This morning I congratulated myself on my ability to weather the storm of abuse and torment I have been forced to suffer. True, I had launched into a tirade the other day, an outburst, venting my spleen at Pastor Michael, condemning him for the selfish and evil way he has handled my dilemma. No more will I succumb to his unsavoury influences. Wanting to be rid of me now (does he feel guilt or fright that I might tell the world that he misused his power to try and seduce me, to satisfy his sexual perversions?) he has referred me to a respectable and specialist group of church folk who have vowed to help me.
The problem though seemed to be far worse than I thought as yesterday when I visited the doctor he insisted on changing my medication. Now I am stronger though and was quick to notice his lewd expression as he stared at my cleavage. I'm sure I saw him lick his lips and I knew very well why he needed to shuffle around in his seat.
The men in the shop have tried to confuse me by being polite and gentle, constantly enquiring as to my welfare and helpfully offering help, even bringing me cups of tea. I have obeyed the requests of the bearded one and to avoid his anger and violence have begun to wear stockings and, craftily on my part, reasoned that if I show him and his buddies sexually alluring underwear then their dreadful sexual appetite will be sated all the more quickly; get it over with I say!
Not seeing him I was compelled to ask the other men, "Where is the big man with the beard?"
They tried to make believe I had imagined him; they pretended to look perplexed. "No one in our gang wears a beard," they said.
One brought a chair and I accepted the advice that I should sit down for a while. They looked at me pitifully, showing sympathy but I realised it was a ploy. They knew how my very short tight skirt would ride up displaying stocking tops and naked flesh. I tested them by letting my knees part and opening my thighs meant that they would see my bright pink dainty panties. Yes, I saw evidence that they were aroused and harboured unclean thoughts!
Alone that afternoon in the small room upstairs I toiled away at my work knowing full well that any minute I would hear footsteps on the worn creaky staircase, then the door would swing open and in would walk men, maybe two, perhaps three – and they would take me – make me perform on them all manner of dirty sexual acts.
Of course it did happen – I said it would! I can still taste the slimy salty sperm that shot down the back of my throat and remember how it felt when my tongue licked over the seeping hole to prevent more of the dirty stuff being swallowed and instead pressed the globules against my palate. I had been compelled, forced, at the very same time, to make vulgar movements with my hips, thrusting them back and forth against the face of another man who knelt between my outstretched legs sucking and licking juices from my vagina.
My breasts hung out over the top of my bra so hands could play. They wobbled as, perched on the edge of a wooden chair rocking my pelvic bone against the man I imitated the actions of riding a gently trotting pony, balanced by each hand gripping a hard penis like they were handles, taking one, then the other, between my lips.
(I could not help but note that the men treated me much more gently than the bearded one, even allowing me to set my own pace.)
Perching wide legged on the edge of a hard chair can be very uncomfortable so I welcomed the suggestion I should stand and bend over. Grateful for the change in position I stood and removed my knickers then bent forward offering my bottom up to whichever man still retained stiffness. Co-operate and get it over with! That was my motto.
At my first meeting with the group from the church I sat with two men and a lady, all counsellors, very understanding, and comfortingly, I felt they believed my problem was real. They told me it was common for women, who like myself suffered continual sexual assault and abuse to surrender up their morals and principles, and for ease, even begin to enjoy and actively participate. They were concerned only with my moral welfare and spirit, advising that it was up to me whether or not I ought to report certain matters to the authorities. You see, that was the part the group were sceptical about – my insistence that this was a conspiracy involving many men – even my doctor may be involved.
"Your feelings of guilt is causing your mind to invent a story, so you can absolve yourself of any responsibility for your actions. You know, because of your upbringing and teachings of our church, that you should be punished for your sin of indulging in illicit sex. When you receive that punishment then you will feel you are making amends then you can begin to get back to normal. Are you really being forced into having sex with several men against your will or is that a fabrication and do you have a lover?
Our method will work whatever the truth. You see the devil likes to see you tormented. We have a very unorthodox but very effective method of defeating him. The devil will see no point in pursuing his evil deeds if you make him believe you don't care – pretend to enjoy your sins – then he will think he has won the war for your soul.
Meanwhile, from another angle we encourage you to come here to us and tell us, in detail, about your sinning. Indulge in your sins then as you recall and retell to us how you wallow in the depraved pleasure you have enjoyed we will punish you so your troubled mind associates bad things happening when you sin. Think of it as aversion therapy – you will be allowed to indulge and enjoy – but then suffer for your sins."
It will be embarrassing for me I know; telling tales of sucking and fucking, with men whose names I won't even know. But I think I will be able to fool the devil as the group suggests by pretending to enjoy the filthy acts I am forced to endure.
So this morning I went off with renewed vigour, not letting the devil see how I felt shamed and humiliated by knowing that before the day was done my body would be sexually violated. This morning I smiled at the men on my arrival and didn't wait to be persuaded to join them for an early hot drink before we all started work, instead, I happily wandered amidst them and peeled off my coat almost seductively (though I'm not sure how that is done by genuinely wanton women).
"We are glad to see you are feeling better this morning," they said.
They grin and I know they are admiring me, the short leather skirt and fishnet stockings. They know I wear stockings, don't they! Their cocks will already be awakening, like snakes unravelling from their coiled up sleep. My thin top is far too tight and clings to my breasts like a second skin, my nipples prominent – asking to be sucked.
(Why are the men pretending to be more interested in reading their morning newspapers?)
I'm ready now to do battle with Satan – let him see how pointless it is, futile to expect me to weep and lament at the loss of my decency.
"See Satan!" I will cry, "See how I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh – you are doing me a favour. I am not weak and will not beg for mercy – instead I will relish and savour the wickedness you impose on me. I will not be frightened of the many men you send who want to molest my body – I will delight in their touch – I will welcome their cocks in any orifice they choose to invade."
For now I will leave the men and I wonder if Satan has already given up.
It's not long to go before the owner of the shop is due to return and today as the construction men begin to finalise their work additional men in white overalls arrive to paint and decorate the walls. They are cheerful and like my smile but as I'm wiser now I see the lust in their eyes as they study my body. I think of how much more excited they would be if they knew what was under my short skirt – and what thoughts I had in my head. How eager I am to test the theory of my counsellors! Are these reinforcements sent by the devil?
That night, as I attended my first therapy session I related my history to the same three people, the two men and the woman, who had undertaken to be my 'guides'. We sat comfortably in an office of the large building that served as a headquarters. While every detail of past sins was coaxed from me there was no pressure or mental discomfort felt.
"Let's stop for a break now," suggested the woman. "How about if we take a stroll; we'll show you around the building?"
We all went together, though I had to hide the fact that my interest was somewhat limited. Passing through several rooms I was informed of its use by one of the group. Eventually we descended a staircase but by this time I was anxious and annoyed because this was nothing at all to do with the purpose of my visit.
"This is where we hold many of our events and also where we teach and practice many of our lessons."
I saw that on my right was an open door and inside the dimly lit room I spied a bed, a large bed judging by the dimensions of the little of it I was able to see. What events and lessons were learnt here; why place a bed down here? When the woman asked if I had taken my medication that day I became agitated at the question, wondering how she knew of my prescribed tablets.
"You have told us that you did imagine what might it be like to have those new, those different men touch you, feel inside your clothes, undress you," the woman said sternly.
I became upset. "Why do you say it in those tones – like I have done wrong – that's what you told me to be like, fool the devil, be evil and wicked in my thoughts!"
They pushed me into a room, next to the one with bed, and my goodness I didn't expect to see the shackles and harness's hanging from the ceiling and walls – the manacles and various benches and seats, the restraints. This was going to be my punishment room – I didn't want this!
Frozen with fright I stood whimpering and sobbing, hands were busy, fingers undoing buttons, unfastening zips, and undressing me!
"What are you doing?" I screamed.
"Scream as loud as you wish," a man told me, "No one will hear you down here – other than any of our own people who no doubt will delight in coming down to join in."
"Did you think it would be so very easy?" said the other man sniggering.
"Pleasure comes before pain," said the woman, "Swallow this pill for me."
I refused and spat but they forced me, holding my jaw, pinching my nose, a glass of liquid making me gulp involuntarily.
"No – you can't do that!" I screeched as the woman and one man who stood in full view began to undress too.
The other man behind was busy tethering my wrists together and running his hands over my nylon clad behind. Why was it that by leaving me in pantyhose and bra it caused me to feel more humiliated than if I had been stripped naked?
"What's the matter," asked the woman mockingly, "If your tales are true then you should not be shocked by the sight of a hard penis or ashamed to be undressed – or have you been telling lots of lies?"
No, of course I hadn't – surely they must believe me?
