Carmen's Fantasies

She was dancing in the dark, twisting and turning on the sweat-soaked sheets. The glowing hands on the clock read twelve, but it was not midnight, for the curtains suppressed the light from the midday sun. Apparently, the woman had cooked up a delicious fantasy in the cauldron of her mind. But a shrink peering into her head would have seen a host of sly hands adding hellish ingredients, seasoning her erotic dream with nightmarish spices.

"You are truly wicked!" the demons taunted Carmen, roasting her sinful flesh over a psychic fire. "Evil has no advocate greater than you! And when your time on earth is through, your soul will belong to us, and you will suffer forever! So die soon, bitch!"

Awakened by the licking flames, Carmen bolted upright in bed. Panting like a bitch in heat, she placed her hand over her heart as if to slow its infernal pulse. But the rest of her body cried for friction, especially her selfish nipples and pussy. However, she ignored their pleas to tend the needs of her soul, dashing into the shower to wash away her heat and shame.

"I am wicked," she said to herself, scrubbing her flesh with a stiff brush as punishment for her lust. "And I deserve to suffer the worst torments in hell because of my filthy mind." But as the bristles pricked her sensitive pubes, she found herself growing aroused, and she had to stop the mortification before it made her orgasm.

Trying hard to think holy thoughts, Carmen threw on a dress and sped off in her car to find a church offering a late service. But it was well past noon, and the souls fated for heaven were now drinking beer and watching porn tapes. Feeling damned and dejected, she drove through the park, hoping to find peace of mind in the bosom of mother nature. Chancing upon some people singing and dancing in the sun, she prayed that it was a religious celebration and a chance to redeem her soul.

Taking a blanket from her car, she sat at the rear of the gathering and quickly discovered that the worshipers were Hindus. Having studied Eastern religions, she identified the mandala at once--the circle of female devotees who supplied all the needs of their beloved guru. Spinning effortlessly as if made of rubber and springs, the girls looked gorgeous in their colorful saris which had been modified to show their tight bellies and calves. However, the object of their devotion was anything but in shape, for his belly and breasts were so pronounced that he could have passed for a pregnant woman on a bad hair day. Moreover, he would have faced a public indecency charge were it not for his tiny thong. But the bulge below his belly definitely labeled him a male, and Carmen found herself crafting a fantasy despite her best efforts to resist.

It's a hot Sunday afternoon, and an older redhead strolls into the park, lured there by the joyful noise and the promise of shade. Wearing a belly shirt and cutoffs, she approaches the Hindu gathering and watches the pretty dancers while a pair of eyes scrutinize her.

"Want to share my blanket?" asks a voice from below.

The offer comes from a plus-size lady sucking on a Slurpee. Clad in a tight T- shirt and black leggings, she seems terribly out of place at this park affair. But her face is friendly, and not wanting to offend, Sandy accepts the woman's offer though her blanket lies directly in the sun. Leaning back on her elbows, Sandy spreads her legs to maximize the cooling effect of any wandering breeze. Even so, the sweat runs down her front and beads up on her belly. But the sun alone can't be blamed, for the big lady, named Betty, radiates lots of heat too, especially from her eyes. Troubled with her stare, Sandy focuses on the dancers.

"So what brings you here?" Betty asks, still running her eyes over the voluptuous terrain. "I mean, besides your pretty bare feet, that is."

"It was too hot to stay in my apartment," Sandy replies, "so I decided to go for a walk. And when I heard the commotion in the park, I thought I'd check it out."

"The way you're dressed," Betty jokingly replies, "people are gonna check you out!"

"You think I look bad?" Sandy asks, never confident about such matters.

"Are you kidding!" Betty replies. "You look like Daisy Mae's mother! Not that I'm saying you're old. I meant that in a good way. And I doubt that your anyone's mother because your belly is free of stretch marks. You may have been knocked up once or twice since you're a good-looking gal, but Roe V. Wade to the rescue, right? Anyway, I'm a fine one to talk since I dress sluttishly myself. Worse yet, I'm a secretary in a Baptist church! What a joke, huh? But to be honest with you, I hate those holier-than- thou types. So I always push the envelop just to make them squirm. How about you?"

Sandy hesitantly replies that she was born a Lutheran, adding that she rarely attends services since her school work keeps her terribly occupied.

"Well," Betty says, "life is more than just pushing the grindstone. I mean, you're already sweating like some fucking ox! Here. You better take a swig from my Slurpee before your big boobs melt and leave you a flat-chested bitch."

"I often wish they were smaller," Sandy sighs, uncomfortable with Betty's language but grateful for the cold drink. However, for some reason she finds that it only makes her hotter. But then, she doesn't know that the secretary always spikes her Slurpees with whiskey, and the combination of sunshine and booze makes Sandy dizzy and anxious.

"You've got to let your hair down once in a while," Betty goes on, "or else you'll become as sterile as some fucking nun. Well, I imagine some nuns get off now and then. I bet they even make a habit of it. Hah! But seriously, you're a sexy woman with all the right equipment, and I'm sure you've got certain desires that scream to be satisfied."

Though Betty is as coarse as they come, her honesty and down-to-earth humor make it hard for Sandy not to trust her. Matching the church lady's candor, Sandy admits to having thoughts that are hardly conservative. "If people could see inside my head," she confesses, "well... they'd probably run screaming to the police! Or an exorcist!"

"Fuck 'em!" Betty stoutly replies. "Who cares what people think? Listen, you've got a right to live your own life, honey. And if you want to make porn movies and sell tapes of yourself pleasuring perverts, then just do it."

"That's...not what I mean!" Sandy replies, blushing deeply.

"I know exactly what you mean," Betty assures her. "Society loves to keep women in their place--which is still the kitchen and bedroom. So we're pressured to stay impossibly thin until we get knocked up and become nice church-going mommies. Well, I say fuck that shit! And I eat everything in sight--as long as it's female. You should stay away from guys too, at least until your baby oven is turned off. There's plenty of women to go down on these days, so you don't have to suffer. But I can see that you already know that, judging by the way you're ogling those dancers! They're way too skinny, but they do look tasty and juicy. Which one would you like to fuck?"

The question catches Sandy off guard, and her face turns as red as her hair. Words fail her, and her only response is to suck on the Slurpee until her cheeks indent. Betty interprets this as a bashful confession and pulls the redhead completely out of the closet.

"Step into the light, babe!" she advises. "Girls can now do girls without first going to prison--though being raped in a cage by a hot female guard does make it nastier! Anyway, you've got 'cuntsuck' written all over you, so don't try to deny it! You're drooling over that bitch in the gold sari, and I don't mean from your mouth! I hope you're also a little wet for me, but if you don't get off on big girls, I'll understand."

Stunned by the bold accusations, Sandy frantically sucks on the Slurpee until the straw makes a loud gurgling sound. Putting nothing but decadent spin on the act, Betty sees it as evidence of a truly outrageous slut who totally drains her lovers.

"Shit, you're worse than I am!" she says, playfully grabbing Sandy's belly roll and tugging aggressively on the sweaty flesh. "You're not only lusting after the girls but are mentally humping their guru! Christ, his cock must be over a foot long! If I weren't such a lez, I want to ball him myself! So what's your fantasy? I bet you're picturing yourself fucking him doggy while that girl in gold rubs her ass on your mouth!"

Before Sandy can die of embarrassment, another hand grabs her and tugs her off the ground. The very girl in question wants Sandy to join in the dancing and leads the reluctant redhead to the front of the gathering. After teaching her the basic moves, the mandala make her spin with her arms held overhead. The move makes Sandy more dizzy than ever and causes her belly-shirt to ride up her torso and expose most of her breasts. But this is a religious gathering, not a titty bar, so no one pays any attention to the carnal sight--except for the grinning guru, his grinning girls, and a grinning church secretary.

Reeling in confusion, Sandy collapses in the dancers' arms and is dragged back to her blanket where she's dumped in a pathetic heap. Betty tries to bring her around by repeatedly slapping her face, but Sandy stays inert while her nagging conscience again comes calling.

"So you still need my help," her inner voice begins, sending a jolt of pain streaking into her loins. "You should have learned your lesson by now, but you're still fighting yourself like some stubborn bitch! Here you've been presented with yet another chance to embrace your true self. Betty is beautiful and bodacious and desires you in the worst way. And the guru and his girls can teach you some very important lessons. But instead of welcoming their assistance, you panic and freeze like some vestal virgin! Well, I'm washing my hands of you and turning you over to a higher power who knows how to deal with insolence and rebellion! You deserve to be tortured forever in hell, but if you repent of your sins and show true remorse, your soul may yet be saved. If it were up to me, you'd be disciplined right here in the park! But the powers that be may choose a more private place to punish a worthless piece of shit like you!"

The rebuke ends with another low blow that leaves Sandy grimacing. But as the pain subsides, her alter ego grows, emerging from its dark prison and boldly stepping into the light. Opening her eyes, she gives Betty a grin that suggests her recent agony was orgasmic. And this look is followed by a long kiss that nearly makes the church lady come herself.

"Not that I'm complaining," the secretary says, licking her lips to savor the moment. "But if I'm only getting a single kiss, I would have liked it on a lower part. So what brings on the sudden passion?"

"It's not sudden," Sandy assures her, stroking Betty's expansive hip in a manner usually reserved for the bedroom. "I wanted to taste your sweet lips the very moment I laid eyes on you. But not everyone appreciates my advances, so I had to be sure before I let myself go. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression because I adore pleasuring big women--and you're as delicious as they come. I mean, there's no way I'd ever reject you! Shit, I'd kill myself first! In fact, just looking at your mouth-watering curves makes my pussy run riot! Believe me, if we weren't in public, I'd shove this straw up your cunt and suck out your tangy juices like a maniac!"

This is sweet music to Betty's ears, and she urges the redhead to hotly sing on.

"You were right about the dancers," Sandy continues. "They are fucking gorgeous, though they should eat a lot more. And the girl in gold is something else! I'd love to mouth her snatch until I gagged on her cum! That's why I dropped to my knees while dancing, for I felt this urge to eat her right in front of the crowd!"

Sandy pauses to drag her tongue over Betty's lips. "But you were wrong about the daisy chain involving the guru. It's true that I was fantasizing about doing him doggy, but my tongue was reaming out your sweet asshole, not that skinny bitch's."

Betty thinks she has died and gone to Dante's Inferno. She's been with lots of dirty women, but none more fit for the pit than this! But before she can lick the drool off her chin, the redhead does it for her.

"Mmmm!" Sandy purrs, sliding her hand between Betty's thighs. "If your cunt is half as sweet as your mouth, I'm going to glue my face to your fucking crotch!"

This sweet talk is followed by intimate touches, and though the crowd is oblivious to the lesbian action, the guru's watchful eyes catch every sinful trick. He abruptly ends the service and sends his golden girl over to invite the older women back to their motel for an advanced session of religious training.

"It's a great honor to be selected by the yogi," Hrada claims, keeping a straight face though she had read the book Candy. "In fact, some devotees wait all their lives and never experience the great bliss that accompanies a private audience. And did I mention the high levels of self-awareness and personal growth that can be achieved?"

"I'm sold!" Sandy says, eager to buy into any scheme that will keep her conscience happy. Of course, Betty is all for it, too, but not for religious reasons. So, hand in hand, the two women follow Hrada and her sisters to the parking lot. But they aren't allowed to ride with the holy people, for they're much too defiled, being wholly impregnated by the impure world. Instead, they're loaded into the back of a pickup. Neither complains, for it gives them the chance to swap corrupted compliments and show the depth of their impurity.

"You are so ass-licking yummy!" Sandy gushes, squeezing the church lady's crotch until her fingers grow shiny. "If you hadn't invited me onto your blanket, I would have run home and flushed my head down the fucking toilet!"

"Really?" Betty returns, feeling up the redhead's boobs. "You say the sweetest things, honey! And take it from me, you've got the nicest tits in town! I could milk you like a fucking cow all day, especially if I was squatting on your face!"

Before the two lovebirds can really get nasty, the truck pulls into a seedy motel, and they're ushered up the steps to a balcony on the second floor. But Hrada now informs them that they can't enter the holy chamber until they're rightly prepared. "First you must strip off all remnants of the gross, material world," she explains, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

Betty, born to be blasphemous, grins like the Cheshire cat, for she knows this means baring it all in broad daylight on a balcony overlooking a busy highway. But Sandy regards this seriously, and she doesn't giggle or smile when the mandala remove her clothes. In fact, she's already risen to such a high state of consciousness that nothing can break her concentration--not the sensation of having oil rubbed into her breasts and pubes, not the sound of honking cars passing by, not even the shrill howl of a huge, unleashed hound.

"Now you must show your unworthiness and desire to submit," Hrada says, instructing the women to get down on all fours. For the mandala never walk when they can ride, especially when beasts of burden are available. So two girls board Betty, who leads the way like a circus elephant, and two mount Sandy, slapping her ass to hurry her along.

Once inside, Betty discovers that the "holy chamber" is just a hot, stinking dump that would benefit from a fire. The carpet, stained and threadbare, is littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, and assorted other junk. A soiled mattress lying directly on the floor hides some of the garbage, but a two hundred watt bulb dangling from the ceiling brings all else into glaring view, especially the large posters of the fully naked guru that are plastered on every wall. However, the lurid art helps hide the holes in the plaster, and the constantly running toilet helps drown out the rotgut music squawking from a cheap radio.

Sandy's eyes, however, are filled with sights divine, for her face is nearly stuck up Betty's big ass. All she presently sees or cares about is the secretary's hairy crotch, and given the fierce illumination of the room, she takes in every dimple, fold, and crevice. But her attention switches to the reclining yogi who suddenly claps his hands.

"The lowest and most worthless of you must crawl to the guru and kiss his blessed feet," Hrada commands. Given the two women in question, it's not an easy thing to decide. But to eliminate any arguing and to speed things along, Hrada kicks Sandy's ass and knocks her onto her belly. The blow is hardly necessary, however, for the penitent is eager to claim the title, and she worms her way across the filthy floor to bestow kiss after kiss on the yogi's dirty toes.

"You are truly wicked and base," the yogi accuses her, being an expert on reading people and having an especially good take on redheads. "Every vile sin in the world is crammed into your filthy soul. Is this not true?"

"Yes!" Sandy freely confesses, working her tongue up his calves. "I'm as vile and filthy as they come--and then some!"

"But you foolishly deny this," the guru goes on, looking deeply into her heart and focusing on her D-cup breasts. "And this denial insults the gods who made you the dirty whore that you are. Is this not true?"

"Yes!" Sandy readily admits, now licking his thighs. "I'm the dirtiest whore on earth, but I foolishly deny it!"

"And it is due to your stupid rebellion," he continues, peering into the pit of her soul and seeing a mass of red pubic hair. "You wish to see yourself as a good girl, though you are actually very, very bad. And you need to be scrubbed clean of this filthy defiance. Not so?"

"Yes!" Sandy openly avows, depositing oral gifts at the base of his genital altar. "I'm a bad girl for trying to be good! And I need to be scrubbed totally clean!"

"I doubt that the gods themselves could do that!" the guru says. "Not even if they used a great big brush! But it is good you that acknowledge your many, many sins, for it will make it easier for you to bear your punishment. However, a woman as perverted as you regards pain and humiliation as pleasure. And great suffering only brings you great joy. Is this not so?"

"Yes!" Sandy strongly affirms, sucking the sweat out of his bulging thong. "Nothing brings me more bliss than being used and abused and treated like a cheap whore!"

"Then we will likely wind up rewarding you!" the yogi says, clapping his hands to signal his mandala that it's time to get cracking.

Dragging Sandy onto the mattress, the girls tie ropes around her thick ankles and pass the ends through hooks sunk into the ceiling. Then they hoist her aloft, leaving her helpless and dangling upside-down. Because the room is stifling hot--and their labor will be vigorous--the girls strip naked and gather training tools from the assorted junk on the floor. One chooses a fly swatter; another, an old rolling pin; a third picks up a homemade lash; and Hrada, the senior member of the mandala, wields a stiff toilet brush.

Betty feels blessed at being allowed to witness the divine ritual, and she plants her big ass close to the mattress to get a front row seat. In truth, she has long carried a dark germ that infects every cell in her body, and her eyes grow nearly as big as her butt as she watches her new friend get what's coming to her.

Working as a team, the mandala move in a vicious circle, punishing Sandy's sinful flesh with practiced skill. The redhead's thighs, belly, and ass receive a steady volley of blows, but her breasts and crotch are hardly ignored. Neither is her face considered off limits, for she receives many brisk slaps from each of the girls. Before long, every inch of her suspended body bears the marks of holy correction.