Chapter 4
Hell's Angel
Copyright 2017
*
"I confess to almighty God
and to you, my brothers and sisters,
that I have greatly sinned..."
But this time she was interrupted.
"What have you done now?"
She told him everything while sitting naked inside the confession booth, sweating from the heat of hell, where she would surely burn.
And so she told him about Virginia and James, and confessed it all, while she touched her shaved pussy in the confession booth. It took a while to tell the whole tale, and by that time she had brought herself to a silent orgasm.
"Ana, this behavior ... you are going down a dark path. Why must learn to bring your sexual passions under control!"
"I try, Father, but I cannot!"
He came out of his booth and went into hers. For a moment, she felt the thrill of his eyes on her naked, sweaty body. His eyes drank in the sight of her.
But then he yanked her out of the booth naked, and threw her out into the open. He took her purse and dress and kept them.
"Go! Walk in shame before the sepulcher as you are. Let yourself burn with shame before out Lord."
She hugged herself in the open sanctuary, stunned by her sudden exposure. This she had not expected. Her nipples hardened in the cool air. There was not another soul there, but at any moment someone could walk in.
Ana walked toward the dais, down the central aisle, then remembered to bend one knee and make the sign of the cross.
"Pray for penance for the next two hours, and I will absolve you. Your clothes and purse will be here, at the back."
She did so. On her knees, she prayed earnestly for God to intervene, to help her overcome the lusts she felt, and stop the awful, sinful thoughts that ran through her head.
For two hours, or whenever Father Murphy's hand fell on her shoulder, her dress in one hand, and a strange gleam in his eyes.
"Go!"
What a sight she must have been, utterly naked, bathed in the colors of the stained glass windows and sunbeams on her bare, dark Hispanic skin, and black hair.
Thinking on how she must have looked in his eyes ... aroused her.
---
Friday after work, it was time to return to her home in Cerrillos for the weekend, and to Tom Hardy. Her new AWD convertible Nissan Murano was fast and powerful, and she liked driving it in her white cotton band held by a gold hoop, and short little fluffy white skirt, letting her skin bronze even more.
Ana ignored the stares she got. It still make her painfully self-conscious to wear such little clothing. But she willed herself to wear them, and to go without panties. Feeling air on her pussy made her so aroused. Especially when freshly shaved for Tom Hardy.
Her hair began to turn auburn in the sun, as if she had a little bit of gringo in her. It waved in the wind as she drove through Tijeras Canyon, and then north along Highway 14, skirting the backside slope of the Sandia Mountains.
She stopped at the Shell in San Antonio for gas, putting on her wedge high-heels and getting out of the care carefully, as not to reveal her vagina to the world. Her flat stomach was becoming more muscular since running, and trying to beat Dwayne. But she lost every time, and every time she let him fuck her in the ass and cum deep into her rectum.
It was good practice for the weekend. She had a taste of anal sex with John Paul and his friends. That deep, aching penetration and total loss of control, pushed to the brink, until a new kind of orgasm would explode throughout her body.
Her pussy got wet, and she moved the muscles of her anus in anticipation as she walked. Horny and hungry, as Tom commanded her to be. She had not eaten for two days, and it was taking all of her will not to buy something inside the gas station.
"I want you so famished that you will lap up cum like a dog," Tom had told her.
Booze to the right of the store, beer in the back, so she picked up some of both. She had to be careful bending over, and squatted to keep her treasure hidden. The naughty sense of freedom was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Your becoming a whore, Ana!
Buying the liquor and beer, she went back to her car, and finished gassing up. The afternoon heat was beginning to cool, promising a warm but comfortable night.
She continued driving up the highway to her parents' old house. Tom's motorcycle was already parked in her driveway, and she felt a thrill of excitement, and dread, at what was coming next.
He had come to collect.
The front door was open, the smell of home comforting. She threw her keys in a crystal bowl and walked into the circular living room tower, where Tom lied on the couch waiting for her.
"Undress and shower," he said.
She was his bitch now, and she complied. She dropped the skirt on the floor and put it on the couch, and then undid the strap of her small band, and dropped that next. Then she slipped out of her high heels. She found she was trembling as he looked her up and down.
"Go shower."
Outside in her private courtyard, she had installed a simple shower on a wooden platform. It was wonderful for the summer months, and she used that. The water felt wonderful, and she took her time cleaning her body thoroughly. She had shaved already, so she didn't have to worry about that.
Grabbing a towel, she walked back into the living room to dry up, and then put the towel over a chair to dry. Trembling, she stood naked before Tom. It looked like he had been making drinks.
"Have a seat, and drink this. Tell me about your last couple of weeks. Everything OK?"
She sat down, and crossed her legs to be less naked, and took the glass on the table next to her. She smelled it. Beer, whiskey, and lemon? She tasted it cautiously, and found that the beer and lemon masked the whiskey very well. She took a long drink, and hunger drove her to drink even more.
"Looks like someone came and seized the photos in question. John Paul has disappeared. Though my ... coworkers are freaks."
"Lisa Morgan? I know her personally. She knows you are mine, but will try to provoke me through you. Harmless fun. Has she fucked any men in front of you yet?"
She turned red, as he clearly knew far more about the universtiy than she did. "Yes. She ordered it, and threatened my job."
"And you did as you were told, I take it?"
"Yes. I had no choice. And your British friends, too."
Tom smiled mischievously. "You handled James and Virginia very well. They were pleased."
She said nothing as she realized Tom was turning her into a whore to be used at will.
"You always have a choice, Ana. But you want others to make the decisions for you about sexuality. You don't trust yourself, and are ashamed of your ... desires."
She began trembling even more, and hadn't realized she was covering her breasts. She forced herself to put her hands to her side and face this bravely, and be proud of her tits. But she did not answer. She felt a buzz coming on, her empty stomach filled now with booze.
"Since you were a little girl, I knew there was something different about you, Ana. Not something I could think of while you were a child. I'm not into children. But I am into women with very strong sexual passions. They are rare. You are rare indeed."
"I'm just another puta!"
"There are three kinds of whores, by my estimation," he replied, as calm as silk in a light breeze, and his powerful voice like a snake. If the bearish Tom Hardy were a vampire, she would believe she was being glamoured.
"One kind of whore, are those who are desperate, and have been exploited. Women who for whatever reason have fallen into a bad life of drugs and addiction. If they are lucky, they might become titty-shakers and maybe escape. Pimps exploit them, and until they find the will to resist, and the courage to take control, it will likely end badly for them. You are not that kind of whore, are you? Do you have any addictions?"
She thought about it. Could she fall into such a life? A hooker on the streets? Did she have addictions? She did not think so. And she knew she had no addictions, besides maybe coffee. And perhaps ... sex itself. The thing she was ashamed to admit to herself. She shook her head.
"The second kind of whore is one who is in full control of her life, and merely chose to use her body to make money. Students, call girls, professionals. They like sex normally more than the average girl, but not always. They do what they must to better their lives and get a legitimate career in the end, or run their own escort service. Are you that kind of whore? Or rather, could you be that kind of whore?"
She thought about it. Do it for money? Maybe. She found that she was not sure. She was also getting very buzzed and relaxed, too.
"You don't know. Well then, on to the last kind of whore. The promiscuous nymphomaniac who cannot control herself. A dangerous thing for a woman. Such a girl should not marry, unless her husband is into sharing. Such a woman can be taken advantage of by men who can exploit her weakness. Sometimes she might seize her destiny and become the second kind of whore, and make good money satisfying her insatiable lusts."
He stared at her, and she looked down, unsure what to think. Was this her? Was she such a freak of nature? Ever since she was thirteen she's had naughty, shameful thoughts that made her hate herself.
She found she could not speak.
"I know you are the third. And if you don't manage it, you'll wind up in trouble. As you almost did Pyke. Most men cannot handle a woman like you. They either abuse her, because they believe she will never be loyal or make a good mother or wife. Or they become jealously obsessed and try to break such a woman of her spirit."
The cost had been high to get rid of Pyke and his friends. After that one night, they had wanted more, and more, and more of her. That could not end well.
"I am a man who takes the first kind of whore, and makes her into the second kind, or gets her out entirely. I am a man who takes the third kind of whore, and makes her into the second kind. My clients are very professional, and very different. You will have fun, make money, and never have to worry about catching a disease or being stalked. You will have the best of both worlds."
He smiled, and then stood up.
