowing that I had saved someone from this curse instead of just standing on the sidelines as some useless intern."

Colleen watched him standing by the window with her heart racing. Ever since Jason had come back from the rehabilitation center, he had been far quieter and more stoic than his usual self. He never joked, he rarely laughed, and he always seemed like he was skeptical that the world around him was real. When he had first walked towards her on that cold autumn day, she had seen something but never really gave it much thought, even in the months that passed. But now, seeing him with his back to her, she finally realized that his shoulders were much broader than before and his build was like that of an actual man and not some dopey college student.

With a smile, she turned away from his door and slowly and silently made her way back to her room. Her questions could wait, and now she had a new question: when did her big brother suddenly become so grown up?

Jason stared down the barrel of the gun with a straight face, his heart beating not in fear of what was happening, but excitement for what was about to happen. With every muscle in his body acting simultaneously, he ducked his face down as if to bow, reached up and grabbed the woman's hands, and kicked her just above the kneecap. Trying to stay on her feet, the strength in her arms wavered enough for Jason to force the gun into her stomach and then yank it from her grip. Taking a step back, he aimed the gun at her and smiled as the teacher began to clap.

He was in a Krav Maga class, having signed up for the earliest course from independent teachers and instructors in Portland. In actuality, he was signed up for many self-defense courses throughout the day, all with different teachers and classes. Refusing to wait for the BSC to give him the training he needed, he was taking matters into his own hands. Jason was not the only student here; countless people of all ages had come to learn self-defense moves in order to protect themselves in the growing chaos gripping the state.

There was one window to the studio and it was open, fighting the radiating heat of all the students. One wall of the room was lined solely with mirrors and the floor was covered with protective mats. The gun he was holding was of course fake, as well as the other guns his fellow students were using for practice. As per the teacher's instructions, he moved over to the woman he was partnered with and held up the gun to her face, as if in the process of mugging her. As he had done, she ducked down out of the line of fire, pushed the gun upwards, and kicked Jason in the thigh. The hard impact to the already bruised muscle nearly made him gag, so the woman had no trouble in prying the weapon from his grip.

The woman had a tight body with black hair tied back into a ponytail. She reminded him of the woman he had killed, and it was this mental torture that was driving him to continue throughout the day.

Keeping his head low, Jason blocked the oncoming swing with his arm, making sure that both his armpit and elbow were bent at 90º angles and his partner's punch was being blocked with the lower portion of his forearm, in order to preserve his leverage. Knowing that to pull back his arm for a counter-punch would take up too much time, he used his free hand to grab his partner's collar and pull him downwards just enough for him to slam him in the stomach with his shin. His instructor had told him that if he were in a real fight, he would instead finish with a kick to the groin. He could certainly understand why all of his teachers avoided that impact site when practicing. Even though he and all the other men were wearing athletic cups, it would only take a few hits to bring them down and make it a very short class.

Jason reached out and grabbed his teacher's wrist, watching intently for her reaction. With auburn hair cut short and sporting a pink workout bra, she grabbed his hand and twisted his arm around, bending his wrist in the process. The moment both his wrist and elbow were bent to 90º, she pushed down with elegant force and a bolt of electricity shot through his nerves. Wincing in pain, he was given a second to shake the aches from his joints. Now on the offensive, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. Wanting to match her speed, he grasped her hand, twisted her arm around, and bent her wrist while pushing down until she let go.

'I can use this... '

Three classes were done, and he had three hours until his next lesson. Wanting to give his body a break, he ate lunch and then spent some time at the local gun range to practice his shooting. With a pair of earmuffs to cancel out the sound of gunfire and safety glasses shielding his eyes, he pumped round after round into the paper targets. He used a variety of different firearms, from revolvers, to semiautomatic pistols, to hunting rifles, to shotguns. Half of the time, he aimed for the head and heart, and for the other half, he focused on the limbs. He didn't have a gun of his own, but he wanted to be prepared for any situation in which one was available, whether he was facing a swarm of cannibalistic puppets like in the prison, or simply trying to subdue a crazed Host.

This continued on for weeks, with Jason pouring his life savings into his lessons. No matter how bruised or beaten he became, he attended every possible class and worked his body to the limit. He needed to master these tools of information as soon as he could. He didn't know what it was, but he could sense something on the horizon, something bad. If he was going to survive, he needed to be ready.

Having finished his last class of the day, Jason drove over to the community college to pick up Christi. He had decided against signing up for spring classes, something that his parents didn't understand at the time and didn't agree with, but kept their mouths shut about. Anyway, at least now that he was once again spending his days in the city, he and Christi could go back to their usual "routine".

"Hey, long day?" Christi asked with a smile as she climbed into his car and kissed him on the cheek.

"Eh, it's been alright. My body is adapting to the stress, but damn, I hit the bed each night like I just worked an eighteen hour shift."

Pulling out of the campus parking lot, he raised his eyebrows in surprise as she felt Christi's hand move onto his thigh.

"What's the occasion?" he chuckled, trying to keep his focus on the road.

"Oh come on, you should know how a woman's mind works. You've always been neither buff, nor fat, nor scrawny. Always so normal. Well I can really see the muscle you've been putting on and I must say, I really want to see them in the bedroom," she purred as she leaned down while unzipping his pants.

"Right now? Are you sure? I haven't showered yet and I'm all sweaty."

"What girl wouldn't want to jump her man when he's literally dripping with testosterone?"

Jason smiled and fought to keep from looking down. Maneuvering the Portland streets, he squirmed in his seat as Christi's hand drew his manhood from his pants and stroked it into a throbbing tower of muscle. True, Jason had spent the whole day working his body to its limit, but that was one area that would never tire. Giggling, she held it up straight and ran her tongue up the shaft slowly, licking off the salt like it was a giant pretzel.

Coming to a stop at his fourth or fifth stoplight, Jason scanned the area to make sure nobody could see into his car. All the while, Christi moved back and forth across the shaft with her warm, wet tongue, teasing him deliberately. Fruitlessly brushing back her long blonde hair, she brought her tongue to the mauve head of his hammer. Running her tongue through the slit, she took pleasure in the sight and feeling of him jerking in his seat, even though he was driving in a crowded city where pedestrians had the right of way and could jaywalk for some fucking reason he would never understand. She continued toying with him, trying to push her tongue into the slit as far as she could without using her hands.

When Jason finally turned onto the highway out of the city, she began running her tongue around the head itself, licking it like she was trying to reach the core of a tootsie pop. Once she had licked the head clean, she took the whole mass in her warm mouth and thoroughly soaked it. She didn't move her head; she simply lowered herself down onto it all the way and held herself with the head pressed against the very back of her throat. She tried to maintain that position as long as she could, but it was agitating her throat and one of his pubes was tickling her nose.

At last she pulled her head back, gasping for air with a thick wet sheen coating Jason's prick. Once again brushing her hair out of the way, she returned to the grindstone and resumed sucking him off. Deciding to pay her back, Jason risked holding onto the wheel with his left hand and used his right hand to reach over and slip his fingers into Christi's pants. Knowing what he was going for, she unbuttoned her slim-fit jeans and his fingers found her vertical lips. With his middle finger skimming the very interior, he used his index and ring finger to stroke the luscious plump lips.

Christi writhed and squirmed in her seat, trying to find a way to lie on her back in the cramped space. Forcing herself to contend with the parking brake under her back and the gearshift jammed into her shoulder, she curled herself up in her seat so that her head rested on Jason's lap while her feet were pressed against the ceiling. Damn, it's a good thing they weren't doing this in the city...

Her body now curled up like a shrimp and her ass basically sticking up in the air, Jason was able to finally dig deeper into her wetness with his fingers. As his probing became more aggressive, she sucked on his cock harder and harder, working up such a powerful vacuum that it was as if she were trying to draw out his semen like poison from a snakebite. When Jason leaned back in his chair to let her get a better angle, she saw a way to tease him further. Reaching down and around, she jammed her finger into his asshole and nearly made him swerve off the road.

"Damn it, Christi! I'm doing 70 right now!" he cursed, jerking as she felt her finger wiggling in his sphincter like a bony eel.

Deciding to pay her back, he replaced his fingers in her slit with his thumb, and forced the wet digits into her own asshole, all three at once. As her finger wiggled in his ass, his fingers plunged back and forth into hers, and the harder she sucked his cock, the harder he worked his thumb in her cunt.

"Oh god, Jason! I can't stand it anymore! I need you to fuck me!"

"Ok, hold on a minute."

Getting off at the next exit, Jason drove into the nearest large parking lot and looked for the most obscure and isolated spot. Parking at the very fringe of a Wal Mart lot, he set his seat back in recline while she washed off her finger outside with her water bottle and scrubbed it with some hand sanitizer from her purse. As soon as she was ready to go, her jeans and panties came off in the blink of an eye and she was in his lap, bouncing on his cock like she had just taken a hit of ecstasy. Having spent all of his energy working out all day, Jason didn't have the strength to do anything but lie there. Christi didn't seem to mind; she was slamming her luscious ass down onto his lap without a care in the world, all while sticking her tongue down his throat. Every time her body fully lowered, her thighs would clap against his and the sound of wet flesh rubbing against wet flesh would ring out like gum being chewed.

The longer they fucked, the hotter and wetter Christi's pussy became. As the minutes passed, her body turned into a furnace burning with eroticism while she drowned Jason's cock in her juices. The windows of the car soon fogged up, and in time, Jason's strength returned. Once he had a spark of energy, he grabbed Christi's ass and began slamming her down on his lap with all of his strength, brutally fucking her while she moaned in bliss from the rapid and brutal penetrations into the deepest recesses of her body.