Name: Saint, Age: 36, Minors: LEAVE.

Oh, for God's sake, you sneer silently. It's a fucking fraternity?

You pause in your judgmental glaring, stung by a peculiar sense of recognition.

This woman ... her face. It's so familiar, somehow. 

So familiar it makes you forget your anger at the noise for a moment. Familiar in a way that begs you to put your finger on it, even as it eludes your grasp. You know you’ve met this person before somewhere, but …

You force yourself back to the task at hand. 

"Do you people," you snarl, endowing the word with all the contempt you can muster like you're dredging up saliva to spit, "have any idea what time it is? What is all that goddamn noise?"

The woman stares at you blankly for a moment, her eyes strangely hollow. The silence drags on long enough for you to wonder what the hell kind of drugs she could be on right now. Her pupils are almost cartoonishly blown out. You don't smell anything coming off of her or wafting through the open doorway, and her exposed arms don't bear any signs of needles.

The woman's face splits into a vacant, blissed-out smile.

"You're the neighbor," she says, softly swaying a bit on her feet as her eyes begin to look you up and down in a way that makes you feel naked despite the heavy terrycloth robe covering you like a suit of armor.

The neighbor. It sounds so ... formal, when she says it. The neighbor. Like they’ve had some awareness of you.  

You square your shoulders, gearing up for a confrontation. "Yes, I am. And I've had it with all the n - !"

The woman stands aside immediately. “Of course. Yes. Please, come in. You must join us.”

Join us?

Now you’re confused. You’re being invited in? And not just invited, but ... asked to join in on ... whatever is happening in there? Why on earth would they think you'd be - ? 

Out of absolutely nowhere, the woman's identity dawns on you: the librarian. This woman is the librarian at the branch you usually frequent. She hasn't been around for a while now. 

Is this where she's been the whole time?

Just as the shock from this revelation and all sorts of unnerving implications begins to settle in, you hear noises again. This time they're coming from behind you.

It sounds like people.

A lot of people.

And you realize far, far too late that you're surrounded on all sides.

Several sets of hands clasp your arms at the same time that your legs are swept out from under you. You're being lifted up and carried, held fully horizontal like you're crowd-surfing at a concert. You’re being carried into the house.

The people below you begin to chat with you in earnest as they hoist you over the threshold:

“Well, look who’s here!”

"Took you long enough! Were you waiting for an invitation?"

"We've waited so long for you to join us!" 

You’re not at all used to being manhandled like this. They set you back on your feet, but are still crowded so close and continuing to tug and guide you further into the dimly lit den, each of them continuing to talk your ear off, their words overlapping and clashing until you want to claw your ears clean off your head to get away from all these sounds.

"Let me go!” you yell. “Shut up! Get off me - !"

Laughs and jeers begin to fill the room. You're disoriented. Beyond disoriented. This house .... Why does it seem so much bigger on the inside? It looked like a modest two-story when you were standing on the front porch. Now you see impossibly high ceilings and marble columns and ... is that a fucking fountain? And how the fuck did they light so many candles ... ? Why is everyone in robes?

Well ... not everyone, it seems.

You feel a deep flush creeping up your neck as you take note of the fact that several sex acts appear to be happening around you. Outside of the small cluster of people circling you - all curiously robed in white like the hollow-eyed librarian who greeted you at the door - there are many others writhing nude in the shadows - mid-coitus, mid-fellatio, mid ...

Oh, my. 

"Are you shy, perhaps?" one of the white robes trills in your ear, making you jump back. 

There's more laughter, more taunts as this inner circle robed in white begins to push you around, making you stumble and trip against each of them. You're like a ball they're passing back and forth. At some point the belt of your robe is tugged loose. The bass-heavy music pumps through you. This was a mistake. You seem to have slipped right past the point of overstimulation, into a kind of terrified overdrive. You begin to swing and claw at whatever you can reach. It just seems to amuse them more as they shrug off your desperate blows. 

Why are they corralling you like this? Why don't they seem to feel pain? Are they all on the same drugs? Is that why all their eyes look like that?

You turn your head from side to side, taking a good, long look at the people surrounding you, these revelers who've been plaguing you for months now. More and more of their faces jump out at you as uncannily familiar, like the librarian at the door. 

It sinks in with slow, heavy horror: these are residents of the neighborhood. These people have been declared missing in the town. You've driven and walked by their posters around the neighborhood, their faces staring out at you from their paper prisons.

You're no longer up to the task that initially brought you here.

You want to leave. You want to go home. You want to go back to the moment you heard all that noise coming from over here and make a different choice, the choice to mind your own business.

A new voice cuts through the cacophony of laughter and music and flesh colliding with flesh, addressing you directly and seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once:

"Did we disturb your reading, pet?"

You freeze.

That voice. The sound of it.

It's heavenly. It's nightmarish. It's everything, and the end of all things simultaneously.

"Yes ... We've been quite the thorn in your side, haven't we?"

It has a nigh-unbearable weight to it, yet it ghosts over your skin like a silky veil. It pulses through you like the bass in those enormous speakers. You stare straight at the ground, and you keep your gaze fixed there like your life depends on it. You find yourself in the grip of some primeval instinct, something carved into your genetic code that distinctly urges you: Don't look. Don't look at it. Don't look it in the eye.

That otherworldly voice begins to chuckle. An enormous shadow falls over you.

You lower your head even further, resisting this thing's gaze even as you seem to show it deference.

"You won't go down easily, will you? ... I like that."

The shimmering coils of what can only be a snake come into view - a snake that's impossibly large, easily your own size, if not bigger.

You lower your head, glancing everywhere for a possible exit - everywhere but up.

"Don't be afraid. Would my other form please you more?"

The iridescent black-green scales shift, becoming human flesh before your eyes. A woman's bare, pampered feet are inches from your bowed head, the ankles dainty in comparison to the heavy gold serpents adorning them. A sheer, silken garment trails her legs; one of the worshippers clad in white comes into view from the corner of your eye and begins to kiss the veil.

The librarian who answered the door takes you by one arm; one of the lost member of the HOA seizes you by the other.

Someone you can't see grabs you by the hair and forces you to lift your head.

You hiss in shock, forgetting to keep your eyes shut as you're forced to meet the demi-god's gaze.

You meet its eyes, and you feel the unmistakable sensation of Circe's aura beginning to overwrite your entire existence.

You blink.

... Circe. 

The name comes to you from out of nowhere. It echoes in your mind, beamed there directly by the entity itself - the knowledge of this being you had only read about once or twice before, a mythical sorceress meant to be confined to an island many centuries and several continents away.

No one's holding you still now. They know they don't have to now. They know you're not going anywhere. Besides, their hands will be on you again soon, though you don't quite know that yet.

"Well?" Circe drawls. "The floor is yours, darling."

You open your mouth, unprepared for what comes out.  

"... U-Uuuh ... Uhuuuh," you moan, shocked at the sensation of drool beginning to drip down your chin.

Laughter begins to fill the room, as though you’ve just told a grand joke. 

You feel yourself getting on your hands and knees. 

The idea of not getting on your hands and knees does cross your mind - but only for a second or two, then it vanishes so completely it's like it was never there. 

Your tongue exits your mouth as you begin to pant and drool. You feel your hips moving from side to side as if you're wagging an invisible tail.

"Aren’t they a good little puppy? Everyone wants to pet the puppy, yes?"

The effect of that voice on the other partygoers is palpable and immediate.

You look up, drooling and mindless as many - too many - visibly aroused people in various states of undress begin to crowd in close to you again, eager to pet the puppy.

To pet you.

No. No, stop. I'm here. I'm still in here! you beg, a sliver of your remaining human awareness recoiling in horror as fingers begin to pat, palm and penetrate you from all directions.

Listen to me! Stop touching me! Stop! you wail wordlessly before the bare, tattooed thighs of the librarian straddle your face.

That core of humanity grows more quiet with each passing second, the druglike rush of mindless, wordless, shameless pleasure pulsing through your veins. You've missed this. You've never felt it before, yet you've missed it. This pagan, pre-civilized depravity. It's like it was waiting for you.

Delicate claws grasp you gently by the head. Circe peers into your eyes once more, sealing your fate.

"Shhh. No need for that," she says gently, speaking directly to that terrified husk of human awareness still rattling your insides like the bars of a cage. "You're with us now."

------------------------------------------------------------

You're not sure how much time has passed.

Time is no longer a concept to you. Not really. Some small part of you - a tiny pocket of awareness shoved down deep, but kept horrifyingly intact - continues to shriek for help, for release, for you to get off your hands and knees and stop barking and panting like a bitch in heat.

You feel something being pulled out of your ass. You almost forgot it was there to begin with, but its abrupt absence makes you so painfully needy. 

You shake your hips, whining and whimpering into your folded arms until you feel another hot erection jamming itself between your cheeks. You lift your head with a sharp gasp at the tight sensation of being filled again so abruptly; barely a second later your mouth is being filled as well.

"Whiny little cunt, aren’t they?" a low voice growls behind you between thrusts, the steady smack-smack-smack of their hips against your ass almost drowning their words out completely.

"Aww, I think he’s sweet," pants the one desperately fucking your throat. "Aren't you? Aren't you sweet?"

Your only answer is several pained gulps as another load begins to fill your mouth faster than you can swallow. 

Time passes again. You rest, feeling hands and tongues and various genitalia on, in and around you at various points in the endless night enfolding you.

You feel your head being raised. Someone is lifting your head up, fingers cleaving to your scalp. You’re grateful for the support, too weary and fucked-out at this point to stiffen your neck.

Your eyes meet those of the sorceress yet again, occupying her serpentine form now that you no longer have enough brains to fear it.

“There now,” Circe coos, wrapping your limp, semen-covered body in her coils. “Isn’t this better?”

You don’t answer. The part of you still capable of speech and reasoning is quietly snuffed out of existence. You open your mouth, not to speak, but to accept the venomous kiss of your mistress, your god, your beginning and your end.