The Light Of Lusstghaa Ch 02

"If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be."

-Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade

"You follow the Scream from beyond, leaving traces of sin behind.

Do not be afraid, for the Absolute knows neither good not evil.

In the shadow of the Lustful God, we will free ourselves from concepts for eternity."

-The Book of Lasih

~o0o~

No.

Nononononono this was not happening. I could not have a tattoo above my private parts. I could not have lost my virginity to a woman, and before marriage. My mom was going to kill me. My dad was going to kill me. My preacher was going to make me say so many prayers for forgiveness, and then kill me. My cross was going to leave blisters on my fingers to complement the blisters my knees would develop from kneeling to pray.

I didn't even know where I put my Bible to even read prayers from, for God's sake! Oh, God, I really was going to go to Hell. Like, not literally going to Hell I don't think, because God's mercy is supposed to be infinite, and anyway it wasn't like I had asked for any of that to happen to me even if His mercy did have limits, but oh my God this was all so wrong. Just so... so not anything I would ever have wanted- right? I mean, I didn't want it, did I? Surely I didn't want what she did to me.

In retrospect, I wasn't quite sure of that. She had been so gentle; I remembered the strength of her arms holding me, the gleam in her eyes, the way she stroked my hair as I lay slumped against her, the feel of her breasts against my arm, the feel of her lips on my breast, the almost kittenish expression of mischief on her face as I lay there exhausted from my orgasm...

Right. My breathing was labored, my hands were trembling, my heart was beating in my chest, and I had the strangest queasy feeling in my stomach; I realized I was probably panicking. Having a panic attack wouldn't do me any good, now would it? So, facts first. No, shower first, the water was running. Thinking later.

Which would have been the perfect plan if the bathroom door hadn't burst open with a loud bang and Cindy hadn't barged in yelling "Holy shit, are you OK?" while I was standing there, butt-naked, with my newly-shaved and tattooed privates bare for all to see. She stared flabbergasted at my crotch, seemingly shocked into speechlessness for once. Her hair was wildly tangled, her very daring lamé minidress rumpled, and her purple eyeliner and black lipstick were smeared; she must have just conked out on her bed after a late night drinking and partying without removing any of them. Lord, I would be grateful that she would go to the effort of waking herself out of a drunken sleep and powering through what has got to have been a monster hangover to come check on me, but wow was this not the time for her to play at being a hero. Girls Supporting Girls was inspiring, but this was more Girls Awkwardly Barging In On Other, Naked Girls.

I covered my crotch with one hand, and my breasts with another, but it was too little, too late. Even if I had managed to cover the whole tattoo with one hand (I couldn't, it was too big), my recent haircut down south would probably have been noticeable, as would the smell of sex on me mixing with the lingering salt and copper smell of the alien world.

"So," I said awkwardly, leaning back against the counter for support. "Hi. Have a nice party?" Well, that was an awkward opening, wasn't it? Real smooth, Chrissy, real smooth. Greased lightning. Smooth as a cucumber. Chill as a fridge. Cindy won't notice anything.

"A nice- yeah, yeah, it was great, everybody got wasted and J.T. got horny and jacked off all over the bathroom mirror and Cassie was giving head to the bartender behind the bar for free pink jaeger bombs for all of us and I think she put a finger up the dude's ass before he came- but I heard screaming and holy shit you shaved your pubes and got your cooch inked? What the-" Her voice steadily as she spoke, and by the time I broke in she was almost screaming, her eyes wild. Guess she noticed something. Fancy that.

I grabbed my old towel from the rack, wrapped it around myself securely, and clasped one hand around the back of her head and the other across her mouth, dulling her shouts to a muffled murmur that quickly died out in shock. "Lemme get a word in edgewise, please?" I asked. She nodded, her eyes wide. Her lips felt warm and wet against my hand, and my stomach fluttered strangely at the sensation. I took my hand away, discreetly wiping the drool and lipstick off onto my towel. My hand left a black smudge behind, and I hoped that wasn't some sort of omen.

"Cindy, I love you like a sister but right now is shower time. You know, showers? Wet naked body-soaping time?" I paused, and quickly clarified, "Usually alone wet naked body-soaping time. By myself. Alone." Not that she had ever tried to take a shower with me or anything- we had, to say the least, wildly differing attitudes towards sex and propriety, but she was very strict about respecting boundaries. But still... better clarify. Man, my brain was going weird directions this morning, but I guess it made sense that it would, with all the... everything happening, that my mind was still sort of in the gutter making things awkward.

"I know what a shower is," she snapped, "and I wasn't trying to perv on you for fuck's sake, you know I don't do that creepy shit- this isn't about me, the question is: what the fuck happened to you?" Hands on her hips, she glared daggers at me. She wasn't usually this fierce, not about me, not about anything. I must have annoyed her. "Look, I'm worried about you! You just don't do this kind of thing!"

"Can we deal with this after I'm clean?" I asked wearily, facepalming. Before she could protest I quickly added, "Yes, I think we can." So saying, I gave her a firm push and shut the door firmly behind her, muffling her ongoing questions. "Goodbye, Cindy. Talk to you after I'm clean!" I called after her. "No hard feelings, please, but right now I really need to decompress!"

I locked the door, wiggled the knob to make sure it was locked properly this time, and let the towel drop to the floor and kicked it away into the corner. I looked at my naked form in the mirror. First I had to deal with my own issues before I dealt with hers- it was rude of me to talk to her like that, much less manhandle her like a spoiled child, but right now I had more than enough on my plate with all this without dealing with her concerned attempts to help.

The tattoo was just as I had remembered, save that the purple glow had died down completely- now the sharp lines were pure black; not the green-black most tattoos were, but an almost unnatural pitch-black that looked like a cutout section of void. Seen in the clear light of the bathroom' overhead fluorescents rather than the dim light of the dream, the symbol was even more clearly a tracing of my reproductive system, from my vagina to my womb and even curling tentacle-like over my ovaries, all crowned with the strange glyph Amanda had called the Mark of lauv'abrarc. I brushed my fingers over the Mark, remembering the sensations that had cascaded through my body when it was being applied. The searing pleasure, the ecstatic pain... like Heaven and Hell mixed together until they were inseparable...

Where the heck had that chamber been, anyway? I stomped firmly down on the little bit of myself that believed it actually was Hell. Couldn't have been Hell, could it? I'm still alive. No, something about that idea seemed wrong somehow- that place was far from hellish, really, as bizarre as what had happened had been. Not exactly what I'd call Heaven either, of course. Lusst'ghaa. That had been one of the words the choir had chanted. The other, lauv'abrarc, Amanda had called the 'Lustful God;' so, perhaps 'Lusst'ghaa' was the name of the world? What sort of an alien dimension was called Lusst'ghaa, anyway? Wasn't that a bit on-the-nose a name for the place you get dragged off to and sexually pleasured by an alien lesbian in? 'Lust-ga'? But then again, what kind of name would actually suit an alien dimension where you get vibrated by an H.R. Geiger alien lesbian's tentacle-tattoo machine? It's not like they could name it Alienworld, or Dimension #1138, or Universe Aleph or something equally comic book-ish, not and be taken seriously by other aliens. Not that I really read comic books- mother always said they weren't Godly- but Cindy kept talking about Marvel movies and such, and I picked up a few things. Frankly, in my time at college I'd picked up a passing familiarity with quite a few ungodly things from Cindy- films, art, comics, sex jokes...

I put the thoughts out of my head through the simple expedient of getting in the shower, unhooking the detachable shower head, and holding it right up to my head; soaking it beneath the hot spray until all the thoughts churning around inside me dissolved, amd then turning the powerful spray onto my aching back muscles. Oh, yeah. That felt good. The hot water against my flesh seemed to penetrate deep inside, relaxing muscles I hadn't even know I'd been clenching up. The tension that had been coiling in my spine slowly loosened, my back unkinked, and I did a little stretch to under the hot water to really work out the ache, moving the head up and down the length of my spine and practically purring as I could feel it unkinking.

Returning the head to it's hook, I took a moment to appreciate the delicate citrus smell of the bar soap I'd bought the other week before lathering up my loofa and giving myself a thorough scrub, trying to strip the stale sweat and other, less mentionable fluids, from my pores. I soaped myself up, briskly at first but then slowing with a wince of pain. Yeah, no, I was clearly still aching a bit too much to treat my body that roughly, especially down south.

Ever-so-gingerly, I scrubbed between my legs, trying not to agitate the bruised flesh too much, rubbing gently along the outer labia and in the crease of my thigh, trying to remove the crusted-on fluids. Huh. That... didn't actually feel too bad- kind of pleasant, really. The bruises were fading too, I thought. Experimentally I pushed a little harder, and rather than pain I was rewarded with an almost sensual friction, and I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. Oh, my God. Whatever had been done to me had left me sensitive in an entirely different way than I had expected. Good Lord. The rough touch of the loofa almost felt better than my fingers did during the few times I'd shamefully masturbated, a deep pleasure that had just the slightest hint of pain to it. I knew I shouldn't, but I kept scrubbing even after it was clean, stroking my crotch back and forth, back and forth, feeling the rough netting slipping between my lower lips, lubricated by the water and soapy lather and quite likely by my own juices, too.

Whoo. Getting a little bit... you know, in here. 'Porny,' Cindy would call it, rubbing your privates with a soapy loofah and moaning like a... like a scarlet woman, I guess mother would say, a Jezebel. Or like the women in the videos I sometimes saw Cindy watching. It was utterly indecent, the sort of behavior my mother had warned me about over and over again, the kind she said would lead inevitably to moral and mental degradation, to homosexuality and paganism, and eventually to being forced to prostitute myself to the sinners. But really, why shouldn't I touch myself? It wasn't as if I had any purity to worry about at this point, was it? The mysterious woman Amanda had already taken every purity -except my virginity, maybe, depending on how strictly you defined it- from me. What more harm could my fingers do, when she had penetrated me so thoroughly in both lower orifices? What was masturbation compared to having orgasmed with a woman's lips suckling at my nipples? Why should I worry about preserving what I no longer had?

Fuck it.

Even the word was liberating. Fuck. God, it felt so good to let myself think it. Fuck-fuck-fuck fuckity-fuck. Fuck it, fuck me, fuck the rules, just fuck. I wanted to scream it out loud thrusting my fingers deep into my vagina- no, my cunt, my slutty dripping cunt- until I came but I couldn't let Cindy hear. I guess I'd have to do this quietly, then, without the loud moaning and screaming that sounded so sexy right now.

I threw the loofah to the floor. My hands would do the job with far more grace, and far less roughness too, I thought. Mmmmm, though rough didn't exactly sound bad right now. I slid a single finger experimentally between my legs, and gritted my teeth hard to stopper up the gasp of pleasure that wanted to escape my throat. Sweet Jesus, I was sensitive now. I thrust the finger in and out, curling it upwards in a come-hither gesture in an attempt to find the 'G-spot' that Cindy had mentioned once, probing up along my wet canal with my index finger and dragging it back out. I didn't find any spots in particular that felt especially good to touch, but the entire experience felt so wonderful that it really didn't matter. God, what had that machine done to me! Every sexual movement I made, even the slightest stroke of a solitary finger within my depths, felt as though it sent lightning bolts skittering from my throbbing clit to my brain, lighting my nerves on fire! It was a burning, all-consuming need that set my pulse racing, my heart pounding, my breath thundering in my ears even over the constant hammer of the water, a need too great to be quenched with just one finger. I added another, and it was good, but not nearly enough, i wanted more; more filling, more depth, more penetration, opening me up and filling me. A third finger had me gasping out loud briefly at the stretch as I thrust all three down to the final knuckle, my pussy so wet that despite the stretch the action felt almost frictionless, my thumb on my clit rubbing it like a worry stone. I'd read that you weren't supposed to touch the clitoris right away, you needed lots of foreplay to warm yourself up for such direct stimulation, but apparently I was now wired differently because sweet Jesus that did it for me, sending warm waves up pleasure from my clit across my entire body, my pussy twitching around my fingers in a gentle but deeply pleasurable orgasm. It was good, it was very good, but it was nowhere near enough.

I took a slow, steady breath to calm myself, and switched to a single slowly pumping finger as I plotted what perversion to indulge in next. It briefly occurred to me that Cindy's bottle of cucumber-scented shampoo was awfully phallic in shape and nice and smooth. It had a slight swell at the 'head' of the shaft that would be a little challenging to fit in, but after I'd gotten the head in it would probably slide quite easily into my depths and fill me up wonderfully... but no, it would terribly bad manners to hump my room mate's property. Without asking, that is, but that was a conversation for later. Much later.

My eyes caught on the shower head hanging innocently on it's hook, and a wicked, sinful idea crept into my mind. If the stream of hot water felt that good pounding my sore back into submission, how good would it would it feel pounding something lower?

Very good, as it turns out.

The light setting felt good at first, but nothing special, and the waves of hot water drenched my just felt relaxing on my tender flesh. Well, a gentle massage was nothing to sneer at, I thought, and arched my hips a little, thrusting my crotch at the spray as I thumbed the setting selector to 'massage.' That felt better, the warm water lapping at my folds like an impossibly-huge tongue that didn't so much lick me as constantly press against me in undulating waves. I spread my labia open with my free hand, allowing the lashing waves to stroke within my folds, gently but firmly pressing against my clitoris in a hot trip straight to orgasm-land. A bit of awkward fumbling and I managed to hold the shower head clenched between my heels so I could slide two fingers deep inside and fuck myself with them as the water caressed my clit.

The warmth seemed to build and build as a second climax boiled through my body; my clitoris seemed to throb, my spine tingled, and I clenched my teeth near to shattering trying to keep a moan inside of me as I clenched spasmodically around my fingers so hard I could swear I could hear the bones creak and groan. I bucked like I was being electrocuted, twitching so hard I slammed my elbow into the shower wall, but even the shooting pain from my funny bone could only dim the pleasure, not stop it entirely. I yanked my hand from out of my depths to press against the side of the shower, steadying myself, and pushed against the sink through the shower curtain with the other, my heels drumming against the floor in a rapid drumbeat as the second-most powerful orgasm of my twenty years raced through me. As it ran it's course, I slumped down limply, awkwardly grabbing for the taps to stop the water flow, closed my eyes, and lay in an exhausted stupor, thinking.

"...Wow."

Yeah, there was definitely gonna be a new me in town.

Masturbating was so much better than praying -or at least the boring church kind of praying, I figured praying to lauv'abrarc the Lustful God involved some more interesting activities while one was down on one's knees than just mouthing old platitudes- and full-on sex would almost have to be even better. Some of it, like the blowjobs, would be as hard on the knees as the prayers my church had me pray, but I figured the rewards would be well worth it.

All my life, I'd lived in fear, you know? Fear of sex, fear of men, fear of sin, just fear. Mother's words about 'degeneracy' echoing through my head every time I so much as thought about sex, the faint scars of the back of my hand from where Mother had beat them with a ruler until they bled after catching me masturbating when I was young throbbing whenever I got wet... so many nights staying in with the Bible praying instead of going out and having fun with the girls, so many chaste dates that fell apart when they realized that my purity ring was actually worn sincerely and not just as a 'no-vaginal' pledge, so many missed opportunities.

I thumbed the ring on my finger. This ring. This goddamned ring. "My beloved, I will wait." I didn't even need to open my eyes to look, I knew the words of the pledge by heart. But what fucking beloved? A man who didn't even exist, and even if he existed wouldn't be some sort of fairy tale Prince Charming but just another boorish corrupt preacher's son who would all but buy me from my father, probably with his dick still wet from whatever normal girl he'd been fucking behind his church's back. And it's not like any of the other girls were going to their marriage beds virgins, either, really. I knew for a fact half the unmarried girls at church were 'technical virgins' at most, and quite a few probably not even that. Why the hell should I wait? Really, I owed Amanda my thanks for what she did, for freeing me from this fucking ring and the stupid promise I had made before I was old enough to even know what sex was.

The next time I saw her- and I would, somehow I knew that I would- I was going to giver her this ring in honor of the kindness she did me. And then I was going to eat her out for an hour straight, just to make my feelings clear.

It was only then that I looked down and saw that the tattoo was glowing.

~o0o~

Yes, the thing over my crotch was glowing, a subdued purple-white glow, like something out of one of Cindy's friend Cassie's fantasy books. The glow pulsated slowly; in time with my heartbeat, I thought, pulsing in sync with the blood flowing through me. It was faint, barely visible under the bright florescent bathroom lights, but looking closely it was indisputably glowing.