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soufcakmistress · 2 years

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Charleston Blues

Part II

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

“What you done did to me?” Chantilly examined her naked body with bugged eyes and every question in the world.

(I’ve molded you in my image. There are in fact still a few things that you need.)

Ursilene pointed her way and three separate lengths of waistbeads appeared on Tilly’s body, matching the color of her gown. A gold anklet was magically fastened on her ankle, and Tilly kneeled to rave over the detailing.

(Rise, girl.)

Ursilene was so tall, her head grazed the ceiling. One blink and she decreased in size to look Chantilly right in her eye. Her voice still unnerved Tilly. The way that it vibrated through her chest and resounded through her body; the new connection was powerful and terrifying. Ursilene smiled wide showing her smoke stained teeth and pulled out a tiny gold ring from behind her back.

(Stand still. This will hurt a bit.)

All of Tilly’s limbs were frozen in time as she stood. Her back stood straight as an arrow, with her arms out to her sides. She tried not to whimper but she had no idea what was going on. This being was capable of things that nobody would ever believe. The gold ring unfurled into a straight line, floating about Ursilene’s palm. Lightning fast, the gold ring aimed right for Tilly’s left nipple, piercing her flesh and curled in on itself, securing the perfect circle. Tilly screamed bloody murder, and there was plenty of blood that fell.

“Bitch!!! You couldn’t count or something???? Fuck!!!!!” Blood cascaded down her belly and her mound, and Ursilene released her. Tilly curled into a ball immediately.

(The world you once knew is gone. The woman you once were is dead. You have been burdened with tremendous power. Every sense you invoke, every thought you think, every feeling you experience…..will be heightened. Your physical strength will become overwhelming. Your mental capacity will expand to new depths. Your ability to carry out unthinkable acts in the name of justice will have no limit. Your compassion and patience for women and children will grow and evolve more than you thought possible. Is it starting to make sense?)

Tilly’s whole chest throbbed from the piercing pain. But she sighed sullenly and nodded. The shift had been almost immediate. Her vision was sharper. Each breath radiated through her body differently, almost as if her lung capacity grew. The pain from the piercing began to die down and Tilly dressed herself in a robe. “I would like to be alone. If I have your permission.”

(Take a few days. Feel your way through it. The others did the same. I’m orchestrating some things in the meantime. You will receive a call in two days time that will add to the many changes in your life. The prosperity I promised will be yours. But…..when I call for you….and by now you should know when I’m near…I need all of you.)

Tilly gulped and walked to the window, gazing at the newly manicured yard, with Pepper’s old self sleeping under the Spanish moss tree. No more termite riddled porch. No more cracked windows and raggedy shutters. No more chicken shit littered everywhere. A total turn around from 12 hours ago. “Yes, Ursilene. Understood.”

She disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke leaving the room smelling of incense. Tilly stood starstruck at the idea of a clean slate. Nothing would be the same from here on out. The vanity that used to be ruined now showed a perfect reflection of Tilly’s new appearance. She shed her robe, and looked at herself. Tilly had always been plump and adorable; now she looked like a beautiful subject of a renaissance portrait. Tilly felt more feminine than ever with her long kinky hair flowing as such. The gold jewelry made her feel juicy and luscious and she became aware of the wetness between her legs. Ursilene did say that everything was heightened for her now…

Looking at herself turned her on now. That never happened before. She touched her new nipple ring and circled it, causing the ache to grow in her womb. Tilly covered the soft curl covered mound with her hand and rubbed back and forth. Her face heated up dramatically, and she put her other hand in her hair. These weren’t things that good wholesome young women in 1958 should be doing. Her mother always said her body belonged to God and that masturbation was frowned upon. Is that why it felt so good?

Tilly had never felt such overwhelming pleasure before. She stumbled onto her bed, spreading her legs. Rubbing her clit around in the perfect circle, she pinched her nipple ring, and ascended to a bliss not known to this plane. As she made her way back to Earth, her body was covered in sweat, and her hand was covered in her womanly fluids. “I could get used to this hea’..”

“Back it up, back it up. Keep going! Okay, now stop. Perfect.” Erik directed the truck driver into the loading dock behind the store. This heat reminded him of old times and he pulled a bandana from his pocket to swipe his face. Erik Stevens was a Korean War vet who had seen death up close and lived to see another day. His ambitions led him to become one of the first Black commissioned officers for the United States Navy.

Erik knew suffering and pain, and he worked exponentially hard to ensure he didn’t feel that ever again. Orphaned from an early age, he set out on his own in Oakland as a second generation child of the Great Migration.

His father wasn’t American, but his mother was and they worked tirelessly in tandem to give him love and guidance while they were still here. Life had other plans for Erik however.

Erik had always been too smart for his own good. Slick and sly. Cunning and quick. He was 19 when he graduated from MIT, and working as a graduate assistant for the engineering department. It wasn’t enough money for him. Every night after erasing chalk boards and grading exams, he would use every penny he had in the gambling dens of Cambridge.

Italians and Irish in that part of Massachusetts had an alliance to split up the racket. Erik had been making waves amongst certain tables. He loved Blackjack. His math was perfect; he could feel out anything by the odds and win all of his bets. On more than one occasion, Erik would have to fight his way out due to some hating ass white boys that couldn’t stand to be embarrassed. His knuckles were permanently hardened and scarred like his heart and he preferred it that way.

Then the war happened. He was shortly drafted after news of conscription came to Massachusetts. Seven months after basic and specialist training, he would hunt, torture and kill for his country. He started to make a name for himself. Erik rose in the ranks and became a lieutenant for courage and bravery and attained a moniker that’ll follow him to the grave. Killmonger.

The blockade of Wonsan allowed him to garner medal after medal. Due to his vigorous show of enthusiasm, he had been selected for a ghost unit to infiltrate the Korean shores against the North Korean army. For every kill, he would slash his flesh as a reminder of the life taken and maybe also for the life that seeped out of him.

After the armistice, the Americans went home. But not all of them. Erik was able to receive the Medal of Honor and an honorable discharge with excellent service after the war and stayed overseas. America could be useful in the future but Korea had sights and wonders foreign to him that magnetized him to the peninsula.

Erik had several ins with artillery specialists from his navy days that he kept in touch with. He had a pristine system in place. Decommissioned weapons that “fell” off military utility vehicles made their ways to three separate warehouses he owned in Seoul, Busan and Kwangyang. The American was making money hand over fist selling black market arms to the highest bidder. He encountered all types and drowned in Korean pussy to ease his long days.

One auspicious day, Erik got caught fuckin with the wrong pussy, slaying some South Korean big shot’s mistress in his Busan office. How could he not resist? She looked innocent and yet had an endless throat that he couldn’t resist. By the time the goons infiltrated the warehouse, his cum was in her stomach. She turned around and pushed her panties to the side to take all of what Erik had to give, until a bullet whizzed past her.

Erik was able to get some shots off before he got his pants up his legs. But there were too many of them. He had already sent his team home for the night to have some alone time and someone had the jump on him. They swarmed the office with machine guns at the ready. The Korean boss stepped into Erik’s office, stoic and calm. In a last ditch effort, Erik pointed the gun at the mistress, threatening to end it all. “Take another step and you’re gonna be dry cleaning her fucking brain matter off your suit.”

He did Erik the favor of blowing her head off himself. Another two quick shots in Erik’s shoulder made his legs fall out from underneath him. There was a trap door under his desk and he immediately began to crawl to it in agonizing pain. He didn’t make it. The boss stood over Erik, and cracked a smile. Then, from his sleeve he pulled out an impossibly sharp and slender knife, gleaming under the fluorescent lighting.

Quicker than Erik could blink, the knife pierced his stomach seven times. Blood bubbled up his esophagus and coated his teeth instantly. The boss cursed Erik as he bled out and left him to die.

Erik managed to pull himself up against the wall, wheezing a bit harder, holding his side. He started to laugh at his circumstances. He had it coming. If it wasn’t him, it was the next boss whose wife he was fucking or finessed the deal on.

It seemed that at every point of his life, he courted death. It was the only constant thing in his life. So he wasn’t scared. He actually felt a bit of relief. His resignation truly set in when he began to gasp for air, and he could hardly hold his arm up to compress his wound.

The lights began to flicker. The file cabinets in his office rattled. Erik’s ears began to ring and what appeared to be falling through the ceiling looked to be a man. Their forearms and biceps were massive and rippled with muscle. He wore a caftan draped over one of his shoulders unlike any pattern Erik had ever seen. His skin was dark grey, with three vertical slashes along his forehead and golden irises.

(Your lack of discernment has led you here. Your lack of foresight has led you here. I have never seen a man act with such willful disregard for their life. Or others for that matter. In 120 seconds, your body will shut down from the lack of blood. Do you want to live?)

His life was flashed before his eyes immediately like a picture show. Before he dedicated his life to the underworld, Erik was a stand up guy, who had brief walks on the wild side. Erik cared about people. And then his heart was ripped out and he didn’t care to regain it. He cried softly. The being waited patiently until he was done. Their presence comforted Erik. “Maybe I don’t deserve to.”

(I am called Badoru. I have roamed this plane for millennia working to cleanse this planet of all evil that inhibit it. I will save your life. If you serve me, and promise not to lay a hand on anyone who did not harm or threaten you or your charges first.)

“My charges? What do I—“ Erik coughed up more blood and slid further down the wall. Tears of exhaustion flowed from his bloodshot eyes.

(I am a god of many things. Virility, strength, war, and death. I am also the watcher of new life. Any child born on this plane is covered by my protection and any harm is dealt without mercy. Which is how I found you. Erik Stevens, you may have substantial material wealth but you revel in an impoverished mind state. Accept my will and your days shall be long with joy.)

That was five years ago when Erik submitted to the will of his new god. Badoru showed him that Charleston was where his work was needed next. Still able to charm the best of them, Erik was able to get his hands on a heap of military surplus. Badoru blessed him with a business right on the low end of King Street, where the colored folks usually shopped.

At his behest, Erik took those weapons and brought them back to the states. Jim Crow was alive and well. Violence was rampant in segregated Charleston, and he wanted to make sure his community was armed. Erik would sell military surplus by day and sell weapons in the back by night.

“Well that’s just wonderful news. Thank you, thank you!”

This was it. The call that Ursilene told Tilly would come. The grain mill where her father worked on Edisto Island for all them years called to let Tilly know that there was a sizable pension check waiting for her to claim. $50,000. She damn near fainted when they said the number. Tilly had been skeptical these two days that passed but she sure shut up quick after this.

After the check was procured, as soon as she stepped off the boat back to Johns Island, Ursilene summoned her immediately. Tilly was a bit more adept at handling the visceral symptoms now.

(Return to your home at once. I will instruct you further once you promptly arrive.)

Tilly raced home from the docks and situated herself in front of the vanity. Sea foam green smoke blew in from a cracked window and Ursilene sat right next to her on the vanity chaise.

(Did I deliver like I said I would?)

“Yes yes yes Ursilene. I thank you. I thank you so much. I can hardly believe it!” Tilly blabbered like a kid who got the last piece of candy.

(Now, your bakery is in within your grasp. You shall have the finest for your space, I will see to it. Furthermore……I hope you are prepared.)

Tilly stiffened up and shook her head positively like a puppy. She wasn’t sure what to expect. But she made a blood oath that she couldn’t take back; she had to see this through.

One wave of Ursilene’s hand, and the mirror whirled counterclockwise into a viewing bubble of some sort.

(Little Marla. 13 years old. An 8th grader whose parents died tragically and is now living among several other girls at the Jenkins Institute. She loves music and listening to the radio. Her best friend, Sheila, loves to do hair and they practice on each other. They both have taken a liking to biology. Sweet girl.)

Tilly watches the young Black girl smooth out her poodle skirt and straighten up her white socks. The orphanage had a uniform, and Marla liked to look her best. She pulled her sleeve down and hissed at the bruise. The girl only looked for a second more before her friend realized her pain and continued to get ready for class. Tilly’s blood quickened at the very sight of her pain. Who hurt this beautiful child?

Ursilene snapped and what appeared to be a church’s pulpit showed up in the mirror. The pastor—tall, lanky, salt and pepper hair, and ruddy red skin—was named Dunne. Theodore Dunne had been pastor at Second Presbyterian Church for almost seven years now. A devoted husband and father, he dedicated his life to outreach, especially to children.

(Pastor Dunne. He has a ministry at his church specifically tailored to minister for Children’s outreach. They frequent the Jenkins Institute three times a month to bring donations and food drive items raised by the congregation. However, Pastor Dunne has an affliction even his word can’t heal.)

Ursilene flashed several scenes of ghastly scenes of Pastor Dunne inappropriately groping and grasping Marla, her face full of tears. Tilly’s ire grew so. She began to grip the vanity chaise, ripping the cushion from the legs of the chair. When Marla would fight back, he would get violent with her. Her shoulder had been dislocated before.

(Theodore’s day of reckoning is overdue. Hand her justice, Chantilly. Eviscerate him. Remove him from this plane of existence. And restore balance.)

No sooner had she said that, did Tilly have a plan. It’s never too late to gain some religion, right?

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