Shepherds & Lambs

Prologue

When the shepherd is stricken down, his progeny will tend to the flock.

—Collin Shepherd, The Glen.

The Lamb walked into the chamber, resplendent in a thin, white woolen robe tied with a red sash. With every step she took toward the Shepherd, chocolate-colored tendrils swayed like twigs in an evening breeze, caressing her lamb's wool-clad breasts. Candlelight illuminated the room. Flickering lights glowed around her, shrouding her like an angel. She was the vision Collin Shepherd had imagined when he'd picked her from the flock.

The perfect Lamb: curvaceous, unblemished, shorn, pert, and eager. Eager to please her Shepherd, to submit to his will as taught during the lambing phase of her training.

When she arrived a few feet away from where he stood, she untied the sash of her robe. The fabric cascaded down her body until it fell to the dark wood floor, puddling at her pale, bare feet. A sliver of pink nail polish peeked from under the material. It was the only color he allowed. The pale hue soothed him. She stood still and kept her eyes cast down. Collin gazed at his Lamb as her breath hitched under his touch.

After years of shearing ceremonies, he knew what she was thinking and feeling. Despite the months of training to serve him, and eventually the other Shepherds, the first offering was often met with trepidation and desire. An imperceptible lick at her dry lips made him thirsty for her.

Collin inspected her nude body. Slowly, he walked around her several times. Her chest heaved whenever he stood close. He smiled and bit his lip, imagining all the things he'd do to his Lamb during their joining.

A quick head motion alerted her that it was time. She walked to the altar. Upon inspecting the pitcher of red wine, she poured a dram in the chalice. She picked up the chalice with one hand and a small plate in the other, then walked to him and presented him with the offering.

The white wafer gleamed in the low light. He took the thin disk in between his two fingers and presented the offering to the Lamb. A slip of her tongue peeked out to receive the sacrament, and he placed it on the pink flesh. She closed her mouth. The wafer dissolved quickly. He offered her the chalice and she took a sip. They stared into each other's eyes while he consumed the second wafer. After he topped off his wine from the decanter, she placed her chalice on the altar, completing the communion that bound them together.

No longer able to pick up his Lamb and carry her to bed, he held out his hand. Dwarfed in his meaty palm, the Lamb's small hand was like that of a child. Almost forty years his junior, her sexual experiences were limited to kisses and fondling boys she'd met in high school and during her first two years of college. She'd rightfully preserved herself for something special, a meaningful sexual experience with a mature man, such as Collin Shepherd. Her Shepherd.

And he'd found her just in time.

Keeping her eyes cast down, she climbed onto the center of the expansive bed. The antique frame barely creaked under her light weight. She remained on hands and knees, sinking into the white linens.

Collin groaned at the sight of her submission. He turned toward the altar. After he poured himself a more generous amount of red wine, he downed it all. The sweet, fermented drink dribbled from the corners of his mouth, absorbed by his brown, linen robe. He placed the cup on the table beside a bouquet of wild flowers. A few petals and pollen lay on top of the dark wood.

As he eyed the Lamb on all fours, he willed himself to harden for her. The medicine he'd taken still required arousing images and the touch of an attractive woman. "Lamb, frolic!" he ordered as he undid the sash of his robe.

The Lamb turned onto her back, bringing her hair over her shoulders. Dark tendrils lay like a napping fox in its den. She bit her lower lip as her small hands caressed her pale chest. They lowered to her beaded nipples, gliding over the rosy buds. The curves and ridges of her abdomen quivered under her own touch. When her fingers reached her mound, Collin gripped his shaft. In tune with one another, they caressed themselves until Collin was ready.

Once he released his hold, he pulled off his robe, tossing it on the chair. For a fifty-eight-year-old man, Collin's body remained chiseled like that of a young ram. However, he wasn't as strong as his muscles portrayed him to be. He could no longer pick up a Lamb and throw her over his shoulder. The act of sex while standing was a long-ago reality and now remained only a fantasy. Joining ceremonies were made possible by modern medicine, which helped him sustain an erection longer than his mind and body allowed. To appear youthful, he kept himself well groomed: clean-shaven, hair trimmed, and staying out of the sun's harsh rays. His graying body hair was waxed free from his crepe-like skin. His salt-and-pepper hair was maintained by frequent dye treatments given by Glenda, his faithful assistant.

Collin wanted for nothing. He was primped and pampered and satisfied by his Lambs. Even the Lamb who lay pleasuring herself had bathed him a couple of nights ago as part of her training. Thinking of how she'd held his rod kept him aroused as he sauntered over to the edge of the bed. He climbed onto the mattress, taking her leg in his hand. Startled by his quick, strong movements, she opened her eyes to look at him.

The innocent-looking Lamb remained still while Collin entered her. Moans of his ecstasy echoed in the large room. Groans from the ancient coiled springs of the metal bed reverberated. Per her studies, the Lamb remained quiet. Stiff inside her, Collin's body went rigid. He turned his upper body away from her. He retched over the edge of the bed, slumping over her and pinning her down.

* * *

She patted his back, feeling his clammy skin. His accelerated heart rate competed with her own. Her jagged breaths turned to gasps for air. He didn't move, and there was no respiration rocking their bodies. When he no longer drew air but laid heavier on her, the Lamb cried out, "Shepherd?"

A series of cries—Shepherd—resounded. Bucking from underneath him until she managed to free most of her body, she finally pushed him away. Her lower leg remained underneath him. There was no movement. With his face down on the soft mattress, he didn't inhale. She pressed her ear to his back. Listened for the crackle in his lungs to signify life.

After one last call of "Shepherd," she screamed. Her piercing shrieks resounded until the door was unlocked from the outside, and she was no longer alone with the body of Collin Shepherd.