At The End Of The Day
Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fiction,

Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1: New Beginnings - This is the follow-up to 'One of these Days', and relates Jimmy's descent into a bizarre, and dangerous, world of power and corruption.

The wide black-iron gates loomed large between a pair of venerable oaks either side of the tarmac road, a stern barrier of natural design embellished by the artifice of man, blocking all without legitimate business beyond the forbidding guardians atop the granite pillars. Jimmy glanced at the mythical creature to his left and fancied the creature's eyes flickered slightly as his father's Volvo glided up to the gateway.

"Are you ready?"

Jimmy nodded and slid his gaze from the bestial creature to see his father smiling nervously at him. Neither one had spoken much since the momentous events in the cellar and that suited them both fine. Now, however, both felt it necessary to mark this auspicious occasion with a word of encouragement, a pat on the shoulder, perhaps, or a hearty slap on the back. They stared at one another and Tom realised his son had grown up, almost overnight, so soon after the orgy (as he preferred to think of it) and whatever he could've said would be superfluous to the young man sitting patiently beside him, waiting for a future none but he could predict.

"Don't worry ... I'll be alright now." Jimmy still couldn't call him 'dad' since the revelation after his initiation in the cellar and he ventured a reassuring smile at the man who he'd accepted as his father for so long but now knew to be a surrogate, instead. "It appears," he went on with a grin, "that we're expected." He jerked a thumb at the gates, silently opening upon an unseen command, and Tom put the big car into gear without a word and drove through feeling as though uncounted eyes watched their every move along the sun-dappled boulevard. A stately procession of Oak trees stood tall as though providing an honour guard to welcome this special entity to their sacred number, thirteen, and be witness to the return of The One.

Tom parked the old Volvo between a gleaming new Jaguar and a venerable Bentley; a mute comment upon the gulf in status between them and us, reminding Jimmy of his step up the social ladder. Nobody appeared at the imposing iron-bound oak door or any one of the lead-lined windows spread evenly along the red-brick walls which held back a vigorous assault from hundreds of creeping fingers of green ivy, and Tom helped Jimmy (who he still thought of as his son) take out two large bags and a well-packed travelling-case, brass hinges glinting in the late afternoon sunshine.

"Carefull!" Jimmy warned as the heavy box slid to the ground.

"What the hell's in there, anyway?" Tom asked, ruefully sucking a skinned Thumb. "The Crown jewels?"

Jimmy grinned and said: "More precious than that."

Tom gave him a sidelong look but kept his peace, allowing the young man space to be himself now the time had come to let him go and become the man he was born to be. Scant evidence of that man burst through now and again, as though some(thing)one much larger struggled to escape, and Tom shuddered to think what might become of them if this man-child didn't receive a thorough tuition into what was expected of him soon. 'Rather him than me.' Tom thought and was startled by the way Jimmy shot a penetrating glance into his eyes.

"Let's go." Jimmy suggested curtly and began to make his way to the wide stone steps before the door, leaving Tom to grab a bag in each hand, leaving the travelling-case for one of the many servants who administered to the needs of the teachers and young men gathered here in the name of The Lord.

Jimmy was glad to have the chance to escape the mind-shouts from behind Tom's eyes, broadcasting his thoughts and fears loudly enough to penetrate the rudimentary mental shield Jimmy had cobbled together to protect his innermost sanctum from the mental 'white noise' that thronged in the aether, like the buzz of may-flies he'd spotted less than a week - and another lifetime - ago on a fishing trip with Paul. Their favourite pastime from a more innocent age.

A fallen tree provided a handy perch to allow them to dangle their lines into the slow moving flow of the river and neither youth said much, at first, simply enjoying each others company and the warmth of the sun on their backs. Grasshoppers chirped unseen in the long grass around the still pond and may-flies flitted haphazardly across its surface like demented fairies, briefly catching the eye before darting off on some new adventure, no time to lose on their day-of-days. The cool water lapped around their bare ankles, soothing the heat of the day from their lightly tanned skin, dew-dropped with fresh sweat. Jimmy wiped his brow with a clean handkerchief and shifted into a more comfortable position on the tree, unconcerned with any fish which lurked in the bottle-green depths. He cast a sidelong glance at his lifelong friend and wondered when (if) he'd see him again. The two had been inseparable since Primary school and it would feel odd not to see one another for longer than a week. Of course, there were many ways and means to keep in touch but the day-to-day presence of each other would be severely stretched as each went their separate ways.

Paul turned his head, as though sensing the feather light touch of his friends' kindly gaze, and smiled.

"Not much of a bite in the water today, eh?" He said, and re-cast his line to a more promising patch of water.

Jimmy scattered a mixture of breadcrumbs and chopped up worms across the gently rippling surface, scattering a swarm of busy insect-life in the process, and smiled back. "Do you care?" He asked, narrowing his gaze to see if Paul caught the innuendo.

Paul felt himself melt before the intensity of the bright light deep in his best friends eyes; a light which drew him like a moth to an unspoken reward for releasing his self into the swirling depths. He took a deep breath to steady himself and recovered his balance before the light could entice him further down, licked his dry lips and said in a shaky voice:

"Of course."

The truth was Paul had a fear of the thing lurking deep within his friend and wasn't entirely convinced of his safety if it ever came out to play. He could see it lurking there, like a hungry crocodile behind a rock, waiting for an opportunity to appear in a puff of smoke and cavort with demonic abandon in their mortal realm. A fanciful notion, he told himself in moments alone, but couldn't quite shake the uneasy sensation whenever he was with Jimmy nowadays. He was genuinely sad they would be apart in the coming months but another part of him felt a profound relief to be out of range of that unsettling gaze; so piercing it felt as though his very soul was laid bare on a butcher's slab: dissected into bits, tagged and labelled.

"I do love you, Paul," Jimmy said into the sudden silence, surprising both of them.

"I'll miss you very much," Paul replied, feeling he ought to return a similar sentiment and finding he meant it more than he originally intended. The fear of whatever lurked in his friends psyche remained but the affection he felt for Jimmy outweighed the fear, pushed it aside to nurture the love that would always be with them, no matter what happened. Paul smiled and felt as though a weight had been lifted off his mind, a weight he hadn't really been fully aware of until Jimmy had opened his heart.

They had pondered how to broach the subject of their parting for several days and now the moment was upon them they discarded all the prepared sentiments and declarations of intent and simply allowed their hearts to speak freely, unfettered by convention or dictated by an ulterior agenda. Their eyes met, lips parted, and they leant towards each other, instinctively opening their minds to one another in a moment of utter trust. The kiss ignited a deep lying vein of desire and Paul moaned at the thought of his best friend leaving for such a long time - three months didn't sound long when he said it fast but he knew in his heart that each day would drag with the weight of anticipation of meeting once again.

An expectant hush settled round the watery glade as though nature itself felt their youthful love bloom in its midst. Neither a gentle breeze nor the sound of birds disturbed their silent communion and, but for the soft sound of their lips coming together, all remained silent as Paul felt Jimmy's hand slide slowly along his thigh and make a darting grab at his crotch. He jumped instinctively and felt the log bounce under his weight, adding to his backward impetus towards the waiting water. A despairing hand reached for Jimmy's help but was too late, and his friend could only look on in surprise as he fell head-over-heels and -- hung suspended over the pond, caught like a salmon in mid-leap.

"Are you okay?" Jimmy asked in an amused tone.

Paul looked cautiously over his shoulder and grimaced. "I'll live," he said dryly, "how the hell did you do that?"

It was hard to explain, Jimmy thought, he simply willed his friend not to fall and ... he didn't; simple as that, really. Jimmy shrugged, an eloquent gesture that said it all as much as the complex mental image he tried to show Paul. His friend looked toward the safety of the bank.

"Can you put me down, please?" He said, a hint of pleading in his shaky voice.

"Easy-peasy," said Jimmy, and with a mental flick, safely deposited his friend on dry land.

They looked at each other across the pond, a widening gulf separating them as each moment passed until Paul broke the silence with a nervous cough.

"It's okay," Jimmy assured him, smiling broadly, as he held out a hand.

Paul shook his head slowly. "No," he said, "no, it's not alright."

"But it's still me," Jimmy protested, his smile becoming brittle with tension.

"Not really," Paul said. "There's something inside you that scares the crap outta me, and I don't want to be around when it comes out. Jimmy MacLean was my friend (whom I love dearly) -- I don't know who you are."

"Paul!" Jimmy cried, standing up on the log but his friend shook his head sadly and turned to walk away. "Paul, come back!"

He'd thought about running to catch him up and reassure him but something deep inside told him to let the youth go. They would meet again - someday - he felt sure of it.

His mother expressed surprise that his best friend wasn't there to see him off but she kept her natural curiosity under wraps, kissed him fondly upon his downy cheek where he was attempting to grow a virgin beard, and smiled.

"All grown-up, at last," she said and stroked his chin where a wispy strand curled fetchingly up towards his lipstick stained lips, "and becoming a man, I see. Aren't you going to shave before meeting the Reverend?"

He grinned at the memory and ran a hand over his freshly shaven chin, cropped smooth after hearing that it would grow back stronger, and took the stone steps two-at-a-time before turning to watch Tom follow-on slowly, lugging a heavy bag in each hand.

"Come on -" He shouted, unwilling to call the man his dad anymore and unable to think of another suitable title. Step-dad? Too cumbersome. Mate? Too unreal - and untrue - they'd never been that close, really, he thought and now the moment was at hand Jimmy could only extend a hand of friendship to a man who'd been a -

- Guardian.

The voice insistently wormed its way into his conscious mind.

Who's that? He asked, and felt, rather than heard, a dry chuckle mock his lack of perception.

Call me ... Father, it suggested, and left Jimmy to wonder what else he would find behind the weather-beaten oak doors, iron-bound and studded with large nails forged in a far-off time when security was more than just a decorative feature but an essential means of survival. He plucked the heavy iron ring up and let it fall back with a resounding clang!

The sound rang in his ears as the door swung open, held by a well groomed, elderly gentleman, who bowed perfunctorily and swung his right arm wide to invite his young charge inside.

Follow him - the cultured voice suggested in his mind - we are waiting, young man. Jimmy demurred without prevarication, walking slowly beside the old man to keep in step but could just as easily follow the mental connection back to the source without too much effort, preferring to maintain a low profile until he could better understand what awaited him here.

A brisk walk took them along a dimly lit corridor, inexpensive prints lined the plain white-washed walls, plain wooden doors adorned with curious sigils lined the route and the old man turned a corner and stopped outside one which was devoid of any markings, fumbled briefly with an overloaded key ring, selected one and used it to unlock the door. It swung open silently — mildly surprising Jimmy who had half-expected it to groan on the ornate hinges, such was the curious atmosphere about the place — a sense of waiting, watching, hung in the air, becoming palpable as Jimmy put his bags upon the clean, tiled floor. A quick glance around told him the room was unoccupied and he thanked his good fortune that he wouldn't have to share with someone he didn't know.

It was a small, functional space and led him to imagine the only time he'd spend in here would be to sleep - and sleep alone. The single wooden bed, covered with one blanket, was plainly considered sufficient for his needs, and told Jimmy all he needed to know about the Spartan regime with which he was expected to conform.

He looked without surprise at the inverted crucifix above the bed and stepped towards a towering wardrobe, as good a place as any to begin unpacking his things, he thought.

"There's no need, young master, I shall take good care of everything," the old man said in a soft voice accustomed to speaking respectfully to his young charges.

"All the comforts of home, I see." Tom said from where he stood in the doorway, surveying Jimmy's quarters with a sardonic eye.

Jimmy spoke without turning. "Do not," he said with a note of command that Tom had never heard before in the young man's voice, "come in this room — ever — is that clear?"

Tom blinked and actually took a step back; such was the force of the will behind the word. The old man smiled without an ounce of humour in his rheumy eyes and gave Jimmy a respectful bow.

"Follow me, young sir," he suggested, "I'm told to bring you now." He turned to look directly, almost challengingly, at Tom who stood stock-still, white-faced in shock. "You may leave us," he said, not unkindly, "you shall be contacted in due course, when Father Runciman may wish to personally convey his gratitude for your loyal service in the name of The Lord."

The old man stopped outside an oak-panelled door and slowly turned the brass knob, opening the door onto a room full of gilded clutter: Jimmy's eyes swept the room - certainly the only housework seen between the four walls for some time - and took in the faded, gold striped wallpaper peeping in-between a plethora of heavy-framed portraits of previous incumbents of the office. A huge bookcase dominated one wall, looming over an old but serviceable computer console, a surprisingly modern fixture amidst the reams of paper and parchment on the enormous desk. A large man, beaming through a thick beard, stood behind it, arms spread wide:

"Welcome!" He grandly proclaimed; (we have waited a long time for you, young man, his mind added). "I am Father Runciman," he went on and glanced to his left where a severe man in deep red robes stood, "and this is Bishop Horne."

"Hello, Jimmy." He said and ventured a smile which looked practised - and nowhere near perfect - as though the whole idea of humour was a concept yet to be explored in any detail. "I believe you've met Sister Faith."

Indeed, he had, and returned the friendly smile from the short, plump woman who sat demurely on a low chair nearby with fond memory. The last time they'd met had been in the cellar where everyone, and everything, had come together so satisfactorily for all concerned. Jimmy felt his penis stir at the thought of her voluptuous charms and her smiled widened, fully aware of his ardour.

But why were they there?

Why, to make you feel at ease - Runciman's mind smiled - to make you feel at home! This will be your home-from-home for the next five years, after all. Don't worry, he added, your guardian has been shown into an ante-room for refreshments while we - the smile shone through his eyes, piercing Jimmy's heart with sincerity - greet you personally in more intimate circumstances before the rest of our collegiate discover your, er ... unique talents.

The Bishop sat alongside Sister Faith who blushed prettily as she caught Jimmy's ardent thoughts, and glanced over towards Father Runciman, becoming an interested observer; a biased arbiter and judge of the young apprentices' suitability. A substantial bulge below the man's waist suggested more than a passing interest in such thoughts And Jimmy couldn't help ponder the levels of meaning entwined within this initial interview.

Father Runciman's smile spread to his lips.

"You seem a little ... tense," he said, his eyes dropping suggestively below Jimmy's belt. "Come, sit, and be at ease among friends."

Jimmy sat tentatively upon the edge of an ornate, overstuffed leather chair and looked up, his mind a whirl of questions.

The Bishop attracted Jimmy's attention through force of will and spoke slowly, demanding obedience on every word. "You have much potential, young man," he said and leant forward, steepling his hands under his chin, "but raw talent will not suffice to save your soul without due care and a strict regimen of training and meditation, do I make myself clear?"


The answer sprang readily from Jimmy's lips before he had time to form the thought.

"You may address me," he said with a slight smile tugging the corners of his thin lips up towards his razor-edge cheeks, "as Your Grace, understand?"

Jimmy nodded and turned back to face Father Runciman as the amiable old gentleman spoke once more in a friendlier tone, offsetting the Bishop's stern demeanor with a relaxed posture which suggested he sat on the edge of his desk more often than sat behind its chaotic surface.

"If there's anything, anything at all, you need - his glance flicked towards the diminutive nun - don't hesitate to take it: All is permissible within the rule of our law. There is just one rule," he quickly added, seeing the question in Jimmy's eyes, "above all others, and that is; 'don't get caught!'"

The prelate's laughter bubbled from his lips like a mountain stream, clear and fresh with a hint of the Highlands in the lilting manner of their speech. Bishop Horne allowed the merest whisper of good humour to spread across his pinched face and the nun suppressed a titter of amusement, placing a work-worn hand across her full lips.

Jimmy blinked in surprise at the mental image Father Runciman had in mind to illustrate what he meant but said nothing, and grinned broadly, holding his emotions in reserve - for now.

Bishop Horne's smile vanished faster than snow in July and he leant back in his chair, crossed his legs and dryly pointed out that discretion was paramount; "and, of course," he added, "we have good reason to believe that will not be too difficult for you."

An image coalesced in the space between the Bishop, the Priest and Jimmy, gradually forming a scene from the cellar where Jimmy's initiation into their dark world had begun. He plainly discerned himself, head thrown back in ecstacy, emptying his essence deep inside his mother's womb, and blushed at the memory.

"She will spawn at the turning of the Silver Wheel?" Bishop Horne inquired of his prelate.

Father Runciman pursed his lips as though sucking the last drop of liquid from a tall, thin glass. "Yes," he said hesitantly, "yes, she should be ready by then."

The Bishop frowned. "She must," he insisted, smacking a fist into the palm of his hand. He turned a feral eye upon Jimmy, pinning the youth more surely than a butterfly under a lepidopterists microscope. "The physicians are certain your mother will be due in December?"

"Yessir." Jimmy replied. "In the third week, according to Doctor Lammas."

Bishop Horne nodded and appeared satisfied with the answer but his furrowed brow hinted at a deeper uncertainty.

"It must be," he muttered, "failure will -" His voice stopped abruptly and his eyes shifted from Jimmy to the nun and back again, abruptly aware of saying too much in mixed company.

"I'm sure everything will turn out as the Lord wills." Father Runciman said, more to fill the uncomfortable silence than anything. It seemed to shroud the group in uncertainty, and gave Jimmy an inkling of the fear lurking in the dark, unexplored corners of the seminary.

"The chalice is always half full - never half empty, eh?" Bishop Horne said, and raised an eyebrow in ironic recognition of the priest's staunch loyalty to him and the Order. "Very well," he went on, fixing Jimmy with a gimlet gaze once more, "let's see how far your protégé has come in the service of the Lord."

Jimmy stared into the growing abyss within Bishop Horne's eyes and, try as he might, found he couldn't avoid being drawn deeper into the spiralling starlight within each orb, a multifaceted whirlpool of varying colour and tempo. An image faded into view and he wasn't surprised to see himself looking back from the sparkling iris, a sardonic smile upon his face. He appeared older than he was now, more aware, wise in the ways of this world - and the next - beyond the limited scope of human imagination but within range of Jimmy's enhanced perception.

He began to perceive irregular shapes, shifting within the formless black shadows, deep in the darkest recesses of the Bishop's mind. Heinous things drifted along the twisted network of memories, insinuating hideous desires into a future devoid of everything but hope: a hope so dark that it merely whispered its nefarious existence to a chosen few.

"Brother," it called to him in an ancient monotone, dry and redolent with attar.

As Jimmy gazed deeper, drawn into the swirling chaos, he began to realise that the Bishop was a brother in the sense that they shared a common ancestry, although the Bishop was a failed prototype in the order's breeding programme - and Jimmy was the eagerly anticipated result of years of striving for ... something. Jimmy couldn't penetrate the dark barrier to discover exactly what that 'something' was, unable to find the psychic strength to go deeper, he had to content himself with a rudimentary outline of what the Bishop expected of him. One more he tried to go beyond the limits set by ... something, and was firmly evicted with a strength that Jimmy sensed came from beyond the Bishop's mortal abilities.

The Bishop gave the young man seated before him a look of respect, tinged with awe, and spoke quietly, as though taking care to not disturb that which stirred uneasily from slumberous dream: "You have much potential," he said and smiled, "and also much to learn, young man." He turned to address Sister Faith. "Leave us," he said, not unkindly, "and see if our guest needs for anything."

The nun's lips flickered in acknowledgement and she left the room without a word or glance to the priest or Jimmy, who watched her plump buttocks bounce alluringly through the door before facing one another across the faded carpet.

"Now then." Father Runciman intoned sanctimoniously. "Let us play."

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