PART 12: FOR THE PLEASURE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST
Devilled eggs.
After what seemed the ebb and flow of a million years, long past midnight in the deepest depths of blackest darkness an infinitesimal started to grow into a speck, a dot, a smidgen.
After forever will-o'-the-wisps splattered the ebony firmament. They danced the fandango neon electric. The ghostly lights morphed into a constellation of a naked woman somersaulting. And an awareness became aware it had awareness.
Everything was so far away, seen from the wrong end of the telescope. The photograph developed with agonizing slowness. A flickering red glow grew around the border of the blackness.
"I'm lying on something smooth and warm," the awareness thought. "I'm naked."
Red light teased her peripheral vision. She turned her head to the left and saw a distant stone wall with tall, narrow, stained glass arch windows. The stone wall stretched in both directions beyond the horizon.
She turned her head to the right. In the distance there was another wall. It had no windows. It appeared to be made of sheets of iron bolted together. The bolts were huge. It had a mien of frightening antiquity. It too stretched in both directions to the horizon.
She looked up. There was nothing above her but darkness. She looked down. She was lying on a floor of black and white squares, like an immense chess board that disappeared into the eldritch shadows. The floor appeared shiny, brand spanking new.
Her breathing quickened, she curled her toes, she touched her belly with her left hand. Then she sat up, crossed her legs, and got into the lotus position, a hand on each knee, her thumbs and index finger tips curled together.
She meditated on her surroundings, self-less, serene as a clear, smooth, cool mountain lake.
After what seemed forever and a day a thought bubble burst on the smooth surface of the lake: "I'm getting hot cross buns from this floor."
She stood up on to her bare feet and saw a figure on the floor to her left about three feet away. It was a naked, beyond the pale woman, spread eagle on her back, with long, auburn hair, largish breasts and a thick well trimmed deep black inverted pyramid bush between her thighs. The supine woman's dark blue eyes were open, glassy, un-seeing.
The standing woman looked down on the other woman with neither surprise nor curiosity. She was a blank slate. Her eyes gazed at the stained glass windows but she couldn't make neither heads nor tails of the scenes depicted on them.
When the standing woman glanced down again, the spread eagle's dark blue eyes blinked. Then the other woman yawned and rubbed her clenched fists on her dimpled cheeks.
Their eyes locked. They stared at each other with neither curiosity nor surprise for forever and day.
Then the supine woman stood up and the two naked women found themselves standing before a ten foot high and wide mirror. The looking glass had no frame or base. They were suffused with a Mediterranean light from a sun unknown to them.
As they looked at their own and each other's nakedness little bubble bursts of memories popped on the smooth surface of the serenity both women unselfconsciously drifted underneath.
They both had the same shade of auburn hair, which was thick, straight and long. Both of them were as white as clotted cream, with no blemishes or tattoos on their skin. No tan lines, no piercings, no freckles. Both had blue eyes, though one had dark, the other bright. Both had well trimmed deep black bushes between their legs. Neither of them knew they didn't remember much.
"I'm forty," said the women with dark blue eyes impassively to her reflection in the big mirror. She felt no insecurities, none of the anxiety fleeting humanity tried constantly to push to the back of their minds. She had a square shaped face, a rounded chin with large dimples either side of her slightly pouty lips under her slightly pointed nose. Like her companion, she wore no jewellery, make-up or nail polish. She radiated good health. Her default expression was a beaming, open book. She rubbed with the tip of her left index finger the smooth skin between her eyebrows as if searching for something missing.
Her arms and smooth legs were athletic. Her big bell shaped breasts drooped and sagged to the left and right, rounded off with large pink areolae and nipples.
She had a small rounded womanly tummy and slim waist. 5 feet, six inches tall, 120 pounds, she looked studiously at the thick black bush between her legs and said matter of factly, "He told me to always keep my pussy smooth."
"Who did?" asked bright eyes, not taking them of her own reflection.
"I can't remember," replied dark eyes, calmly.
"I'm thirty-three," stated bright eyes. She had almond shaped eyes, an oval face with high cheek bones and thin lips. She had fine features with a slight bump near the bridge of her nose. Her breasts were small and round with cute as a button nipples. Her stomach was flat. 5 feet 5 inches, 112 pounds, she put her hands of her hips akimbo and spoke softly, "31, 24, 33 and..." She twisted her pelvis around and saw a firm, full, round bottom. "You could bounce a quarterback of that ass...if they could only invent rapid growth clones...I'd definitely fuck me."
The two naked women turned towards each other. They contemplated each other for a long time. Then some creatures disturbed the surface of the lake.
"You're my...boss's...wife." The large-breasted red head reeled the words up from the depths.
"And you're...one...of my husband's...cumsluts," replied the bright eyed red head, her gaze lingering on the other woman's dark inverted triangle. "I never forget a pussy...we've...turn around."
The other woman complied, showing her ass. Her auburn locks reached mid-way down her sexy back.
"Sweet tush," stated the bright eyed red head.
The other naked woman turned her head to the left and asked, "Do you hear that?"
Both women turned to face the darkness betwixt the two walls, which were 60 feet apart.
At first bright eyes thought she heard a theremin in the shadows. But as the sound moved toward the naked women she was baffled by the strange acoustics of the...corridor?
"What's that sound?" asked the bright eyed woman.
"Horses."
"What are horses?"
In silence the naked redheads tried to discern a form that embodied the clattering moving towards them in the shadows. Discordant echoes rattled the stained glass windows. Something big was coming.
The clomping sound stopped as an echelon of six men emerged from the haze in smooth, synchronized lock step. They stopped as one in a perfectly straight line six feet in front of the women. All the men were buck naked except for pieces of rope loosely tied around their slim waists.
Each man was six feet, six inches tall, with broad shoulders, killer abs, muscular swimmers' bodies. They were identical in every way: caramel skin, their hair an aureole of jet black ringlets with the impossibly, painfully handsome face of the Bollywood male lead, accentuated by rakish mustaches and goatees. And swaying between their hairy legs, in front of big black balls, were long, thick, uncircumcised fire engine red dicks.
The men and women pondered each other in a long, still silence.
Then from right to left, in a cascade, each man broke out in a rakish grin of perfect pearly white teeth.
The Bollywood matinee idol on the women's far left announced in a rich, warm baritone: "My name is Legion, for we are many." He had an Arabic accent.
The naked man who towered on the far right first eye balled dark eyes and announced, "Sahara Service..." and then caught her companion's eye, "Darkling Fontaine, it is my honor and distinct pleasure to inform you that your cunts are now the private property of his Infernal Majesty."
The passing of this sentence was a blast of volcanic wind that evaporated the clear, cool mountain lake into hissing steam. Memories erupted up into the consciousness of the naked red headed women. Some important facts were still beyond them. And facts are stubborn things as John Adams said.
Darkling shuddered, her stomach churned, her mind reeled. "Fontaine? What the absolute fuck? Is this a dungeon under Master Layman's palace? Why would I be here?" she questioned herself inside.
Sahara's pulse raced as memories boiled up of Sunday school lessons, Bible studies and sermons about bad girls, sluts and whores: what they were, what they did, where they went. First these lessons pique her curiosity and then as she grew up the studies excited her and finally the sermons aroused her.
On her eighteenth birthday, the day before she left her father's house forever, her parents drove Sahara and her older sister for an hour to a mega church in Auburn, Washington to hear a testimonial entitled "I was a Whore of the Hell's Angels." It was given by a plump, cutesy, matronly blonde lady named Carmen Ponzi. In front of hushed thousands, she confessed to a gang bang initiation, bisexual orgies and other unspecified unnatural acts until she was born again, escaped the clutches of the gang, married a good Christian man (a Marine), and had three girls with him and adopted a baby girl from China. Somebody in the pew behind Sahara, "Her roots are showing."
This testimonial aroused Sahara so much that after it was over she slipped away from her family and raced down to the huge church's basement. After a frantic search she found an unlocked storage room and in one of the dimly lit back corners of it lay back on a stack of ESV Holy Bibles still vacuum sealed in cellophane, pulled up her modest beige cotton dress, slid the first two fingers of her left hand inside her modest white cotton panties, inside her soaking wet burning bush and precipitously made the joyous discovery that she was orgasmic.
The third sextuplet from the shocked naked redheads' left assumed a demeanor of mock seriousness and announced: "We are rigid traditionalists here and tradition dictates that all helots, without exceptions, are branded."
