Isabel lay unconscious on the church floor. The mighty slut, so sure of herself, so imposing to the men she enoyed, her inflated ego at times maniacal, now lay in a naked heap, one soiled, sticky thigh pressed into a footleg of the altar.
The men she had turned into whore-mongers were long-gone. She was crumpled flesh, a slab of exhausted fuck meat. Her cunt, asshole and lips seeping the fluids of human and inhuman spirits.
Her mind - once keen and intelligent, albeit diabolical - was now on a parallel to that of a drug-fried, crack-burned street whore. Her body twitched and her vocal chords moaned as her mind went spinning up the funnel of a psychotic tornado, inward to the source of what had brought her over the edge of Hell.
She found herself dressed in filthy rags, some kind of tattered, stained, greasy black babydoll, and reeking of sex and sweat, as if she had just been fucked by 40 men who had not taken a bath in a month.
Lying on her side, she forced weary strained muscles to lift her upright. She found herself sitting in fetid mud, in a place of darkness, some kind of jungle. There appeared near her and all around her piles of wilting, sickly plants, wooden limbs that were rotted and swarming with beetles and worms.
In the pit of her stomach she felt a terrible anxiety and it quickly spread up through her chest and spine and she trembled with fear. She heard then steps as if something tromping through mud, large boots slopping through muck and she jerked to look and flinched as He approached, first as a shadow form and then clear, in all his eternal disgrace.
A scarred man form, about seven feet in height, light skinned and hairy, wearing purple pants with pinstripe yellow lines, the ankle cuffs draped over muddy boots that were studded with red gems on the instep. A large sex organ bulged and throbbed from his crotch to his left knee. He wore a black leather vest and no shirt. His chest was hairy and covered with scars. She glanced into his face, whinced at the sight and looked away.
His face was beguiling and craggy, handsome yet hideous. Unbridled lust, a beguiling, murderous look projected unto her, the eyes were like shiny black glass. He had long and thick, wavy black hair down to his shoulders. She knew this must be an incarnation of Satan.
Isabel sobbed and said, "You attacked me! Why? I have done everything you asked."
His answer was a high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek coupled to a low growl. No human words and yet a message was received. "I am done with you. I have no need for your cooperation. Your form belongs to me. It can carry out my wishes without your spirit."
Isabel cried, "Noooooo!" He was taking from her any hope of repenting, any hope of having any control over her will, any hope of avoiding damnation. She had always toyed with the idea of somehow, at the last minute, she might escape judgment. Her time was ending before she had expected, without warning.
He stepped swiftly forward and pushed at her chest, flinging her into the mud and the mud gave away and clawed hands came up from under her, many clawed hands scratching, sliding around her spine and rib cage, the form of arms wrapping around her torso terrified her. Her head was pulled under the mud and one last full-throated scream escaped: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
She awoke! She jerked up in a jump, still screaming to find herself back in the church and on her feet, screaming: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
The first sight of reality was an angel in the stained glass window that for a moment was a devil laughing at her, but as she focused she saw it for what it was, a blue-robed angel with long white wings, frozen in glass and useless to her. It would not come to her rescue.
Shivering with terror, she said, "It was a dream, just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream dammit!"
She saw she was alone and that disturbed her deeply. She remembered the attack and cried into her hands. A demon had raped her and the men (her men!) praised the attack and then raped her themselves. They made no effort to save her. None! They showed no respect for her authority!
Unnerved to her core, unsure of herself for the first time in years, Isabel felt in danger. There was the immediate danger of not knowing the time.
How long had she been out? Her husband and children must be waiting for her. What if someone were about to come in the church, someone she couldn't trust?
"Oh God! I'm filthy. I need to clean up. Yes, I'll, I'll clean up and go home," she said to herself.
She hurried first to gather her clothes, then to the restroom. She washed and dried and dressed and hurried to her car. She found her purse on the floorboard and pulled out her cell phone. Oh no! She was two hours past her expected arrival time. Her husband had left three messages. She couldn't think of an excuse, so she just started the car and drove home.
She hurriedly pulled into the driveway and double-time marched across the lawn and up the steps.
"Where were you?!" yelled her husband Zach.
"Oh, honey! I'm sorry. I took ill at the church all of sudden. I just, my stomach, it was terrible. I started throwing up! And one of the ladies insisted on taking me to her place to rest. I went in her car. She lives just a few blocks from the church and I didn't think I'd be gone long.
"I left my cell phone with my purse in the car. She gave me something to drink and it calmed my stomach but it made me sleepy and the next thing I know ... "
"It's late! And you could have called from her house. Shit! You knew I had to get to work. I'm fucking going to be late. I'm already late!" Zach yelled.
"I know, I know, I know, oh honey, really, I'm so very sorry. I just wasn't thinking straight. I've had a very disorienting afternoon."
Isabel tried to hug her husband but he would have none of it.
"Get dinner started for the kids, they're bitching about they stomachs. We'll talk later!"
And out the door he went. Isabel hurried behind him and followed him to the porch and said, "I'll make it up to you tonight!"
He turned and frowned. She smiled a lewd smile. He smiled back reluctantly, and said, "Yeah, you sure the fuck will."
She watched him pull away, waving all the time, throwing a kiss to seal her apology. But as his truck disappeared, her dread came back full force.
She had toyed with terrible forces for her own wicked games. She had gone too far and she knew it. She felt a need to pull away from this. And it occurred to her that she had been so wicked, so nasty for so long that the men in church would never let her out now. She was no longer in control.
What they had done to her! How would she reassert control?
She could, she told herself. She still had skills, she could still manipulate, keep one step ahead of them. This was a setback, but it wasn't that bad.
"It's not that bad," she told herself. "It's not that bad."
And she went inside to whining children and cooked dinner. She went inside to the fruits of a respectable life, a life she didn't deserve, the kind of life that she had denied Naomi.
* <> *
Naomi sat on her back porch. Dressed in bluejean cutoff shorts and a black Ozzy t-shirt, she rubbed her extended belly and wondered if it was really okay not to know who the father was, as she had no clue. She was seven months pregnant. She stared across the unkempt yard. She lived alone.
Her husband, like her marriage, was a farce. He didn't support her. Her brought her men to fuck for money.
She had a 2-year-old son playing in the backyard. Little Gustavo chased after his puppy.
Church was the farthest thing from her mind. That life was over. Although she had only stopped going just over three years earlier, she couldn't
imagine fitting into that scene today. She was a whore. "I'm a whore," she'd tell herself morning, noon and night. It was her way of reminding herself of the options not open to her, like visiting her parents or going back to school.
She didn't like it. She wasn't proud of it. But the lifestyle infected her mind, body and soul. She looked at it like a drug. It was bad for her, so bad. But it felt so good in some sick sweet way, like too much sugar. Bad for you. Like too much wine. Bad for you.
"Too much cock. Bad for you," she said and let out a melancholy, bitter smile. She was expecting a customer, Jose, (Martha's father) had called.
She hadn't seen him in months and wondered why he'd come by now. He knew she was pregnant and he was one of Isabel's favorites.
Isabel, that bitch! Isabel never came around. Naomi had come to the conclusion some time ago that Isabel never cared about her. She was a false friend, a false "big sister." She was false in every way. And yet Isabel was still respectable.
"Respectable!" she said out loud with contempt.
She watched her son, the innocent! A sweet boy. The one thing that helped restore to Naomi some of her humanity, not that she was entirely at odds with her lifestyle. Some of the men were actually nice. And Naomi held fast to the idea that she was still basically a good person. A person who had a promiscuous, slutty streak, but still a good person. Not like Isabel.
She was lost in thought when she wasn't distracted by the fullfilling sight of her son bumbling around the yard on new legs, so she didn't hear the knock knock on her front door frame.
"Naomi!" came the call. It was Jose. Naomi stood with some difficulty, didn't bother to answer. She walked into the den from the back door and through the hall to her front door. She opened it to find Jose standing with his daughter Martha. What's this, Naomi wondered?
She unlatched the door without a word and let them in. Martha looked at the floor the whole time, there was shame in her shrouded face and the young lady's humble posture gave Martha a sickening feeling.
"What's she doing here? Why did you bring her here?" Naomi said to Jose in an interrogative tone.
"Suck my dick!" Jose barked.
"Fuck you, Jose. What's she doing here. I'm not doing nuthin with her," Naomi said with absolute resolve.
