4 comments/ 28017 views/ 9 favorites Devotion By: snick5908 She kneeled there, naked, not nude. Nude implied artistry, beauty, while naked is what she was. She knelt there with her rump back on her heels, back straight, head up, eyes cast down to the floor but with two differences between her normal kneel. Her left hand caressed her breasts and right hand between her thighs working her nub furiously and then slowing. She had been told to wait there in the room kneeling before the fireplace facing the door and to keep herself on the edge for however long it took before He arrived. She'd been at it for slightly over an hour. A nice size puddle of her juices lay between her sodden thighs, her right hand fingers slightly pruny. As she continued her ministrations to her sex, her mind kept flashing on the things her Master had directed her to meditate on: devotion ~ His cock ~ adoration ~ His cock ~ worship ~ His cock ~ love ~ His cock. As her orgasm approached to almost that point of no return, her hands would slow, her breathing would calm, but her mind continued to work. At some point, she registered that the door to the room had opened and closed. But she didn't move save for her hands. She remained where she was and as her mantra and movements brought her higher, her hips began to rise and fall slightly, her breathing became raspier, her face flushed again. He just simply stood by the door and took it all in. The room's air was laden with the scent of her arousal. He placed His hands on His hips and inhaled deeply taking great satisfaction that the odor was caused through His control. HIS. His cock twitched as He sensed how very close she was. He was very proud that she hadn't succumbed to her need even after having been left alone all this time. He silently removed His clothing and quietly walked until He stood before her. Not quite close enough that she could see Him but close enough He could feel her need better. He walked around her carefully examining every inch of her body, every inch of her open to His eyes. When He had had His fill, He quickly stepped up behind her, grabbed her hair and pulled her, surprised, to her feet. She gasped loudly at His first touch but immediately moved to comply with His pull. He bent her, He bent her back with His fingers deeply in her hair, back to His hungry mouth, and He kissed her, deeply, passionately, erotically, feeding off of her need. She struggled to maintain her balance and finally simply allowed Him to hold her upright by her hair. She made positively sure that her hands continued their ordered tasks and felt her passion rise even incredibly higher as she submitted to His kiss. His free hand moved down her body and joined her one between her legs as He continued the kiss. He slid two fingers deep inside of her and felt her almost give into the passion. He smiled into His kiss and withdrew His hand as He knew no human could ever withstand all He was expecting of her. He wanted her to succeed as His pleasure was all she was concerned about. He broke the kiss, His lips still smiling and Eskimo kissed her nose with a quiet chuckle. Then, just as suddenly as He raised her to her feet, He drove her back to her knees by her hair. Then He spoke the first words she'd heard in over an hour. "Suck it." A faint smile played across her lips right before she parted them and pulled His cock's head into her mouth. She knew just how He liked it, but she had been learning other techniques to bring Him release. If He disapproved, she knew He would simply redirect her back to what He most enjoyed. But He loved her thirst for knowledge, her quest to become a better slut, all for Him. She teased His slit with her tongue as her hands switched. She brought her drenched right hand up to His cock. And, well lubricated by her own sex, she stroked it as she gently suckled the tip. She knew He was close, she had heard Him enter, felt Him circle, experienced the depth of His passion through His lips. If she kept focused on His pleasure, He would enjoy the fruits of His control much earlier than He anticipated. And oh, how she loved to surprise Him. Her efforts were soon rewarded as she felt Him twitch in her mouth and heard a low groan come from His throat. She let go of the tip and crawled a bit closer to His body. She bent His cock upwards, pointing straight up to His face. Then with her hand between His cock and His body, she began licking and sucking up and down the sensitive underside as her hand mirrored her mouth's movements. From time to time, she would capture the crown and suckle the precum she found there and then go back to her oral ministrations. When He was twitching with a certain regularity, she brought her left hand up to His sac and began to fondle first one, then the other testicle, then she cupped the entire package and pulled it down away from His body. Not in denial, but in order to take Him higher and higher prior to His release, giving Him the most pleasurable cum she could create. She then took Him entirely into her mouth, feeling Him throb as He entered her and groan louder the deeper she took Him. She began to hum her song for them as she slid her mouth up and down the entire length of His shaft. Her nose never quite reaching His pubic hair but so very close. She knew how this tantalized Him and how much He would enjoy demonstrating for her just how deep He could get down her throat. She released His scrotum and felt His balls pull quickly and tightly up into His body. When she heard Him gasp she knew it was time. She quickly moved her hands behind her head and felt both of His grab her head fiercely as He moved even closer to her face and thrust deep down her throat. His mind only focused now on the pleasure her mouth brought. She opened totally to Him feeling Him soaring higher and higher taking her along with Him. She felt His hands tighten even more strongly on her and she quickly opened her mouth as wide as she could and suck down as much air as the space around His cock would allow. Then He thrust her head deep upon Himself. So deep it cut off her breath. But she had prepared and she was determined. Determined to hold Him there as long as she was able. And she relaxed. She relaxed her throat and felt Him slide in just that little bit more. She relaxed her body, not so much she collapsed, but enough that the air in her lungs would last that much longer. And she began her mantra once again: devotion ~ His cock ~ adoration ~ His cock ~ worship ~ His cock ~ love ~ His cock. He felt her submission as a palpable, living thing. He knew she would remain on His cock however long He wished with very little struggle. But He loved to see the struggle, the ultimate symbol of His control. He waited as she cast her eyes upwards to His knowing this was what He wanted. To see her eyes as the oxygen ran out. To watch them glaze over as she retreated inside herself to maintain her composure as her breath left her little by little. And then it began, the fear. The fear that became overwhelming. It slowly crept up on her and she felt her eyes begin to widen as it took greater hold. But then His right hand caressed the side of her head as His left kept her in place. And she knew. She knew His love for her. Knew He would never let anything happen to her and she allowed the blackness to begin to cover her consciousness. At that exact moment He pulled her off of Himself. She felt the air rush back into her lungs as He released her head and she almost collapsed back setting onto her heels at the last moment. She heard as He stood over her, His cock being stroked hard and furiously above her and she felt as the drops of His cum hit her upturned face. And she came. Devotion Delfina was crying. I was crying. Behind us, the sun rose merrily in the eastern sky, oblivious to our anguished hearts. As I embraced her, tasting the bitter sweetness of her tears, I felt her fingertips desperately clutching mine—first to her brow, then her bosom, her left shoulder then her right. She shuddered, and a fresh torrent of sobs broke over her like a wave in the ocean she was forming on my shoulder. "Frank? Will you lead us in prayer?" My mother's sparkling, cornflower-blue eyes fixed on my face. I could practically feel the joy radiating off her in waves as we sat around the antique oak dining table for a lavish lunch. My brothers and sisters and my father completed the loving circle of my family. "Sure," I nodded agreeably, eyeing the delicious prime rib Mother had fussed over since early that morning. "Are we ready?" I made the Sign of the Cross, extended a hand to Patrick on my left and Maggie on my right, and began a prayer I had engraved on my consciousness since I was an infant. "Bless us, O Lord, for these thy gifts, which we are about to receive..." Outside, the warm spring afternoon sprinkled delicate raindrops down upon our city as if bestowing its own blessing upon my life. And my life was so filled with blessings that I didn't know if it could accommodate any more without deliriously collapsing beneath all their dizzying weight . It seemed that I had been born, twenty-six years ago, for the path unfolding before me. When delicate, fair, ginger-haired Colleen O'Reardon had nuzzled me to her bosom, she had prayed for her dear wee Francis to devote himself to God, as God had shown her tender mercy, and not taken me away from her despite a very dangerous and difficult labor and delivery. Ours was a very devout household—our parents wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would our grandparents, who weren't above hopping the earliest flight out of Dublin to fly in and pile on more grief and guilt if we weren't good Catholics, or good children, or both. They had done this trick when little Margaret got herself into some almost irreparable trouble with Toni Mancino a few years back. My father caught them in "terrible and disgusting acts" with each other. My mother fell to her knees and prayed as Tony hastily drew his pants back up and, followed by my roaring father, retreated to the back door. My brother Peter appeared with the cordless, and hand it to my mother. Her fingers flew over the buttons. Her heavily accented American English was being overtaken by her Gaelic as she frantically sobbed to her own mother over the thousands of miles. Thank God, Mary and all the Blessed Saints that Maggie hadn't gone all the way with Tony—I think they truly would have packed her off to some rustic Irish convent and never let her see the light of day again. As it was, she was subjected to a constant stream of rage and sobbing from Mother, an endless run of her silver rosary from Father Flannery, and a lot of hushed and intense conversations behind closed doors with our stern, quiet Gram. Most of these resulted in Maggie sobbing hysterically and running to Mother's arms, begging for forgiveness. For forgiveness, and for the Blessed Virgin to help her find the strength to renew her slightly tarnished purity. Out of all six children, I had been the only one who really found comfort in our faith. Perhaps it was due to my traumatic entrance into this world, but I can recall the peace and wonder I felt sitting upon my Dad's knee during Mass, watching the priest as he swung the censer and intoned the sacred chants that priests have uttered for centuries. It was the depth of devotion and adherence to ceremony that our congregation embraced so happily which made such sacrifices as Lent and even chastity bearable. I understood and embraced the reasons behind them. Whatever the cause, I had never been as tempted as my siblings to stray. Margaret had always enjoyed pushing the envelope. She began at a very early age—she found a tube of candy-pink lipstick that belonged to her best friend's older sister. Not only did she steal it, but she also applied it in secret when she thought no one would catch her. Unfortunately for her, Mother did. And then there were all the low-cut shirts and short skirts that she managed to smuggle into the house and keep hidden away. She would hurry out in long, concealing coats to try and get one off on the parents. Joe, my older brother, always gave his fair share of trouble as well, though it looked as if it wouldn't always be legal trouble. And that, eventually, I'd be paying him visits in prison Motivated by love for family and God, I decided fairly early in life that I wanted to know more about the church. I wanted to experience the mysticism of being closer to God in the way that only the clergy can be. To feel the strength of my faith as it pulled me through difficult moments and temptations. To shepherd new souls into our faith. To help those souls about to leave us to be prepared to greet Our Father, and to ascend to Heaven with prayer and gentle guidance. I wanted to be a servant of God. So it was that I passed through the usually turbulent years of my teens with the gift of serenity. Of course, I had my moments of doubt. I even dabbled in the odd joint or drunken evening with friends on occasion. But the biggest temptation I ever had to face came from a freckle-faced little girl who blossomed into a creature who floated through our neighborhood like Venus arising from the sea. The change within the beautiful young girl seemed to occur overnight. And, wherever she walked, the sun shone a bit brighter and the air had a sweeter freshness about it. Delfinan Adriana DiFranco—never Didi or Delfie, but always Delfina—had grown up two blocks from our crowded colonial house, and she bloomed almost unnoticed right under my nose. Her father owned a very successful shoe shop and her mother was able to stay home caring for her children during a time when the married housewife was fast becoming an endangered species. Somehow—while I was helping keep my little brothers and sister from playing in the street, helping Mother feed my cherubic baby brother Patrick, or toiling over homework—lanky little Delfina had transformed from the gum-chewing, rope-skipping little tomboy into a sixteen-year-old angel in ivory sandals and curve-hugging Capri pants. Just a glimpse of Delfina passing by our house in the summertime—her little sister Lucia trailing behind in a concerted effort to keep up —would be enough to make me give pause if I was out cutting the grass or playing ball with Peter and Joseph. But woe to my poor denied libido if she happened to be holding an ice-cream cone or wearing a pair of shorts over her bikini so she could take a break from tanning to run to the store for her mother. Moments like these would clearly define the O'Reardon boys. Joseph would whistle and make lewd gestures with a lusty grin, Peter would blush furiously and tentatively raise a hand in greeting, and I would only look hurriedly away and think about baptisms and weddings. While Joseph's future was murky at best, my path was abundantly clear. I was going to become a priest, much to my mother's tearful embraces and most likely answered prayers . During my senior year, I spent a lot of time helping out wherever I could at St. Monica's. I talked with the aging Father Flannery about the responsibilities of my future career, and about baseball. We played chess sometimes, since this seemed to ease the weight of the difficult topics we discussed. "You're a good-looking boy, Francis," he would comment offhandedly. "You would make a fine husband and father. Are you sure this is the path you want to pursue?" "Yes, Father," I had replied, keeping a close eye on my priest's next move. He was crafty, and would often distract me with serious contemplation, then promptly check me. "I just want to help people and belong to God. I mean... not that I don't now. I just want that closeness, you know? To know that I will be helping people every day and that I'll have a really special relationship with God. It's really important to me." "Well, then," Father Flannery had sighed, running one sure and steady hand through his silvery hair. "I will do what ever I can to help you achieve this desire, Francis. Have you decided which seminary you'd like to attend?" That autumn afternoon had been the start of my journey into the priesthood. During my senior year, I was accepted by one of the most respected seminaries on the East Coast. After I graduated high school—and spent time walking the streets contemplating my future and the commitment it required—I moved onto the campus of my seminary . The morning I was packing my modest collection of suitcases and boxes into my mother's car, Delfina came strolling past with her dog Mocha. Mocha was a gorgeous chocolate Labrador who never tugged at the leash but kept pace at her mistress's side and regarded the world around her with an almost Zen-like tranquility. "Hi, Frank!" she called from halfway up the block. "Where are you off to?" I turned to greet her, extending a hand as golden morning sunlight cascaded down her gorgeous dark hair and sparkled in her large, jewel-like eyes. "Seminary." I blushed, feeling awkward about it for the first time in months. My fingers enfolded the delicate hand she offered. The blush crept up my cheeks into my hairline. I felt guilty that I had not taken the time to tell her before. Delfina noticed my embarrassment and offered an angelic smile. "Oh, wow. I didn't know. Surprising, isn't it? I figured your mom would have told everyone in the tri-state area!" I laughed, shaking my head. "I think she's expecting I won't make it. She's been having a hard time with Joe lately, and I think she won't be convinced until I make it through school and come back to be ordained." There was a brief flicker in those eyes that were almost the color of golden amber. Had it been regret? Incredulity? "Well, good luck to you. It will be really kind of weird having to confess to you." She cracked a charming grin, leaning in close enough for me to catch a hint of the sweet floral perfume she wore. "Here's my first one. Let's see..." she lowered her head, removed her hand from mine to quickly cross herself, then folded her hands. "Bless me, Frank, for I have sinned. It's been two months since my last confession. Remember when we were trick-or-treating when we were eleven. and you dropped your candy? Remember how I helped you pick it up?" She moved even closer, her eyes glittering. "When you weren't looking, I stole all the peanut-butter cups I could see. So, if you ever wondered why you didn't get any..." An effervescent bubble of laughter burst from her garnet lips. "Sorry about that. Am I forgiven?" Mocha approached, sniffed my hand, and then licked it with a warm pink tongue. "Yeah," I smiled back. "I think so . Well, take care, Delfina. I'll see ya around." "Yeah. You too. God... Seminary? I can't believe it. Anyway, take care of yourself, Francis." With that, she reached out and offered me an embrace that smelled of warm autumn sunshine and Dior perfume. I felt an erection spring to life as I embraced the fully mature yet youthful curves of a woman who was not a relative. Her full breasts pressed against my chest, and she offered me a soft kiss on the cheek before disengaging herself from me and walking away. I felt a pang of sadness and regret at that moment as I watched her hurry off. Her voice was sweet and silvery as she playfully scolded Mocha, who paused to look back at me with lazy doggy eyes. I caught myself gazing at the slender beauty of Delfina's tanned legs as they went on forever into the denim cutoffs she wore. I watched the rounded musculature of her bottom as she walked away, then let my eyes linger on the glossy curtain of her wavy hair, and imagined how soft it would feel against my cheek. I promptly decided that, before my trip, I should pray for a safe journey, and hurriedly returned to loading the car. ** At seminary, I truly felt I could relate to my peers for the first time. No cajoling older brother chiding me while I said my morning prayers. Writing homilies was a praised art-form instead of a chore that required immense concentration and the tuning out of my immense and noisy family. I enjoyed all facets of my study. From political science to philosophy, I kept myself so busy with reading and thinking that my old friends and old life seemed a bit of a distant memory—an old comfortable existence that brought a smile to my face, but didn't make me pine for what I'd left. Of course I missed Mother's cooking and glimpses of the lovely Delfina as she went for a walk or helped her mother to plant flowers in their front yard. But there was lots of entertainment in the sleepy little East Coast town where my seminary was located, and a chance just to observe the wonders and the beauty of life. I got to know the active members of our diocese, and formed close bonds with my brothers who had come from all over the world to study and prepare for a life serving God and helping Him to shepherd his flock. All we seminarians were men, after all, and we soon formed close relationships as young men in similar situations often do. We prayed together to help each other through moments of uncertainty and difficulty. When Matthew's little brother was in a car accident, and he could not keep himself from silently weeping during evening prayer, I touched his elbow and told him that I sympathized with what he was going through . He knew that my commiseration was not just empty words. The time I spent preparing for my life as a priest was so untroubled that I had to thank God for opening such a smooth and uncorrupted path. I looked forward to learning how to minister to my future parish. I enjoyed long walks in the beautiful eastern countryside, and kept up with my favorite sports teams and their progress through the seasons. And I attended classes and meditation with anxious delight, overjoyed with the new direction my life was taking. I was in my second year when I stumbled. We were preparing to welcome some local deacons for dinner. And Caroline Hutchins—one of the women helping to prepare the luncheon—broke her leg the evening before., She phoned to apologize that she hadn't even made it to the market yet to purchase the ingredients for the dish she had been planning to bring the following day..After Juliatn —the most light hearted and humorous of us— paid her a visit at her home to cheer her up, and ask what we could do to help, we found ourselves pitching in a little bit more than expected. . "Mrs. Hutchins said she was just going to go to the Farmer's Market to pick up the ingredients to make the salad ," Julian reported after returning from the visit . "Frank, if you would go pick up what's on this list here, it would really help out for tomorrow." He handed me a list of ingredients in Caroline's dainty script. "Yeah, I could do that," I nodded. I took off my hooded sweatshirt and decided to go in just my polo shirt and slacks. It was warm and sunny outside, and the prospect of being out in the fragrant spring air delighted me. "Let me go get my wallet." "Oh, no. She insisted on giving me the money. She feels awful about what happened, God bless her, and said it was the least she could do." "May she have a speedy recovery," I smiled, truly touched by the generosity and kindness of the woman. "I'll go do that now." ** The Farmer's Market was just outside the little town, and it was pretty crowded. Women brought home-made baked goods and lemonade to sell along with all the fresh fruits and vegetables sold by the basket, bushel or bag. I smiled as a tow-haired little girl waved to me, grinning around a lollipop. I recognized her from Family Mass at St. Cecilia 's and nodded to her nearby mother, who was clutching several baskets of strawberries. I made my way toward a bin that was piled high with lettuce. The young woman tending the produce was bent over, retrieving another large carton to place on the table. Her legs were extended and her calf muscles flexed as she struggled to lift the heavy carton. "Let me help you with that, miss" I offered, hurrying around the trestle table to lift the carton for her. She glanced up at me with grateful pale-blue eyes and smiled from a face so beautiful and sweet that my breath caught for a moment. She wore her red hair pulled back into a plait that hung well past her narrow bottom when she stood, and a tank-top almost the same shade as her enchanting eyes. "Thanks," she panted, helping me set out the lettuce and reaching up to mop her brow with the back of one wrist. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her shirt, and no bra restrained them. As she brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, the hem of her shirt rode up to reveal an alabaster strip of her belly and the unmistakable glint of a navel ring. "No problem," I nodded, unable to take my eyes from her figure—the round fullness of her breasts, the cleavage that the scoop neck of her shirt revealed. The tiny waist and the robust flare of her hips within the denim shorts she wore. The shapely legs. My cheeks were aflame with embarrassment. "Are you looking for something in particular?" she inquired politely, seeing the confusion and discomfiture on my face. "Oh... Yes, I am, actually. I have a list here, and I just happen to need a lot of lettuce." "Well, I can help you out with that." I did not enjoy my trip into town that afternoon as I had always done in the past. Of course, I was human. I was a man, born with original sin and the desire for pleasures of the flesh. But I had always prided myself on being fortunate enough that I could always redirect that desire. I hadn't been so assailed by it since the morning I left for college and Delfina had embraced me. Later that night, as I lay on my bed, my mind returned to the girl in the market. Across the room from me, my roommate Eric's peaceful snores stretched on as the minutes passed. Visions of long, shapely legs and curvaceous hips floated completely unbidden into my mind. The shape of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her shirt and the tiny suggestion of her nipples lingered in my brain as I tossed restlessly beneath the thin blanket and sheet, the movement of my undershirt and boxers against my skin more maddening than usual. And that navel piercing? Oh, how luscious it was! True, it was not respectful to the temple that was the human body—but how it glittered and sparkled for that brief instant against the milky, toned flesh of her lightly freckled belly. And that face... Oh, those lips... I had swelled to painful arousal. Sighing, I tried to lie on my belly to quash the unbidden invasion, but the friction of the firm mattress against my cock only made things worse. I reached down to try and adjust myself, and the brush of my fingertips through the cotton of my underwear made my breath catch. My hand lingered. Squeezed. My stomach lurched and my mouth run dry. All I could think of was those breasts and that bottom. And that navel... I imagined plunging my tongue into it. What must the cool metal of that ring feel like against my hot tongue? Would she shiver when I did it? What color were her nipples? I thought they'd be a lovely pale pink. My hand had begun to rhythmically caress my cock, and I let out a longing sigh, lost in my fantasies. An abrupt burst of loud snores from Eric's bed startled me and I jumped, snapping back to reality and realizing what I had done. "Oh, God—forgive me!" I panted, sliding off the bed to fall upon my knees beside it, my hair plastered to my brow with perspiration, my breath trembling. My traitorous cock still throbbed demandingly, and I clasped my hands together below my chin, keeping them as far from my crotch as I could manage. Devotion I prayed for strength in this moment of doubt and transgression. Even on nights when I had awakened to find I had accidentally achieved orgasm in my sleep, I had sought and received immediate comfort in prayer. Tonight had been worse. I had known full well what I was doing, but had been helpless to stop. I felt ashamed and disgusted at my weakness, and, as I repeated my prayer for strength, I at last felt the blood leaving my penis and felt it slacken against my thigh. Relieved, I climbed back into bed, focusing my thoughts instead on what I would need to do tomorrow. The studying I needed to do, the luncheon with the bishop and deacons, and a thank you note to Mrs. Hutchins for her contribution even after her injury. Briefly I contemplated seeking counsel for this evening's embarrassing incident, but the very thought of explaining it to either my brothers or the priests who advised us made warmth spill into my cheeks. I would just be more determined than ever to think Godly thoughts when the beauty of female flesh tempted me. After all, God had created woman, and it was a perfect opportunity for me to praise His gift to mankind. The gift that brought children into the world. The gift that had led to the birth of Our Savior in a humble manger. I began to drowse, happy that the red-haired girl had faded from my immediate thoughts. In her place, I thought of Mary's peaceful face and of how she had delivered Jesus Christ to the world with such grace and serenity in such humble surroundings while God and the angels looked on. She was perfect. Pure. I slept. ** "It's so terrible," Margaret whispered to me as we hurriedly packed a large picnic basket in our cozy kitchen. Mother was on the phone with Mr. DiFranco in the living room while Patrick ran around the house with a toy airplane, making droning and buzzing noises as he mock dive-bombed the nearest object or person. "I mean it's awesome you're going to be ordained soon, but it just sucks that you had to come home to this, Frank. They said Mrs. DiFranco probably wouldn't last more than a couple days." My head whirled. I was home for spring break during my final weeks of seminary, facing my upcoming priestly service in the Church with all the pride and determination fitting a man in my position. The icy early-March air howled around the trees as I had pulled into the driveway behind my mother's car. I hurried inside, expecting to be greeted by my mother's open arms and a proud smile from my stoic father. Instead, I had been hugged briefly and distractedly by a newly bleach-blonde Maggie. My mother, clutching the phone to her ear, offered a quick kiss. My father sat in the living room, hiding his concerned emotions behind the evening paper. He waved to me as Maggie hustled me into the kitchen. "How are Mr. DiFranco and the family holding up?" I asked, remembering the last time I had seen Delfina. It had been three months ago at midnight mass. She had been pale, even in the white flowing dress she wore, and her eyes looked haunted and exhausted. She had prayed almost continuously through the ceremony. Even the corona of soft candlelight could not hide the traces of tears around her eyes as she turned to her father and kissed his smoothly shaven cheek. "They're a mess, dumbass!" Maggie gave me a look as if I had just wandered out of the local mental ward. "Christopher says he can't afford to come home, but we all know that's a load of shit. He just doesn't want to be there when his mother dies. And Lucia has lost a ton of weight. She just sits in the cafeteria at school and stares at the table. But Delfina is such an angel. "She helps the nurses change her mother's IV tubes, and bathes her every morning. She pretty much runs the house for her father. He's just been working and going through the motions, you know?" The thought of Delfina tending her still rather young and handsome mother made my heart ache. I wrapped sandwiches and dropped sliced apples and grapes into plastic containers to add to the basket Maggie was putting together. In our family, when tragedy happens, we cook and bring food. It is the way Mother handles every difficult situation. When Joe was arrested for petty theft one evening in his early teens, Mother spent the next day cooking roasts, cabbage, potatoes, and cookies to keep her rage at bay. The roast had been tenderized almost well enough for the baby to eat, and the cookies were atypically fluffy due to the vigorous hand-beating she had given the eggs. Now Margaret was following suit. "Yes, Marco. I'll send him right over. Shall I send Margaret to keep Delfina company?" My mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, brushing a coppery curl out of her eyes as she regarded me from a pale face. She had been crying. "All right. He'll be there soon. God bless you, Marco." The phone was hastily put down, and my mother came to me then, embracing me as she looked up into my eyes. "Mother, it's good to see you," I said solemnly. "It's Delfina's mother, isn't it?" "Yes, Francis. The cancer has spread too much. They brought her home and brought the hospice in yesterday. She'll probably be gone by week's end." "What can I do?" I asked as Maggie closed the basket and shoved it into my chest. I reached up to receive it. "Go be with them, Francis. You will be a great comfort for Marco and Delfina when Gabriella goes. Father Flannery is on his way as well, but he was all the way across the city. Just do what you can." "But I'm not ordained as a priest yet. What can I do? I'm just a deacon..." "Go, Francis." My mother touched my cheek to silence me, then left the room followed by a concerned Patrick whose airplane hung forgotten at his side. ** Gabriella DiFranco lay surrounded by tubes that dripped various colored liquids, cherished books of poetry, and immense bouquets of flowers. In fact, the once-gorgeous and glamorous Mrs. DiFranco, even at death's door, still commanded the eye's attention. She wore a wig, and her face had been carefully powdered and rouged, but I could still see the natural beauty she had always possessed. She was practically skeletal, yet her eyes still seemed very much alert and alive when I entered the room, trailed by a softly smiling Delfina. It was no doubt Delfina who had applied the careful cosmetics and styled the wig with all the tenderness a devoted daughter could muster. The house was unnaturally quiet, and Delfina said she would have to leave me for a moment to go and greet the next hospice nurse who was due to arrive any moment. "Mama? You remember Francis? Colleen O'Reardon's son?" "Francis," Gabriella offered a smile that clearly took a great deal of effort as she lifted a wasted arm to beckon me closer. Even in this state, I could see how this woman had hopelessly enchanted Delfina's father. "Mrs. DiFranco," I greeted warmly, traversing the tables, IV poles and floral arrangements to kneel at her bedside, taking one bony hand in both of mine. "How are you feeling? Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?" "Gabriella is fine. Not Mrs. DiFranco. And you could pray with me, Francis. Pray for my babies and my husband, because I will be leaving them soon." At this, I saw Delfina stiffen and turn pale as milk. She quickly crossed herself before leaving the room. "Well, Gabriella, I'm not a priest yet, but I will do what I can for you." "Thank you, Francis. Could you please hand me the rosary there on the table?" "Of course," I nodded, retrieving a lovely crystal and pearl rosary that looked as if it had been an heirloom piece passed down through many generations. She took it from me with a surprising amount of grace and delicacy, clutching it to her gown-covered chest. "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee...." I began, trying to ignore the tightening of my chest and the tremor in my fingers as I prayed with this woman who would not live to see her children's weddings or her grandchildren. ** "Delfina!" I called, bolting to my feet. I overturned a vase stuffed with ivory roses on a nearby night table. It knocked over a few vials as it went, spilling icy water and fluffy roses over my feet as I hurried to the bedroom door. "Your mother! She's..." "Oh, God!" Delfina wailed, her footfalls hurrying down the hall. Mocha dashed out of her path from her previous station at the entryway to Gabriella's room. "Mama—her last rites! Francis—give her the last rites!" "We did penance already, but I thought Father Flannery would come to perform the eucharist and viaticum..." "Don't fucking argue with me, Francis! Please—just do what you can." I was dumbstruck. Not only was I not prepared with any oil to anoint Mrs. DiFranco, but also Father Flannery wouldn't be here to help me through my first extreme unction. And sweet and devout Delfina DiFranco had just cursed in front of me. "All I have is holy water," I mumbled as Delfina pulled me back into her mother's bedroom. Gabriella lay, apparently dozing. Her chest rose and fell irregularly. Her hands were still. Delfina began to sob. As I tried to do what I could for her mother, she kneeled by my side, praying aloud and occasionally gasping and shuddering uncontrollably. I anointed her mother with Holy Water, then reached into the bag I had brought from my car. If I administered the viaticum to Gabriella now, this would fall into the category of extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion rather than that given by a priest. I had to do what I could. "Is that consecrated?" Delfina blinked over at me, her hands bone-white as they suddenly clutched my arm. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she watched me take out a bottle of wine. "Yes," I whispered, pushing down my own fear and shock and I prepared to send this good and pious woman home to be with God and the angels. I had uncorked the bottle of wine when the front door downstairs opened. I heard Lucia's voice accompanied by that of her father and Father Flannery. I heaved a sigh of relief, and called to Father to hurry as Gabriella's soul slipped away from us a second at a time. ** "You did what you thought right, Francis," Father Flannery whispered to me as we huddled outside the now silent bedroom of Mrs. Gabriella DiFranco. "You allowed Gabriella to settle her soul with God, and I am very proud of you. Holy Orders or not, you did well, my son." One lone tear ran down his cheek and he hurriedly crossed himself before brushing it away. "Now we'll stay to aid her family and give them counsel. Why don't you go downstairs and prepare some coffee or tea? I'll help the family." Downstairs, I began to tremble, recalling what I had just done and witnessed. I had never been present for a death before, though I my studies had prepared me. However, all the preparations could not have warned me of how painful it would be to minister to the mother of a girl I had played with as a child. I automatically did as I had been told, finding everything to prepare both tea and coffee in the spacious and well-stocked kitchen. I heard footsteps on the tread of the stairs, and a wan and frail Lucia appeared. She was still clad in the burgundy sweater and raven jeans she had been wearing when her mother died. "There's whiskey, brandy and some schnapps in the cabinet above the fridge. Help yourself," she murmured, walking over to me and unconsciously laying her head upon my shoulder as she sniffed. "Why did God do this to us, Francis? My mother was so cool... and not even old. You're the damned priest. Why did God do this to our family? I pray every day even for Chris, even though he's a shit of an older brother. Nothing ever happens to him no matter how much of an ass he is..." All I could do was turn to embrace her waiflike form, closing my eyes and sinking my teeth into my lower lip to bite back my own sorrow. "Nothing I can say will comfort you, Lucia. But all I can tell you is there's a reason." She said nothing, only sobbed against my chest as the teakettle began to whistle. ** Marco DiFranco had taken two Ambiens shortly after Gabriella left him, and was now dozing on the sofa in the guest room. Lucia sat in her bedroom, her ears covered by headphones that snaked out of the iPod she held in numb fingers. Delfina had argued and cursed at their older brother Christopher across the wires for half an hour before throwing the phone receiver at the wall and running into her room. Father Flannery had left moments earlier. I was preparing to offer Lucia and Delfina any last comfort I could before heading home when a door opened in the upstairs hall. In the silent house, the squeal of slightly squeaky hinges was almost deafening. I nearly spilled the cup of tea I held as I sat at the kitchen table, trying to ignore the wedding picture of the DiFrancos on the mantle in the living room. In the kitchen hung a very large portrait of a young, radiant and beaming Gabriella holding a baby Lucia with a young Delfina and Christopher standing at her side. The more I looked at it, the less certain I became of anything. Notions and ideas that had seemed concrete began to crumble in my mind, and I felt the first tinge of doubt about my chosen career. Delfina appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She was wearing a pale, shimmering lavender nightgown and holding an onyx and silver rosary. Her eyes looked distant, and I imagined she had helped herself to her father's prescription sleeping pills. "I'm sorry I swore at you, Frank," she mumbled, lowering her eyes to reveal long lashes that glittered with crystalline tears. "Will you come pray with me for a minute before you leave? I... I just don't want to fall asleep alone." Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew what she wanted, and barriers of steel determination began to slam up between that thought and the task asked of me as I recalled the vows of celibacy I had embraced not too long previously. People were often given to acts they did not mean while in the deepest stages of grief or shock, and I would do what I could to help Delfina while still keeping that in mind. "Of course," I nodded, setting my cup on its saucer and getting to my feet to follow her upstairs. The coroner had taken Gabriella to the funeral home two hours ago. I tried hard not to listen as Marco had whispered a few parting words to his beloved in Italian before she was wheeled out on the gurney Mercifully, her bedroom door was now closed. Lucia's door was also closed. , . Delfina's bedroom was dim and quiet. Two candles burned on her neatly arranged desk, scenting the cool air with their subtle perfume. A silver crucifix hung on the wall above her bed. All was tidy and still. She seemed not to notice me as she walked across the pale-blue pile carpet and knelt beside her bed, clutching her rosary. She lowered her head, and her hair hung down on either side of her sorrow-stricken face. "I'm so sorry, Delfina," I went to her side, to kneel beside her. Then I thought better of that, and moved around to kneel before her. She looked up at me, and the rosary slipped from her fingers as she leaned toward me to place her head on my chest. "She was going to be fifty this year," she said in a monotone, one hand idly playing with the ebony cuff of my dress shirt. "She and Papa had been married for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years, Francis. What the hell do you do after twenty-eight years and now you're alone? They were like newlyweds." "I understand," I whispered. "We are all here for your family, Delfina." "Are you?" she asked sarcastically, lifting her face to mine. Anger flared in her eyes as her cheeks grew rosy. "You have no idea how I'm feeling, or how my father feels. You'll never find out how he feels, so how can you offer him comfort or say you understand?" "What do you mean?" I was surprised and bewildered at the turn this discussion had taken. "Father Flannery told my father that he would move on in time, that time has a way of healing even the deepest wounds. But it's easy for him to say that, because he's never been in love like Papa. Or ever been married." "What?" I floundered, staring wide-eyed at this woman whom I didn't truly know, but who had mesmerized me for most of my teens. "You know what I really need right now, Father O'Reardon?" she whispered, reaching out and taking both my hands in hers. Her rosary lay on the floor nearby, completely forgotten. "I need to forget about my mother dying in our arms tonight. I need to have a few minutes of peace. And I need to fall asleep without feeling like I'm about to scream and cry until I lose my voice." Here it was. The premonition I had sensed in the kitchen had been correct. She wanted the one thing I could not give to her. To any woman. I felt my heart sink and my knees grow weak. Surely this must be how the psychiatrist feels after doing their best to help the patient only to hear the patient announce that they are in love with their doctor? "Delfina, you're tired. I'm tired, and it's been a very difficult night. Let me pray with you, and then I'll go." Delfina struck me across my cheek. In the silence, the sound was loud and unexpected, and my cheek stung as I blinked in shock. Suddenly, she was sobbing and scrambling back away from me, up into her bed and back into a corner, as if it had been I who hit her, not the other way round. "Fuck you, Frank! You're a fucking coward who can't deal with his feelings. How can you be so condescending? Fine! Just leave me with my whore's feelings, and go back to your fucking seminary! Just get out! Get the fuck out!" "Delfina!" I cried, wounded and enraged all at once. "Quiet down! Your father's trying to sleep!" "Get out!" she shrieked, and I was on the bed with her before I knew it. I put my hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. She bit my palm, nearly drawing blood. What had I done to arouse such vitriol and rage? I wasn't sure, but I had to settle this before the entire house was roused. "Listen to me," I said harshly, firmly grabbing her face by the chin and forcing her to look into my eyes. "I will forgive you for what you've said. I will not tell anyone about this, but you have to calm down. This won't be any easier if you don't get a hold of yourself right..." She lunged at me like a rabid tiger, knocking me onto my back as her mouth pressed to mine, her tongue seizing the opportunity to plunge into my mouth thanks to my slack jaw. She kissed me as if it were her only way to draw breath, and something began to happen to me as I received her kiss. I don't know whether it was my own acceptance of the anger concerning her mother's death, the injustice of the physical love I was forced to forsake in lieu of my vows, or just the part of myself I had spent years trying to repress. I don't know where it came from or why it happened. I kissed her back. At first, I was too shocked to realize that my own tongue was betraying me—the very tongue that had uttered prayers morning, noon and night, and that was planning on accepting all the vows and responsibilities of priesthood without hesitation in a mere few weeks. The tongue that had received the body of Christ with awe and humility since I was seven years old. My body seemed to have a mind of its own. Or perhaps it was listening to a part of my mind I had long ignored, despite its attempts to seduce me long ago on a warm spring night by visions of that gorgeous, red-haired girl. Delfina was slowing and settling now, pulling away to gaze at me with glazed eyes as she sat back, hiking up her nightgown. As she lifted it up past her hips to reveal the tiniest pair of ivory lace panties, her eyes asked me if this was what I wanted. I nodded, awestruck, not daring to speak. Her hands went to my shirt, attempting to tear it open, but my hands shot up and stayed hers. My compliance was shocking, yet not too shocking to elicit a pause in my actions. Devotion "Don't pull the buttons. We have to be careful." With the skill of a girl who had enjoyed her teenage years more than she should, Delfina hurriedly unbuttoned the raven shirt I wore. And she had the shoes and black slacks off just as quickly. The socks and underwear followed , and soon we were almost completely nude save for her good-girl panties. The irony of this was not lost on me as she collapsed beside me, capturing my mouth with hers again as she began to run her hands all over my chest and arms. The seminarian in me cried out, but the man in me silenced him as I felt cool fingertips brush over my nipples. I don't know which of us was shaking more violently, but I think we clung to one another at that moment. I'm sure she wasn't thinking of the death of her mother with just as much intent as I was ignoring the potentially fatal blow to my life this moment could inflict. "I've always wanted to hold you," I murmured deliriously as her lips left mine to burn a trail down my throat, the heat and dampness of her most precious of parts pressed against my hip as her teeth nibbled at my collarbone. "I just... I want to keep our relationship as it is..." "No, you don't," she breathed, wriggling on top of me to press her crotch against my throbbing cock. "You want this as badly as I do. And we won't ever need to think of this night again, Frankie." No one had called me Frankie in years. She hadn't called me Frankie since we were children. "Delfina, I love you. I love what you represent as a woman. You're beautiful and if I weren't going to be a priest, you know I'd ask you to marry me, or at least date me, but this is..." Another silencing kiss as the warm voluptuousness of her body settled over me, and the high voltage intensity of her weight against my cock made me wince. I think I must have groaned aloud as she broke the kiss to shush me, then returned her lips to mine as her hands left my sides to push down her panties. I had seen plenty of nude women before. Maggie seemed to find perverse joy in running around the house fresh from her shower in a scrap of a towel—or sometimes no towel at all, if Mother wasn't home. She had been wild as an untamed nymph since she was a toddler, viewing clothes as a nuisance instead of a modest covering for herself. And I recall many thrilling nights during my tenth and eleventh year, huddled under the covers with Joseph and a contraband Playboy magazine, trying to wrap my mind around the pawnshop pearls of wisdom he gave me. Instructions on how you should play with a girl's "boobs" to get her in the mood, or of how you shouldn't stick your "thing" in her because that's what made babies, and you didn't want that to happen. All this seemed like decades ago as I felt the silken brush of Delfina's pubic hair against my thigh. I gasped and grabbed her upper arms, and pushed her up and off me, to tumble her down beside me on the mauve fleece blanket that covered her bed. I shakily got to my knees to stare down at her and try to collect myself. Her skin was as soft and flawless as satin. Her large breasts were firm and perky and tipped with pale-pink nipples. The shadowy recess of her navel, the flare of her hips and the black lace of her trimmed bush were nothing short of exquisite. Even her narrow feet, with their pink-painted toenails. I felt feverish, and buried my face in my hands. For her part, Delfina just gazed up at me with those hypnotic eyes. The tension between us was focused and all encompassing. Her demure expression was of a virginal girl with the face and body of a woman. I closed my eyes again and made to cross myself when one of her tiny hands shot up and encircled my wrist with surprising strength. "No. Not now." I was on my back again, and she was kissing down my chest. When I realized what she meant to do, I froze in terror and thrilling excitement. "No, no. You can't..." I quaked as she paused just above the painfully hard spike of my cock. Her hair settled like a mysterious veil over her face, and obscured my sight. I felt the first velvety kisses on the head of my cock, and all was lost. Lying under this creature with the face of an angel and the mouth of an experienced courtesan, I at last knew the true definition of sin. I wanted her to stop. I thought of the Virgin and the purity of her relationship with Joseph. I thought of how proud I was to have made it to seminary school with a chastity that was honest and unblemished, and how I felt this allowed me to keep my focus during prayer and meditation so easily. But God, did I crave her mouth and all the pleasure it brought. In short order, my hands moved down to tangle themselves in the silken density of her hair, cupping the back of her head as they did so. My hips arched of their own volition, and I closed my eyes. My flesh was on fire and my cock throbbed and swelled. The sensation sent icy tingles all over my body. I began to thrust my hips, increasing the rhythm as Delfina did the same. Soft moans escaped her lips and vibrated the sensitive head of my cock until I began to tremble and groan deep in my throat. "Stop... Please..." I panted, squeezing great fistfuls of her hair as I thrust into her throat. She coughed, and suddenly the world exploded into darkness as I collapsed, taken prisoner by my first conscious, blinding and earth-shattering orgasm. My heart pounded in my ears and my muscles clenched. The warmth and intensity of sensation spilled outward from my cock until I thought I would simply die. Delfina sat up then, misted in perspiration as the scent of her perfume and my seed filled the air. She closed her eyes, grimaced, then swallowed, wiping a drop of semen from her chin as she fell beside me, already reaching for my still throbbing cock. "In for a penny, in for a pound," she whispered, brushing her knuckles across my cheek. "You can hate me if you want, Francis. But first make love to me." "I can't," I whispered back, still reeling from the head she had given me. "I can't cross that line with you, Delfina. I love you and care about your soul. I want to see you in Heaven, sweetheart. I want us to be together forever." "Then make love to me and hear my confession when we're through," she justified, tossing her hair from her face and grabbing my hand to put it between her legs. Hours ago, her mother had died. Her father had sedated himself to cope. Her sister had fled to her room and her own music and thoughts. Her brother had gotten sloppy drunk and cried like a baby on the phone with her. She was teaching me how to rub her pussy, with breathy instruction and barely controlled movement. I came to understand in short order that rubbing the tiny nub of her clitoris was what she wanted. I stroked it lightly with my index finger, and her eyes closed and her back arched like a feline basking in the sun. Her vagina was hot. Very hot. I wondered at the warmth there, and that it didn't seem to make her uncomfortable. But it was also slippery with her own secretions. Between the downy outer lips, her sex was silken, swollen, and slick with obvious desire. The bed squeaked in protest as she rolled onto her side and flung a leg over my waist. I rolled onto my side to face her, now pressing one adoring kiss after another to her feverish brow as I flicked and rubbed that hardening little pearl beneath my fingertips. She was sweating more freely now, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and breathed heavily against my ear. Her lips grazed my neck as she began to writhe against my fingertips. "God, don't stop," she moaned as she wriggled closer. I felt heat and wetness against the head of my cock and realized what she was doing. "Delfina," I breathed, gasping as she bit my throat to stifle a moan. One of her hands left my shoulders and wrapped resolutely around my cock, pulling it toward her soaked pussy. "Don't stop, no matter what I do," Delfina ordered breathlessly. Simultaneously, she pushed herself onto my cock and rolled onto her back, taking me with her. Natural instinct acted before rational mind in my case, and I thrust into the tight heat and wetness of her vagina. My eyes closed and my nerves barely registered the sharp pain of ten little fingernails digging into my back. She gasped, inhaled twice, then froze and I felt the tightness of her pussy increase as she came beneath me. Unable to resist, I plowed into her, withdrew enough to do it again, and then began to take her with all the strength and virility of a long-caged bull. My head swam as I luxuriated in sensation I had never known. I was vaguely aware of hee raking my back with her nails and grabbing a pillow to release her cries of pleasure into as I bore into her again and again, driven by the slippery addiction of her cunt squeezing my cock. Sweat dripped from my brow, and I thought I caught the phantom fragrance of incense smoke. I figured it must be smoke from the burning candles as I drove Delfina's shapely bottom into the mattress. No doubt we made a huge mess of the blanket beneath her. When I felt pressure against my belly, and realized that she had moved a hand between us to continue stroking herself while I made love to her, I abandoned all pretense of gentleness or caution. I fucked her. Our climax came seconds later. She bucked beneath me, and her free hand scored my lower back with her nails as I bent and bit her neck. I groaned loudly despite myself as I erupted into all that contracting musculature, and she trembled violently beneath me. We lay quietly then, I still on top of her and inside her, my head resting on her shoulder, she silent with her eyes closed. Somehow, on that horrible and wonderful night, we dozed in each other's arms. ** Delfina awoke before I did, and her startled gasp and jump brought me around fast. The room was brighter than it should have been, and one quick glance confirmed that the candles had gone out and that dawn was approaching. "Shit!" she hissed, sitting up. I moved off her and did the same, watching as she looked around in bewilderment for a moment. Then it all hit her at once, and she began to shake. Her hands going to her face. "Oh God... What did we do? Mama..." I leaned in to embrace her. I had always hated to see a woman cry, but when the first tears fell from her eyes, that feeling multiplied. As I lowered my face to kiss her brow, a dark stain upon the blanket between her splayed thighs caught my eye. Refusing to believe what I was seeing, I pulled away from her to stare wide-eyed as the enormity of what we'd done crashed over me in a tidal wave of horror and rapture. "Delfina... You were a virgin... Oh, Christ..." Invisible daggers of tears pricked my eyes and I was helpless to stop them. All around us, the house was silent. Had Lucia gotten up to check on her sister? I prayed she had not. I didn't think Marco would be up any time soon. I prayed that we had not been discovered, as the shame I was feeling could not have endured further compounding. Chest heaving, Delfina pulled herself away from me briefly to kiss me with salty fervor, then return to sobbing on my shoulder. I felt one of her hands capture mine. She brought it to her forehead, then her bosom. Her left shoulder next, and then her right. I felt responsible for putting her in this position. I also felt it was my Godly duty to make things right by doing what I had learned to do through experience ever since I was a child. Our sins had to be absolved. A silent confession and request for penance—the words escaped my lips as they had been prepared to do through four years of college and almost the same at seminary: "Delfina, God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Inwardly, I wondered who would hear my confession as I got out of her bed and began to cast about for my clothes. She did not look at me. She turned her gaze heavenward out the window, and I could not stop looking at the dark stain of her maiden's blood upon the coverlet. I kissed the top of her head, her cheek, and her lips. Then I left the DiFranco house. ** Mother, Dad, Maggie, Patrick, Peter and I sat in the living room on the evening of my ordination. It had been held after our lunch, and I had been so nervous as I received blessings from the Bishop and other priests that I thought I might lose the contents of my stomach. But all had gone well, and it felt good to be home again, though one issue rested heavily on my mind. Mother had mixed up whiskey sours for the adults and a Shirley Temple for a disgruntled Patrick. We all sat sipping our respective drinks, with our bellies full of reheated prime rib and potatoes. Our collective spirits were light, though the favor Delfina asked of me after the ceremony today weighed on my heart and unsettled it when it should have been joyous and proud. May has always been one of my favorite months. It is a month of rebirth, the coming of summer, and all the earth's fruits growing on the vine—the rebirth of my commitment to my faith and the priesthood. My new vestments and new life as a servant to God, and it was also a fine time for weddings. "So that lovely Delfina is marrying a lawyer?" Mother asked, a hopeful smile touching her lips. "The poor child has had such a difficult time of it lately." "Yes. That's what she told me today after the ceremony," I said, wishing my inner feelings could match the contented and peaceful expression on my face. "She said it will be a July wedding, and asked me if I'd preside." "Oh, how sweet!" Maggie gushed. "I mean, it's really good of her fiancé to not mind the baby and all." I tried not to drop my glass. "Baby?" "Yeah. I guess it's gonna be a shotgun wedding after all. When her mother died, she sort of had a rough time, you know? Went and got herself knocked..." A reproachful look from my mother in Maggie's direction. "Excuse me, in the family way. But she and Josh had been dating off and on for a few months before it happened, so it's no big surprise that this happened, what with all she's been through." Maggie tossed her hair out of her eyes and sipped her drink. "I'm sure it means a lot to her that you'll be there to perform the wedding. You were such a help to the DiFrancos after Mrs. DiFranco died." The peace I had made with my ordination now disintegrated. . I had carefully dissected the incidents the night of Gabriella's death. I had prayed over them, contemplated them at great length, and finally decided that yes, I did love Delfina, but I felt my calling was not to settle down and have a family. The church was my family, and I loved serving the Lord. But now I thought of that night in every sharp, painful and exquisite detail. When was the baby due? I had a hunch it would be born in December. And I also had a hunch I would be performing the baptism. Beyond that, I did not know. But I knew that night would stay with me forever— perhaps in more ways than I had realized. Devotion to Aphrodite The legionnaire was very hairy. The hair on his broad back was long enough for Diana to get her fingers tangled right inside. But at least he spoke Greek. Of a sort. Not like the Roman centurion who'd fucked Diana for so long just a couple of hours ago. He'd spoken Vulgar Latin and some words of Aramaic from where he'd been stationed before being relocated to Smyrna. But even though she could hardly understand half what he said, he'd been a pretty good fuck. The sort that reminded Diana of why she'd chosen to dedicate herself to the service of Aphrodite. Or 'Venus' as the Roman had called the divine goddess. Typical of the Romans. They steal your religion and then they rename all the Gods. But at least they hadn't abandoned the true Gods like some people in the city had done. The legionnaire's cock was thick and hairy and a kind of olive colour just like the rest of him. The glans had a small kink in it, but Diana licked it and watched as it became hard and shiny. She leaned over and dipped her fingers into a tub of olive oil, while her tongue nibbled and chewed at the scrotum, which tightened as his cock got larger. Then she pulled it out of her mouth and sat up. She smeared the olive oil all over the cock and testicles. And as she did so, she intoned a prayer to the Divine Aphrodite. This was standard procedure for a temple prostitute, and one way that distinguished her from the common prostitutes she so despised: who sold their bodies not for the greatest service of the gods, and in particular for the Divine Goddess Aphrodite, but for their own selfish pecuniary gain. And, furthermore, as was obvious when you saw these sorry creatures as they loitered outside the hovels where they provided their services, these women had none of the style, expertise or even the looks of a temple prostitute. No wonder the Temple of Aphrodite felt able to charge its services at a premium rate. After the prayers were done, Diana poured sands into the uppermost of two conical vessels, so that the grains would slowly drop out into the vessel below through the small hole at its base and mark the passing of the time for which the legionnaire had paid for Diana's service. As was her duty to the Divine Goddess she would ensure that the legionnaire would benefit from the arts of Aphrodite as taught her by the other temple prostitutes and which further distinguished a temple prostitute from the common sort that the legionnaire could so much more easily afford. However dedicated as Diana was to her craft, as her mouth closed over the tip of the legionnaire's penis, and she sucked in her cheeks, while slopping her tongue beneath the thick weight of the penis's girth, she could still contemplate the monetary worth of her endeavours. Not that one prostitute received more wealth in the temple than any other. Her services were for the good of the temple, which would safeguard not only the upkeep of the icons and statues, but also the long-term welfare of those older prostitutes who were no longer able to work in such a physical capacity. And the welfare of the children who were the fruit of the prostitutes' endeavours and who had to be cared for before they were old enough to be sold as indentured servants or, if they were female, to work as prostitutes in the temple. The legionnaire's cock was soon at its maximum size, and there was still much more than half the volume of sand to go. Diana didn't want the legionnaire to be disappointed by too brief a love-making, but she sensed that he was very keen to enter her vagina, which was scented and perfumed according to the rituals, her pubic hair combed and plaited, and a ceremonial bronze ring threaded through her clitoris. She leaned on her back. This was a legionnaire who had undoubtedly raped and pillaged in the service of the empire and had learnt some bad habits with regard to how best to treat a woman. He pushed Diana's legs apart rudely, with his erect penis above him, and then plunged it straight into her without any more ceremony. Diana had got rather used to that. Soldiers were a rough lot, and those who'd come back from the furthest borders of the empire, where maltreatment and rape of captured women was common practice, were usually the worst. But Diana was a professional in the service of her Goddess and her role was to satisfy the man's lust, not to comment on his roughness. Clearly, the way he was going, it'd all be over well before half the sands were gone. Diana applied her skills to slow down and extend the legionnaire's passion, avoiding his slobbery kisses on her cheeks and face (that wasn't part of the transaction!), and gripping his flobby, hairy buttocks in her hands. The inflation that was rife throughout the empire meant that the legionnaire was going to pay rather more sestertii for her services than he would have done a couple of years earlier when his legion was last in Smyrna. But Diana knew that those sestertii bought rather fewer goods in the market than the fee a few years earlier would have done. All was not well in the empire, as the soldiers would so often tell her, despite the assurances of the local officials who'd have her believe that nothing could injure the Empire under the wise governance of the Emperor. There were so many pagans and barbarians attacking the borders of civilisation, people who worshipped Gods other than those who reigned from Mount Olympus. There were the Goths, the Huns and the Persians. And the pagans tolerated inside the very borders of the empire, who sought to overthrow the divine order from within. How could the empire survive if its very spiritual basis was threatened? "Now your arse!" grunted the legionnaire, pulling his still erect penis out of Diana's vagina. "By the Great Goddess, no!" Diana responded. "I'm not a common whore. And you're not in a heathen land where barbarians are so depraved that they cannot tell apart a boy from a girl. Aphrodite has granted men and women the bounty of love, and she has decreed that it is to be done in the right and proper way. If you wish to besmirch your penis in an unclean receptacle then there are many sluts at the forum or the amphitheatre who will be pleased to help." The legionnaire looked put out. He'd clearly forgotten that he was in a temple and that due respect needed to be given to its servants. "Forgive me, sister. I forgot myself. You're right. In the border land of Britain where the Pictish barbarians are massed, there is indeed no true decency. I have fucked many a pagan woman's arse, and, yes, I admit, a pagan man's too. I have not yet adjusted to civilised life. May I be permitted to re-enter the receptacle of Aphrodite's benison?" Diana smiled. This legionnaire wasn't so rough and ill mannered after all. "Yes, of course, but first I shall lick your manhood again. It has lost some of the edge of its fervour." Today was not an especially busy day. There were no festivals being celebrated. No public holidays. The soldiers in the city had arrived several weeks earlier and had learnt to be less free with their sestertii than they had earlier been. Days such as this were days of rest and recuperation for Diana. Less than a handful of men to service. She felt that the goddess Aphrodite had hardly been properly served today, and so when more than an hour had passed since the legionnaire had departed, Diana took leave of her chamber and entered the main body of the temple to pray to the goddess she served. She entered the temple naked, as all servants of Aphrodite had to be within its hallowed walls. It would not be right to deny the worshippers of the Goddess of Love the sight of the object of love's devotion. Clothes were denied the temple prostitutes, except on those rare occasions when they should leave the temple estate. In fact, it was this very presence of clothing on Andromeda that alerted Diana that something had changed for her closest friend. Diana bowed to the marble statue of Aphrodite that graced the temple, the Venus of Smyrna as the Romans called it. It was not much larger than an ordinary woman and it had the perfect proportions of the great goddess. The straight nose. The womanly bosom. The full buttocks. Diana sighed. If only her body was more like the Aphrodisiac ideal. Instead of being so very thin. To look at her slender thighs, no one could have imagined Diana as a woman of childbearing capability – even though she had borne two children for the service of the Great Goddess who were being cared for by the elderly temple matrons. She had intended to masturbate in front of the great statue, thereby demonstrating the extent of her devotion and how much she loved the Goddess. She had always believed that it was necessary to worship Aphrodite in this traditional manner as often as one could, and then smear the juice of her passion, which would ease out of her vagina, onto the ceremonial candles so that they would burn with the scent of her sex. When masturbating, Diana would fantasise about the goddess Aphrodite coming down from Mount Olympus to be with her, as the gods were wont to occasionally do. And then she would take Diana as Zeus had with Leda and Europa, and the two would make wild sapphic love. Aphrodite's tongue deep in her vagina, while she would worship the labial folds of the great goddess. That would be the greatest honour for any servant of a deity. Sometimes she fantasised that Aphrodite had perhaps already come to her. Maybe in the guise of one of her clients. Or in the guise of one of the other temple prostitutes with whom she so often made love. She hoped, however, that she would not be as mischievous as the Father of the Gods, Zeus himself, and come as a swan or a bull. This was a habit of the Olympians that Diana couldn't really understand or appreciate. But such devotion was not to be. She felt that before offering her juices to Aphrodite, she should learn why Andromeda had so chosen to disregard the spirit of the great goddess and enter her temple in clothes, and such modest clothes too. Diana wasn't sure she'd ever seen Andromeda in clothing before. All the time they spent together in the temple, ever since they were children and Andromeda had joined the temple after the unfortunate death of her parents in a plague, giggling together, playing games together, making love together, not once could Diana recall a time when she'd seen Andromeda cover her flesh. And such a shame to hide her beautiful body! The only body other than that of Aphrodite that Diana had truly loved with passion and emotion. Those full womanly breasts, the large thighs, the rounded folds of motherly flesh, the delicate fingers and toes; surely blessed by Aphrodite herself so as to provide her with better service in her duties to the temple. And where were those breasts and that darling vagina now? Hidden under a dress that came down nearly to her ankles, and showed only the glimpse of her bosom. Her hair was tied back with a hairpin, and she carried a basket under her bared arm. Diana recalled their last lovemaking, just days before. There had been no hint then that Andromeda should so soon dishonour the reputation of the goddess of love. Indeed it was to love that she and Diana were the most true servants at that occasion. Truly, Cupid's arrow had been shot with great accuracy that day. Diana sighed as she recalled the rich sour odours of Andromeda's cunt. Her own vagina became slightly itchy and moist at the very recollection. "Andromeda!" she called out in an urgent hiss. "Quickly! Take off your clothes! You don't want the temple mother to know of your discourtesy to the Great Goddess!" Andromeda looked away from the mural on the wall, which depicted one of the triumphs of Aphrodite's passion over those who would deny the potency of her love. It was a mural that Diana and she had studied for many hours, tracing the details of the erect penises as they penetrated the virgins who had denied the services of Aphrodite for the sake of their selfish devotion to chastity. Why would Andromeda find such a painting so very fascinating today? "Diana!" laughed Andromeda. "You haven't heard? I spoke to the temple mother just a couple of days ago. As of today, I am no longer a servant of the goddess Aphrodite." Diana wasn't sure she'd heard right. She gasped, and walked backwards into a huge candle, the very one she intended to anoint with her vaginal juices. "So, the mother hasn't spoken. It's true! I am no longer a temple prostitute. I no longer serve Aphrodite." Diana gathered her wits about her. Defections from the temple were not unknown. Sisters sometimes left to marry their clients. Sometimes, though this was less often, they left because they no longer felt able to offer their body for sexual gratification perhaps as much as a dozen times a day. "Why? Why?" "Because I no longer follow the goddess. She is no longer the one whom I serve. I have become a Christian." "A Christian!" This was the worst news possible. Andromeda's soul was now lost. She would descend to the region of Hades, as did all unbelievers, destined to suffer eternal torment. "It's not too late, Andromeda. The goddess Aphrodite is forgiving and merciful. She can see that you are misled. She will allow you back into the fold. Please, Andromeda! Divest yourself of your clothes and return again to the service of the Goddess who so loves and cares for you!" "Diana!" laughed Andromeda. "You don't understand. I have converted. I have been baptised in the name of God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. I have chosen to follow the dictates of the one true God, who is so Merciful that his own Son died so that our souls may be saved." "Andromeda. Andromeda. This is profanity most foul. And spoken within the sacred confines of the great temple of Aphrodite. How has this happened? How have you been tempted away from the only true way? How have you become a pagan?" Andromeda laughed again. She leaned out and placed her hand on Diana's bare shoulder, reminding her again of the passion they had shared so recently. She hoped that perhaps her love would persuade Andromeda to return to the service of Aphrodite and forget about this nonsense that the people of the sign of the fish had spread. Rue the day that the emperors had become so soft and tolerant that they permitted these pagans to spread their faith amongst the devout! "Diana. It is you who is misled. I have heard the bishops and vicars of Christ speak. I have even seen the great patriarch of Smyrna himself. The true way is the way of Jesus Christ. He who is the Light and the Way. He who is Alpha and Omega." Andromeda made the sign of Alpha in the air, which looked so much like the shape of a fish. "I have struggled for many years with my faith. I have often thought that the religion of our Hellenic forebears has lost its way. It has been perverted by the Romans, who even assigned deity to their emperors, and it no longer carries its old authority." "But Christianity? Does it not come from the Semitic nations of the Desert? The people of Palestine, Samaria and Assyria. How can a god worshipped by those savages be a god for civilised people?" "Have you not heard? It is rumoured that even some of the senators in Rome may be Christian. And very many people throughout the Empire have been converted. With the momentum of so many conversions, it is surely only time until the Roman Empire becomes a Christian Empire." Diana didn't want to hear more. All she could think of was the eternal suffering that her dearest Andromeda would suffer. Her genitals would be torn from her. Hot irons would brand her flesh. She would be lost forever on the further shores of the Styx. She pulled Andromeda to her naked body, feeling the unfamiliar cloth against her skin, and wept on her shoulder. Andromeda held her close to her bosom and kissed her full on the mouth. Diana responded eagerly. She grasped Andromeda's head in her hands and pulled her face to hers, to smother her with kisses and tears, in the hope that she could seduce her close friend and in this way encourage her to make love in the temple. To take off her hated clothes and to stretch out on the rush mats on the temple floor, and to put out the fire of burning passion that was inflaming her cunt. If she could just get her tongue to her friend's clitoris under the watchful eye of the statue of Aphrodite, then perhaps Andromeda would see the error of her ways and return to the Aphrodisiac fold. But Andromeda was too strong. "Not here, Diana. Perhaps tonight. Please visit me in my new home and we can make love there." "What? Leave the confines of the temple?" "Why not? You're not a prisoner. I'm sure you can borrow a gown so that you can walk the city streets without being molested by the brutish soldiers garrisoned within the city walls. Please, Diana. And then we not only can make love. Again. We can talk together." Diana nodded. Her hope was that she might persuade Andromeda to abandon her newfound obsession and return to the service of Aphrodite. And it was this hope that she took with her, not long after Andromeda quit the temple, her shapely ankles only just visible under the confining length of her dress. And this was the hope that she presented to the great temple mother when she asked for consent to see her past lover. Agatha, the temple mother, was very understanding but also very sorrowful. "We are truly sad to lose Andromeda. She has been a good servant to the temple. She has brought in many sestertii to our cause. Although she has not blessed the temple with her own children, she has blessed it with her love. I was very unhappy when she told me that she would be leaving. I shall pray to Aphrodite for her soul." Diana nodded. "I have been masturbating in front of the statue of the Great Goddess for over an hour, asking that she should be saved." Agatha smiled understandingly. She was an old woman, a grandmother, perhaps nearly fifty years old, her skin tight and crinkled, her naked breasts now drooping rather than full and firm. But Diana loved her, as it was her duty to love those sisters who had served the goddess Aphrodite for more than a generation. She knelt down in front of Agatha and demonstrated her love by licking, sucking and chewing the lips and clitoris and folds of her vagina. An old woman's vagina was slack, and the hair was coarse, and may no longer offer proof of fecundity once in the lunar cycle, but this vagina belonged to the temple mother and for that reason Diana sincerely loved it. She hoped that one day she might become the temple mother, and then she too could receive the tongue and lips of the sisters when they came to speak with her. When Agatha was satisfied by Diana's tongue, she bade her go, but advised her that she would almost certainly be unsuccessful in her hope that she may be able to save Andromeda's soul. "These Christians. They are a persistent lot. They love to make martyrs of themselves so as to gain sympathy. They practise the strangest rituals where they pretend to eat human flesh and drink human blood. They have initiation ceremonies where they pretend to drown each other. But despite their strangeness and their denial of the Olympian gods, their faith continues to grow. I fear that one day they may even threaten the temples of the true gods." "Surely, that cannot be! Zeus would strike them dead with bolts of divine thunder. Heracles would return from Olympus to kill the pagans with his lion's jaw." Agatha sighed. "I hope you are right. I do so hope you are right. But not all is well in the empire. Even the Romans may choose to abandon their spiritual traditions. I fear that these Christians are as much a threat to the empire's future as the Huns, Goths and Vandals that amass at the empire's borders." The streets and avenues leading to Andromeda's new home were dark and unfamiliar. It had been a long time since Diana had last ventured so far from the temple. She strode in the centre of the road, dodging the donkeys and oxen-carts that carried out the commerce of the city of Smyrna, seeing the men who stood by the taverns and stalls not as potential customers, but as possible threats. She was glad that the gown she wore hid her breasts and crotch so well. She didn't wish to attract a man's attention unless he was to pay for it. And the only right and proper place for that was in the temple. Devotion to Aphrodite And when, at last, Diana was outside the hovel that Andromeda had described as hers, she was shocked. It was just a single room whose door was no more than a woollen blanket. And around her were many idle men, but also women, who, Diana could see from their painted faces and bare breasts, were the common sort of whore that she abhorred. But it was one of these sluts she had to ask which one of the rundown clay and wattle buildings housed Andromeda. "Oh the new girl? The posh one from the temple. The cunt who's taking my custom. I hope you're taking her back with you. We don't want her here." Diana smiled as politely as she could at the woman. She must be almost forty. No wonder she had to wear such thick paint over her face. And her breasts were cracked and leathery after years of exposure to the sun. But surely she wasn't suggesting that her beloved Andromeda had become a common whore herself. How obscene! But Diana's abhorrence wasn't any lessened when she entered the room that the whore had indicated, and saw her lover. But not by herself. She was stretched out on the straw mattress while a squat balding man plied away at her, his cock deep within her anus. Diana gasped. She had often seen Andromeda with men. It was normal for temple prostitutes to see each other in such company. Often she and Andromeda had served the wealthier clients of more adventurous habits as a couple, taking joy from making love to each other as well as taking joint responsibility for their client's passion. But to see Andromeda serving a client outside the temple, and, what's worse, permitting her unclean orifice to be taken as a channel of love… This was surely too much! Andromeda grinned at Diana as she came in, with that old friendly smile of hers that the girls had exchanged over the years, while not breaking at all into her gasps and moans as she urgently pushed her buttocks up and down on the bald man's cock. He also noticed Diana standing there, but judging that she had not come to also satisfy his lust, he only nodded at her, and then returned to his thrusting. At least Andromeda wasn't wearing any clothes, Diana reflected. Although, seeing as she wasn't in the temple and was now a common prostitute, was that now a good thing or a bad thing? And Diana was fascinated to see how relatively large Andromeda's anus was. She'd never thought that it could so easily accommodate such a big fat thing as a cock. After all, it was not Aphrodite who had blessed women with an anus. If that were so then it would not have been a feature shared by men. And when the bald man withdrew his fat thick penis, a trail of creamy viscous sperm trailing from its glans to the orifice it had been pounding so vigorously, Diana was fascinated to see how the anus had become so wide and round, with a trail of semen drooping down to tangle in the hairs of her vagina. Diana guessed from the ease by which Andromeda had admitted the organ that she may have been tempted by the pleadings of some of the temple clients to permit them a license not normally sanctioned within a sacred temple. Andromeda's client soon left, leaving her with a handful of coins on the faces of which was the clear head of the emperor. Diana eased off her dress as soon as she was sure that he had gone, and leaned down lengthways besides her lover. Andromeda kissed her tenderly on the lips and didn't seem at all put out that Diana didn't immediately commence making love with her. When they lived together in the temple, they would normally have already slumped into the slippery, sweaty heap of passion, so great had been their mutual love. Instead now, Diana was content to lay on her back with one arm around Andromeda's bare back, while her lover leaned over her and stroked her nipples. "I can't lie, Andromeda. I came here in the hope of persuading you to return to the true faith. But now I've seen the horrors to which you have allowed yourself to descend, I'm not sure that you may not already beyond saving. You have not only become a Christian, which defies the natural order, you have also become a common whore. Is this how it is in your new religion? Do women who serve Christ also sell themselves in such a demeaning way? Proffering their arses to any pervert who wishes to take them?" Diana laughed. "Don't confuse my profession with the religion I profess. I had no choice when I left the temple but to become a whore. But one who works for herself. Not for the upkeep of a huge marble temple. But my faith is a separate issue. I left the temple not because I no longer wished to make a living by having sex with strangers, but because I truly believe in Jesus Christ." "So you work for yourself, now? You have sex for money? Not as a service to the great goddess Aphrodite?" "I always did have sex for money, Diana. How else could I have afforded to leave the temple? Don't say you don't also make money by offering satisfaction to the clients outside of the normal remit?" "Like anal sex? No. Never." Andromeda laughed. "You're such a prude, Diana! You really do believe in Aphrodite!" "Of course. As so did you. Until recently." "I'm not sure that's true. I don't think I really believed in anything before now. But Jesus Christ is a god who forgives and condones. He feasts with prostitutes and moneylenders. One of his disciples, Mary Magdalene, it is said, was a common prostitute. But there are so many different stories of Jesus Christ. Some people say that He believes in chastity and virginity. That He Himself was a virgin until He died. I can't believe that! He was a man, so He must have had sex. Someone should gather all these different stories together in one book so that people can agree on who is the real Jesus Christ. And what He taught." "So what did he teach? I heard he was some kind of doctor or something." "He performed miracles. He turned water into wine. He fed a multitude on a single fish. He brought people back from the dead. And He even came back from the dead Himself." "That's nothing! The gods performed much greater miracles than that. Zeus throws thunderbolts. Apollo carries the Sun on a chariot. Athena brought wisdom to the world. Aphrodite brings love, the greatest of all virtues." "But, Diana, I don't believe that stuff. It just seems like myth. Fairy Tales. Legends. Where are the centaurs, fauns and dryads of your faith? The Roman Empire stretches to the limits of civilisation and yet no one has found the gods on the top of Mount Olympus or navigated the River Styx or even found the places mentioned in the epic poetry of Homer and Virgil. I don't believe all that. But Christianity has the ring of authenticity. It's about ordinary people, not kings and queens, tyrants and monsters. And it's hardly two hundred years since Jesus Christ lived and died. Not thousands of years ago, like Heracles and Theseus and Odysseus. And the message of Christianity is forgiveness. If you agree to follow the Christian religion, then whatever you do, however bad your crimes, you will be forgiven, and go to Paradise. Do you think Aphrodite can do that?" "That's not fair. Aphrodite is the Goddess of Love. If you serve her, she will protect you both in this life and the next." "Oh, Diana. Do you really believe in Aphrodite? Do you really think that there is a family of deities who bicker amongst themselves but also have the time to help people who serve them? What happens when, like Paris, you serve the wrong god and lose out in the cosmic politics? With Jesus Christ I know that if I am baptised, if I confess my sins, and if I attend religious services, I shall go to Heaven." "But what are these religious services? I've heard that Christians are cannibals and eat human flesh and drink human blood." "That's the mystery of Christ. Transubstantiation. Anyway, that's what the priest says. So come on, Diana. Can't you see that your faith is misled and that the true faith is that of Jesus Christ? After all, there are so many Christians in the Empire now, that Christ may indeed have already triumphed." At that moment Diana didn't feel so confident in her beliefs. But as she nestled in against Andromeda's body, she found that however much she might start doubting the substance of her faith, she was becoming more and more certain of its spirit. She worshipped the Goddess of Love, and whether she could be sure of its historical veracity, which was surely the proper matter for debate by the scholars, she knew that she believed in love itself. And here in Andromeda was the object of her love. As it had been for so many years. And so it was to be again that night and through to the early morning. The two girls soon bowed to the urgency of their physical passion: Diana for the softness and smoothness of Andromeda's womanly body and Andromeda for her lover's more slender, almost adolescent frame. Diana's mouth and lips ventured again to Andromeda's cunt, taking those lips again in her teeth, her tongue deep inside the slightly roughened flesh of her vulva, while her nostrils luxuriated again in that rich sour taste she so loved. While her own vagina was lapped and licked and soaked by Andromeda's tongue, her vaginal juices mixed with her lover's saliva. But in amongst the saltiness of the sweat and saliva, and the pungency of the sexual juices, and the odour of passion, as the two girls' bodies slid over and about each other, there was also the trace of Diana's tears. She knew now that although she served the Goddess of Love, that very service that she so deeply believed in would now mean that she would be parted from the object of her love. Much as she enjoyed her sex with her clients, and enjoyed her lovemaking with the other temple prostitutes, and would joyfully service the temple mother as often as was required, nobody in her life had given her the passion and depth of love that Andromeda had given her. And she felt sure that nobody had ever received the intensity of love that Diana was giving to Andromeda. And now, for the love of the Goddess of Love, she would now be parted from the object of her love. It saddened her so much to know that her darling Andromeda was now a pagan and a common whore, and who would be destined for an eternity at the pleasure of Hades. But Diana had her beliefs. They were sincerely and profoundly felt. And nothing would part her from her faith. Not even the love of another woman. Devotional It was a secret place they went. Late in the evening down a street with fewer lamps than perhaps one would want, many came. A certain name mentioned at an unnoticed door and a man and woman could enter together, unseen. The entrance of this place was dark, but the gentleman's cloak could be taken and the lady escorted into the main hall where the others were waiting for them; waiting for the evening to begin. The ladies stood together in fine dresses, some long and elegant others revealing and flirtatious. When the attendants brought their silver trays, some graciously accepted crystal glasses filled with heady drink that pooled on the tongue. Others sampled tiny delicacies, candied fruits, elegant cuts of cheese or a small slice of wheat bread with crumbles of fish or meat balanced on top. Their male companions and escorts stood together as well, speaking easily of the day's events, though with odd hesitations between topics quickly glossed over with a joke about the weather or the day's sport. Not one escort was without a dinner jacket and waistcoat, but some had truly brought out their finery with cashmere scarves or gold pocket watches. A beautiful grandfather clock stood watch on one wall. Unlike the other decorations in the room, the patrons this evening did not cluster around it and comment upon its beautiful, polished cogs nor exclaim that the wood was of finest quality and the craftsman's carvings the height of fashion. In truth, while the assembly seemed in awe of its properties, they were frightfully unwilling to look overlong upon its enormity, standing half again as tall as a man. Unheeding, its hands rose closer and closer together, nearing the inevitable midnight when they overlapped and 12 commanding chimes finally compelled each person to cease conversation abruptly and turn their gazes upon the clock. The glass door opened and behind it, where one might expect to see the pendulum, there was a lit hallway with crimson wallpaper and soft, plush red carpet. A mahogany banister adorned each side of the hallway, for its floor curved in a wide circle, sloping downward all the while. The pairs of men and women, finding their glasses taken by the waitstaff without their notice, instead took each others arms and queued politely for the opportunity to follow the hallway. Behind them, the lights of the reception hall began to dim and go out. Speaking only in whispers, the patrons emerged from the hallway into a theater in the round, warmly lit by gas lamps and decorated in the same crimson velvet, now accented with gold cords and gilded rails. The audience's seats were situated in a rising ring around a circular stage. Though a paneled, thigh-high divider separated the audience from the actors, stairs lead up and away from the stage all around. Between these stairs were shadowed recesses into which not a single patron could see, though the house was completely lit. A dome completed the magnificence of the hall, mirroring the stage in proportion and made of finest paneled hardwood. Beautiful black and red ochre abstractions had been painted upon it to draw the eye to the stage. The audience took in the splendid hall, whispering admirations to one another and settled into their seats to wait. The house lamps dimmed, suddenly hushing voices. Six small fires contained in brass dishes sprang to life around the edge of the stage and the audience perceived the scent of burning wood and charcoal. A round trapdoor opened in the very center of the stage and from it rose a female figure in a sheer, white silken dress. Her dark hair lay unbound around her shoulders and her hands were folded together modestly, accented by pristine white lace from her sleeves. She swayed delicately when her platform stopped, invisibly flesh with the stage floor, and then she looked up and around the audience, careful only to move her head. In the firelight, the translucent cloth did not hide the secrets of her form, which was softly curved. With the audience's attention on the girl in white, another woman emerged unnoticed from one of the dark recesses. She was clad in long, fitting black trousers and matching blouse with quiet, black boots that covered her calves. Her head was covered in a tied black cloth and her hands, too, were hidden by black gloves. This woman took the girl in white by the hand and led her up one set of stairs to a walkway that circled before the audience. The girl was average in height, modestly endowed, but with full, round hips. The female attendant led her counterclockwise around the room, guiding her to stand at each of the four cardinal points. At each point, the girl allowed the patrons to observe her and stood with her weight upon one hip, which had the wonderful effect of emphasizing her shape. The attendant raised her arm and bade her turn her back to the audience as well displaying her smooth posterior and, perhaps inadvertently, her smooth sex, to which the sheer silk of the dress clung. Audience members closest to her at each point leaned forward curiously to see her better while one woman boldly reached out to touch the dress stretched tightly over her body. From an opened alcove between the stairs came a few soft clinks of metal. Something large with toothy cogs and leather straps and little puffing engines was wheeled forth. It was a real mastery of machinery to behold, rising in height to the shoulders of the men, but the crowning glory, extruding far away from the rest of the device, was an enormous silicone phallus. Complete with a set of molded testicles that swung slightly with the machine, the phallus was shaped to be fully erect and protruding at a perfect horizontal angle, its smooth head pointing imperceptibly to the ceiling. It was pushed straight forward from the gaping darkness until it met its marks upon the stage where two male attendants clad also in uniforms of black locked the entire mechanism down with thick straps that looped through special rings on the floor. Together, they tried to rock it back and forth or tip it over, but finding its position stable, they took a little cord that hung between the machine's back axel, plugged it into a socket on the floor, and then returned into the recess. The female attendant led the girl before it, gently dropped her hand and followed the men into the alcove. The girl in white stood motionless. Her dark eyes darted from the machine to the protruding phallus and back again but her intense gaze was broken by the loud click of a lock and the entrance of two figures. Two women in red leather halters approached from opposite sides of the stage. They wore black silk masks over their noses and cheeks that did not hide the sparkle of their eyes while the heels of their boots were long and clicked resonantly upon the stage floor. When they stepped into the light, the audience could see that, to crown their significance, each woman carried a black leather riding crop in her gloved hand. One woman swiftly approached the girl and gathered her thick hair in one hand, insistently pulling it until the girl whimpered and stood on her bare toes. She was made to tiptoe in a circle around the machine while the dress fluttered around her ankles with her tiny, wavering steps. When the woman had brought her back before the machine, the girl in white was released and allowed to kiss the gloved hand of her instructor, kneeling and rising weakly. The other instructor approached from the machine, where she had double checked its safety, and together with her partner seized the shoulders of the sheer silk dress and pulled. RIIIIIIIIIIP Now the girl stood naked before them, her feet caught in a pool of ribboned cloth. Her skin was nearly as milky white as the dress had been, her nipples small, brown and now obviously erect. Her legs shook. The second instructor touched the girl's throat with the tip of her crop while the other woman removed her gloves. Her bare hands touched every inch of the girl's body, cupping her breasts and pinching the hard nipples, but also flitting across her stomach and drawing lines down her thighs. When her hands approached her inner thighs, the girl's knees shook alarmingly and the instructor was obliged to take her hair in her fist to aid her once more onto her toes. Her partner's hands parted the girl's lips deftly and polished the jewel concealed between them which brought a bright blush to the girl's cheeks. An excited sigh escaped the audience, appreciating the taste of pleasure. Finally, the instructor stood and the girl's hair was released. She was allowed to kneel in the remains of the dress and the instructor stroked her hair with bare hands and murmured something sweet and soft. An attendant surreptitiously approached and handed something to one of the instructors, then backed away respectfully. She looked at what had been given to her, and then showed it to the audience, turning in a slow circle so all could see. A small white device, no longer than her index finger that, when manipulated, hummed quietly. The girl's eyes locked onto the device the moment it began to make noise and became reluctant when her instructor took her hair to persuade her to stand once again. The instructors bade her clasp her hands behind her neck and spread her legs past her shoulders. Biting her lip now, the girl tensely watched the device approach, her eyes wide as coins. When the device touched her nether lips, her hands flew down to cover herself, but she received a curt flick on the breast from a riding crop and meekly replaced her hands. The instructor once again approached her sex with the vibrator and teased her gently with short soft touches to give her a taste of the instrument before darting away again. The other woman stood behind the girl now, her crop held under her elbows to keep her in place. Her lips moved very close to the girl's ear, though none in the audience could guess what she might be saying. With deliberate timing, the kneeling instructor applied the tiny vibrator more rigorously and the girl began to whimper, soft high cries that echoed right into the ears of the patrons. Her hips moved in uneven circles seemingly of their own accord, pressing first close to the instrument and then backing away. A few times she moved so much that the riding crop of the kneeling instructor flashed upwards delivering little pink marks to her inner thighs to keep them open. Each mark caused a little moan from their victim which became a muted gasp from the audience. Relentlessly, the kneeling woman pressed the vibrator into its mark. Plaintive gasps and open-mouthed whimpers were her reward. The girl squeezed her eyes shut. Finally, the words of the instructor holding the girl began loud enough that the audience could hear. "Not yet," she ordered, her voice liquid and low. "Don't let go yet. Hold it in my precious..." Desperate to obey, the girl's teeth sank savagely into her own scarlet lip. Her toes nearly left the floor and all of her weight was thrown back into the instructor. "Don't cum yet!" she snarled to the girl who was now shaking as though having a fit. Her hips bucked and her toes gripped the floor so hard the skin was white. "P... p-please..." the girl breathed, her thin voice carrying in the silent auditorium, distributed to each seat by the domed roof. "Please what?" returned the instructor, her voice deadly quiet. "Please, M-mistress... Please may I... c-cum?" The kneeling instructor began a dreadfully intense vibration of her hand against the girl's pearl and nodded. "Yes," answered the woman immediately. With a raw moan of relief, the girl responded. Her hair came spilling out of the instructor's hand, her knees buckled, and her hands clenched and unclenched. Both women caught her and guided her gently to the ground, the one woman's fingers still working the girl's clit and both whispering delicious things to her. The girl slowly became still, her bare, white skin gleaming with the effort of her release. Now a light, subtle scent of sex accompanied the smell of the sacred fires and its effect on the room was palpable. Not until her eyes fluttered open, however, still leaking tears of pleasure, did the audience begin to breathe again. Several patrons found their fingers stiff from clenching the arms of their seats or the dividing wall and more than a few people needed to cross their legs to hide certain embarrassment. The instructors kissed her face, tucked her hair behind her ears, and reverently placed kisses between her legs, riding crops swinging from clips on their belts. Her color appeared almost normal and her steps, while tremulous, did not look unstable. The instructors looked at one another over her head and then whispered to her urgently. Her beautiful eyes locked on the woman before her and she nodded minutely. At this, the low house lights grew even dimmer and then extinguished altogether. Only the six small fires ringing the stage reflected in the audience's eyes, but their small light was not enough to really make see what was happening onstage. SNAP! A few women reached out for their partner's hands with alarm and peered wildly into the dark. Leathery groans and metallic clatters echoed through the hall and then came together as the sound of a machine warming up. Slowly, another light source could be perceived, high in the dome shining directly down on the stage which at first a rusty red color but as the light grew brighter, became pale pink. The girl was alone now. She waited on her hands and knees before the machine, not daring to look over her shoulder at the phallus, precariously positioned so that the polished mushroom head gently nudged open her nether lips. From the meeting place of these two, patrons with keen eyesight could see a drip of her desire shining upon her open thighs. The clattering of the machine grew still louder so that the men and women sitting closest to it in the audience became apprehensive and their hands flew before their faces when the noise became a roar of machinery. The girl's knuckles were white upon the floor and she bowed her head with fear, but did not flee. The noise of the machine amplified even louder under the dome until the floor began to tremble. Some looked apprehensively for the exit, but the walls now were now entirely framed by plush curtains swaying with the din. A train's whistle began to blast from the machine and in a magnificent burst of thick, white steam... the sound suddenly stopped. In its place was an extremely quiet hum of moving cogs, but no other noise at all. More than one man tapped his ears to check that they still, in fact, worked at all. Right against her softness vibrated the phallus. Tremors raced up and down her skin illuminated from overhead by the bright, pink light. Her whole body seemed to glow. Only now, seeing it move and affect its partner, was the size of the phallus made truly apparent. Were she a less sturdy girl, it would split her in twain and it was equally uncertain how much of its shaft would fit inside her. Without any more warning, the phallus began to move. At first, its strokes were minute, teasing, nothing more than a nudge of her glistening lips. Even this was heady enough to cause the girl to swoon, her head bowing, but her hands remained steady on the floor, holding her against it. The strokes grew longer, but holding back any satisfying speed, and then with a surprised gasp from the girl, the entire mushroom head disappeared inside her. The phallus was truly thick, pushing heavily inside her, though she was plenty wet to accommodate it. Her body rocked with its movements, loose and easy. It was warming her up, just testing her limits. Little by little, more and more of the cock disappeared inside her. There was so much left to go, but so much was already in her and it continued to move with agonizing slowness. She planted her hands on the floor, fingers spread wide and pushed back against the machine, whimpering and obviously in further need, but she could not gain leverage over the machine from her vulnerable position. She struggled, turning her head over her shoulder to watch her progress and groaning with frustration. On and on it pushed at its own pace, filling her slowly, but surely until... "Aaah!" At last, the entirety of the cock entered her. It looked like a real strain to hold it all: the girl's fingernails raked the stage and her knees lost traction for a minute, which threw her thighs wide open. Her moan of satisfaction caused the tightening of more than one pair of trousers. The machine withdrew the phallus entirely to show off just how much she was able to take. The shaft dripped with her juice. After a pause wherein the audience murmured with surprise and admiration, the machine thrust the phallus in again slowly, letting her feel every inch as it stretched her open. The girl moaned with the fullness of her throat, pressing her face right down to the floor to receive it. Now, at long last, the cock began to move more quickly punctuated by long, low tones as the phallus filled her particularly well. The women eyed her prominent backside and made appreciative comments to their escorts, who raised their eyebrows and touched the arms, faces and knees of their companions. Their eyes, too, gleamed with desire, their faces flushing with suggestion, but for now, their attention remained on the pleasure of the girl before them. Once more, the recesses between the stairs opened and two new women approached the stage. These women were dressed like their sisters before but their leather halters varied: black leather with rich, golden embroidery making great, artistic swirls up their bosoms and across the shoulders. They carried their riding crops firmly in hand and took position on either side of the girl. The girl's flushed, shining face looked up, and then with great effort, she pushed herself up from the floor into her original, straight-armed position, though the phallus still rocked her forward and back. The women knelt beside her and touched her softly, their gloved hands caressing her face and arms, holding her breasts and following the curves of her braced arms. They murmured softly to her, allowing her to kiss their hands. One woman plucked her erect, swinging nipples while the other took a black ribbon and tied back the girl's loose chocolate hair. Both women were very gentle with the girl and she seemed the stronger for it. Her eyes followed their faces hungrily. Now they stood, briefly observing the phallus that tortured the girl and murmuring to one another. The tips of their riding crops caressed the girl now, following the line of her spine and the generous curve of her posterior. She visibly shook with desire, her skin flushing after the caresses. Each woman allowed the girl to kiss the head of her crop and then they began. With light taps first, they struck her ass in turn with the crops. The girl to gasped and turned her head quickly to see, but a ringing strike punished her instantly and she faced the floor again, trembling. The instructors timed their strikes to coincide with the machine: as it filled the girl to her limit, a riding crop would flash down and produce a pink mark, and then again when the machine had withdrawn, a matching mark blossomed on the other cheek. Having established this rhythm, the instructors increased the intensity of their strikes. Her pink marks deepened, showing up brightly against pale skin, then became red welts that overlapped and formed dramatic patterns. The girl's whimpers increased correspondingly, growing louder and unrestrained until she cried out piercingly at each strike, her arms struggling to hold her up. The instructors lashed her thighs next, causing her to jump with shock. Her muscles were tight having been forced apart by the silicone phallus, and so from the first strike, the skin there bruised, a brilliant, satisfying purple. The women working on her quickly produced an entire ladder of dark blue marks on her legs and then paused to admire the effect. One woman nodded minutely with satisfaction and then signaled into the shadowy recess. After a moment's anticipation, the machine began to produce a low hum and the arm presenting the phallus moved faster. Devotional The phallus pressed into the slight girl with relentless force. Though her knuckles were white upon the floor and no rope was tied to restrain her, she did not flee. Her cries were high and pained, but she stayed where she was and accepted each vicious slap of the carved testicles to her sex with a new vocal punctuation. The instructors knelt beside her and touched her inner thighs, tracing the vivid marks they had made and covering the tips of their gloves' fingers in her thick, viscous wetness. They slapped her when she tried to close her legs again, and one touched the leather tip of her crop with extreme delicacy to her shining pearl. Instantly her wails took on a darker, fuller tone, still announcing the ravages of her body, but obviously tempered by pleasure. If that crop stayed where it was, there was no doubt how she would respond in only a few moments. Unfortunately, it was obvious that this was not yet the desire of the instructors, so the crop was withdrawn and readied for another purpose. With careful aim so that she would not be impeded by the moving phallus, the woman's arm flashed forward and a wet crack was heard by all. This time, the girl screamed aloud in a way that caused the dome above her to ring. The other woman, intent on aiding, knelt and seized the girl's knees to hold them apart while another strike to the clit found its mark. The girl screamed louder with every stinging kiss to her pussy and beat the floor with her hands to diffuse the intensity. The sound shot through each observer like crackling electricity, causing them to turn to one another to touch, kiss and strike each other. No patron was exempt from the influence of the scene and soon the seats were a mass of writhing and moaning. One man went so far as to bend his wife double over the balcony rail and mount her in front of everyone, her many skirts flying up to reveal her naked sex. The scene onstage was quickly reaching a climax. The girl had finally given up holding herself up and pressed her face into the floor, her ass held aloft by the phallus. Her shouts sank into the stage floor now and though she wiggled feverishly, she could not escape each blow to her clit and so vented her suffering in any way she could, by slapping her hands against the floor and uttering appalling curses. Finally, she begged in ragged screams for her release, dissolving into shrieking "please!" over and over. The instructors relented. A gush of desire dripped from her ravaged pussy while she moaned and shook. The women in black supported her, letting her fall into their laps, but still holding her against the machine. Though the speed and intensity of the machine had been lowered, it did not stop, still moving in and out of the girl, riding her orgasm and waiting for her to grow still. The women removed their gloves and petted her lovingly, brushing hair from her face and wiping sweat from her eyes. After many moments wherein the audience also gathered itself back together, they released the girl and knelt on either side of her. One last figure entered from an alcove: a tall, commanding woman with broad, strong shoulders. Her halter was an eye catching combination of gold and bronze that changed from one to the other as she strode near the fires in their dishes. Her jaw was angular, but beautiful as she smiled at the girl, her lips stained blood-red. As though by magic, she produced a black whip from her person. It was so tightly curled in her hand that the length could not be ascertained, but if one knew where to look, the end was graced by a single tongue of leather. "I demand one last task of you," said the woman in an arresting voice. Dramatically, she unfurled the whip with a lazy flick, but it nearly tore the air with even this gentle use. "There will be ten strikes. Count them in reverse. Do you understand?" "Y-yes, ma'am." The girl whimpered and closed her eyes tightly, biting her lip so hard it split and bled. The instructor's face softened and she knelt before the girl, wiping away the trace of blood with her gloved thumb. "Make me proud," she said in a tender whisper that carried to the ear of each patron. "Yes, ma'am," said the girl again, earnestly, hardly more than a breath. Briskly, the instructor in the golden halter stood and measured a few paces away from the body of the ragged girl. CRACK The whip had harmlessly cracked far above the heads of the patrons which had the enjoyable effect of silencing them. Now a wall of pale, statuesque faces watched the stage unblinkingly. The players, too, had gone rigid, still holding the girl still. The two women in black looked at one another, then knelt low and bowed their heads. Above them now was the gleaming pale back of the girl. The woman in gold raised the whip and swung it lazily above her head, her eyes wide and intense through the black mask. The leather sliced through the air like a tongue across skin and left behind another frightful crack followed by an enormous red lick spanning the entire diagonal of the girl's back. "T-ten!" CRACK "Ten, what?" "Ten, ma'am." "Good girl." CRACK "Nine, ma'am!" This stripe exactly crossed her back producing a fiery X on her flesh. CRACK "Eight, ma'am!" The marks continued to overlap so that her entire back became a furious red. CRACK "Seven, ma'am!" No sound could be heard besides the machine, which continued to thrust relentlessly. The air felt disturbed, as though it contained something frightening but waited without sound. The reverberation of the whip took a long time to fade. CRACK "Six, ma'am!" The woman in gold lowered her arm and stood still while the girl pressed her face to the cool stage floor and moaned quietly. She watched for a brief moment with a curious expression at her lips, and then made a sign to one side. A high, loud electric whine burst from the machine, which shook slightly. Even the woman looks at it sharply and took half a step away, but the girl for whom it performed did not. In fact, she made no movement or sound at all only continuing to brace herself with her knees apart and breathing heavily enough that her ribs could be seen expanding and collapsing from the back row. The phallus began to move at such a damaging force that the girl lunged forward with each powerful thrust. Her grunts of pain were dark and low. The alarming whine faded, but did not disappear, so the woman resumed her position, brandishing her whip. CRACK "Five, ma'am." The flesh had not had any time to soothe itself, so apart from the brief white line on her back, this strike was difficult to discern from the others. CRACK "F-four, ma'am." A thin red line blossomed when the initial white strike had faded. The whine of the machine was still audible and peaked oddly after the whip crack. The girl's whimper was lost. CRACK "Th-th-three, ma'am!" The whip carved open a cut on her back that began to bleed at once. The crimson trickled down the girl's trembling side and splashed on the ground. Water from her face fell closely after. The ladies in black glanced at the pool quickly, then up at the woman in gold whose arm did not waver. CRACK Silence. Only the keening of the machine, high and loud. CRACK!!! "Two! Two, ma'am!" The stage had many dark spots. The girl swayed dangerously, but kept her knees. Her legs were still forced open by the phallus and she looked up at the woman in gold with wide eyes. The machine worked on, pounding rhythmically against the wood, shaking her ravaged body. A breath, and then the black tendril swung through the air again. Nothing. The whip sailed through the air, but did not make a sound. The woman in gold gritted her jaw, breathed heavily enough that her halter creaked, and then drew her arm back again. C-C-CRACK! This strike split the air unlike any before. Many recoiled from the terrible sound which echoed in the dome. "....one..." "You may cum! Do it! Now!" Instantly, the girl screamed as though her skin were being peeled back from her flesh, as though the bones in her toes were being broken one by one, a scream of unbelievable agony, but her body was rocking every direction, her pelvis grinding back into the phallus with a single-minded focus. Great rivers of sweat dripped from her skin and flew out from her body in every direction, and her hair tossed back and forth in a storm of passion. The women who had been holding her dived away from her powerfully thrashing legs. Her shrieks rang on, delivered to the patrons' ears by the acoustic dome as though she were in the lap of each person. It was too long, surely it was too much. But her orgasm continued, spiraling around and around again, her cries not seeming to lessen at all. Every participant in the room swayed back and forth with her, all holding their breath not to miss the moment of its end. The hanging curtains seemed to shiver with the sound, the golden banisters vibrated, and it would not stop. Women were beginning to swoon, clutching their breasts. Men leapt to their feet, standing rigid with anticipation. The machine flashed. A crashing noise heralded its fall, one side collapsing completely and breaking two boards of the stage, causing a few more people to scream with fright. When the screams overlapped the horrific noise in a discordant maelstrom, all were blinded by a shower of white sparks and silence finally fell. She laid still, limbs askew and hair falling, skin the color of deepest rubies and still sparkling with sweat; her fingernails torn after having left bloody trails upon the wooden stage. The girl lay completely still... dead.