2 comments/  40290 views/  26 favorites

She-Devil In Church

By: bricklayer77



My name is Theo. Well, I was born Teodoro Juarez, but everyone calls me Theo. I'm a bricklayer. 

And I'm married. Recently married, in fact. I married Sofia three years ago, long enough to get comfortable with married life, but we're still in the honeymoon phase. We have a son. He's not quite two. I keep telling myself this: I have a son and a wife and I love them both.

I remind myself all the time because I recently betrayed her and it's really bothering me. The woman I'm seeing is toying with me. She's a dangerous goddamn whore. She gets under my skin in ways that - oh! I can't put it to words. I never thought a woman could turn me inside-out like she does.

I don't love her. But she's intoxicating, like some motherfucking bad-ass drug. And I met her in church of all places! Yeah.

I'm from simple country folk. A Mexican cowboy in Texas, really more of a Tejano. I was raised in a protestant, Spanish-speaking church in Houston. That's where I learned my trade.

But the company I used to work for had a lot of work in Austin and I really liked the town. And that's where I met my wife. Crazy me, I asked Sofia to marry me. I quit my job and started my own business. Yep, independent contractor. But I needed contacts for business and that was another advantage to marrying Sofia.

I married into her church, another protestant, Spanish-language church. This one was in the suburbs south of Austin.

When we married, I was 26 and Sofia was 22. I'll let you do the math.

From the start, I noticed a woman there. She was so beautiful, but mature. I would have guessed in her mid-30s. I learned later that she was 33 yrs old at the time of our first meeting. She had two young daughters.

I didn't know her name, but I'm like any guy in that I like to look at a pretty woman. And that she was, and is. And not in a slutty way, at least not in public. But in private, oh my god.

She has a beautiful face, a strong jawed, broad-nosed, noble face with high round cheekbones and a symmetrical forehead. Great symmetry throughout the face. You can see she comes from Mexican-Native Indian stock. Thick, wavy, long black hair.

Tall for a Mexican woman, about 5 feet 8 inches. I would've estimated her weight at 175 pounds. Curvy and athletic figure. Muscle-toned arms and legs. Hairy arms, and I would imagine her shaving her legs. I guess that's how she made my cock twinge the first time. 

Measurements of 42D-32-44. Dark brown eyes and clean, fine-line eyebrows. Heavy eyeshadow with colors that always matched the dress she wore. And she wore dresses and skirts, never saw her in slacks.

High-heels and nylon stockings with rose petal embroidered seams up the back of her sturdy legs. Her dresses were always knee-length but well cut. They hugged her thighs and hips. 

She wore sleeveless blouses and buttoned up the front and she always showed cleavage with a gold cross pendant resting - when it wasn't jiggling - on her chest.

This woman had a gait to her walk that was mesmerizing. She strided by as if she were gliding. There was a steady, purposeful balance to her walk. Confident, like a big cat. Predatory once you got caught in her eyes. She seemed to always be taking the measure of people around her - men, women.

She had no female friends from what I could tell. She came in every Sunday and sat with her two young daughters. No man sat with her and the women didn't talk to her. But she was involved

in church. 

During the music program, she would go up with the band and strum the electric bass guitar. The other musicians were young men, boys really, all of them in their late teens or very early twenties. They seemed to look up to her and whenever I happened to see them rehearse there was an easy-going banter between them. 

Friendly, but innocent.

I was curious about her, but not enough to ask my new wife or anyone else. I watched her from afar.

But there was something odd about the dynamic in that church. Some of the men leered at her, I thought, a bit too obviously. And the woman always

acted like she wasn't there. Looking away from her, keeping their children away from her daughters. Sometimes I'd even hear disapproving whispers. 

I chalked it up to jealousy - she was younger and beautiful. They were fat, or old, or old and fat, prudish, long past their prime, and poorly dressed in clothes that exaggerated the covering of the body to the point of baggy and altogether sexless.

The woman alone had breasts that were unbearably heavy with delicious chocolate milky sweetness and her ruby painted lips were full of tantalizing promise. She had an endearing way of pouting with her lips as if she were trying to smirk and kiss at the same time. 

There were other women in church that were pretty, but they were plain next to her. Even my sweet little Sofia.

This church is a working man's church. Most of the men are in the construction trades. Concrete formers, tilers, roofers, carpet layers, mechanics, air condition repairmen, sheet metal fabricators, landscapers, a couple of truckers and some farm hands. 

They're simple men who for the most part are sincerely trying to be men of good character and do right by their families.

I made friend with a carpet layer. Manuel Palacios. He was my age and also recently married. We'd go bowling together and his family had been in this area for years. 

He always struck me as a nice guy, so it came as a shock to me one day when we were sitting next to each other in the social hall, breaking bread as they say - having a communal lunch after morning service.

The beautiful woman walked by and my curiosity got to me. I nudged Manuel and asked him, 'What's her name?'

He looked at me quizzically, like he was looking at me for the first time. 

"What?" I asked. And feeling defensive, adding, "It's just a question."

He looked around us, as if to make sure no one was listening, the leaned into me and whispered, "Her name is Isabel Manchaca, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck away from her."

My eyebrows did a bounce off his warning and I said, "Hey, sorry. I just see her here all the time and I don't know anything about her. Everyone seems to steer clear of her. What's the deal?"

"She's a whore man, she's a fucking whore."

"What? Come on! Really, why you talking like that?" I was stunned at his harshness. It was such an un-Christian remark. "How do you know what she is?"

He kept whispering, "Because my dad bangs her, and so do a lot of other men around here. She's bad news man. She's like the dirty secret in our

church family. Look, it's your business what you do, but you've got a really sweet wife. Don't mess it up, stay away from the fucking whore."

"Okay, yea. Hey, if you say she's a ... that way, good enough for me." And I let it go. But that piece of news just opened up a lot of questions.

Like, if she's really that bad, why is she in church? And why do the women put up with her? And is it really true that a lot of the men here bang her? Wow! Such a wicked, immoral undercurrent of that in a place like this?

Isabel - now I had a name - had a slight pot belly. It was not enough to make her look fat. It was a motherly, mature stomach. Not flat, but full, the stomach of a woman who had born children and had recovered enough of her form to make her look voluptuous. 

But whorish? No. She had a kind face, sometimes it was very kind. She was very loving with children and open and expressive with the bad.

But this knew knowledge, that she was a whore, cast a darkness over my image of her. Was she fucking those boys? Who was she fucking? Was she really as bad as Manuel said? I found myself looking her way more and more. And when she noticed my gaze and looked back, I stopped turning my head away. 

I would look and she would look and our eyes would lock for long seconds. What must she think of my curiosity, I wondered. Her expression had always before been obliviously placid, as if looking through me, if she looked at all. But now, she gave me a smile. And my heart raced. Is a whore smiling at me?

Enough! I'd break my eyes off her and fight the involuntary sensation of blushing.

How was she having sex? Where? With how many men? She was married, and still wore the wedding band. She was married with children! 

It all seemed so unlikely, so out of whack what Manuel had said. I trusted him, but I had to know for myself.

I strayed away from a Bible study group one day when she walked by. I followed her and caught up with her as she walked up the stairs. I wanted to speak to her but the words wouldn't come. 

We got to the top of the stairs and I was right behind her. She stopped at the top, looking over her right shoulder down the hall. I walked up next to her and passed her, afraid to be so obvious as to approach her directly with such an inappropriate question.

Pardon me, but are you a fucking whore? I couldn't say it! Certainly not like that. How then? But I kept walking past her and wondered why she stopped. what was she going? Where was I going?! 

I had come up with no other purpose and the hall was empty, if I kept walking, how would I explain my purpose for being up here? Why should I have to explain my purpose? Agh!

I stopped at the first door on the left. It led to the media control room in what once was the mezzanine, but now converted to project images and music on and from the stage of the main sanctuary.

"What are you looking for?"

It was her speaking, but to who? I looked back, at her and asked. "Are you talking to me?"

She smiled and walked up to me and put her hand on the door knob and opened it. Want to go in here?

I blushed. In there? With her? Alone, just the two of us? Oh God.

"Uh, no. I uh I was just uhm," I had no words, I was floundering and blushing.

"You have a pretty wife," she told me. To which I hung my head and sighed and said, "Yes, yes I do."

"You're not ready for me," she said.

I looked up and into her eyes. They looked kind, but calculating. I nodded a yes, sheepishly. 

"Enjoy your wife, while you can, the way she is now," she said.

I thought I understood what she meant, but I wasn't sure. It could have had more than one meaning. This place. This church and the people in it, they weren't as simple as I thought. 

There were games being played here. Wicked games. And there was something in the woman that made me feel like my happiness existed at her discretion.

"I ... I should go," I said. But I stood there, unmoving.

"Yes," she said. "You should go ... now?"

I couldn't stand it. I had to ask, get to some kernel of truth about her. I was in suspense about who I was dealing with. She seemed to be confirming everything Manuel said. Or was she?

"I uh, I never see your husband. Why doesn't he come?" I asked.

"He doesn't belong here," she said softly. She smiled a sweet but melancholy smile, then she said, "He doesn't like church. He wasn't raised like I was."

"And how were you raised?" I asked.

"Here. My parents raised me here, in this church. It's where I belong, even if some people think otherwise." 

"Do your parents still come here? I never see you with them."

"Yes, they're here two Sundays a month. They split their Sundays between this church and another church. They sit on the pew across the aisle from where I sit. We're not as close as we used to be."

Fuck it, I thought, she's open to opening up, I'll just ask it.

"I've heard, and uhm I was wondering, I know I ... huhh ... shouldn't and forgive me if ... are you a, uh sleep around?"

"Am I a woman of ill repute?" she said, only to acknowledge my question.

I nodded and my color deepened. 

"I may have something of a libertine lifestyle, but my survival in this community - and this is as much my community as anyone's - requires that

I observe the utmost discretion. 

"The least I can do is not be obvious in front of the wives. I try not to flaunt my attributes or my intentions."

"Secret slut, huh?" I said with a grin and as soon as I said it a blur of a hand swatted the side of my head so hard I was stumbling back before I realized what happened. 

She stepped into me and I'm a young strong man but I felt intimidated. She knew how to wield power. She bared her teeth and all that sweetness was gone in an instant. "You don't have the right to speak to me that way. You get to say that when I SAY you get to say THAT! Understood?"

I nodded and straightened myself up, trying not to cower. "Yes, yes. I understand. I I'm sorry, it was .... I shouldn't have. I'm terribly sorry."

She pivoted, turned her back to me and walked away.

* * * * * 

That evening as I lay in bed with my wife I brought up the subject. "Sofia, what do you know about Isabel Manchaca?"

She was laying with her upper body in my right arm and in the instant I said that woman's name I felt her stiffen and prop herself up on her left elbow.

"Why do you want to know about her?!" I looked and her eyes were accusatory and fearful. I didn't expect such a sudden and strong response but I was prepared to push forward.

"She's there every Sunday and the woman always avoid her, and so do you. She seems like a nice person, I was just wondering. Don't be so defensive."

Sofia gathered herself, sat up with legs folded under her and hugged her arms. 

"I have every right to be defensive. THAT! is an evil woman and you need to stay away from her!"

I felt an obligation to change posture, sit up and meet the seriousness of her body language.

"Honey, I was just wondering why there's this, well, there seems to be a lot of tension over that woman and your reaction just confirms my suspicion. Jeez, what did she do that was so bad?"

"Theo, she's a whore. And not just any kind of whore. She's dangerous. She, she ruined everything here!"

"Whoa, wait, wow. Everything? What that hell does that mean?" And now I was recalling how Isabel handled herself when we were alone. I felt a dread come over my soul.

Sofia's lips started trembling. I could see she wanted to speak but the words wouldn't form. Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed her hands into her face and wailed. I hugged her and tried to comfort her. When she settled down, she pulled away from me and jumped out of bed. 

She went to her purse laying on top of the dresser drawer and pulled out her photo wallet and hopped back in bed, opening the wallet.

She showed me the portrait photo of a pretty young lady.

"Sniff! see this?" she said as you cleared her nose.

I nodded yes without speaking.

"This is Naomi," she said in a tone that was so pitifully mournful, as if she were speaking of a dead loved one.

"Naomi is Isabel's cousin. But she's near my age. She would be, oh, 23 now." Sofia took a deep breath and went on. "We were best friends."

There was a long silence and the folded the wallet and clutched it to her chest.

"Naomi looked up to Isabel. Like a big sister. She admired Isabel in every way. Her cool confidence and discipline. Isabel is a very strong person. A woman of strong character and she is thoughtful and she can seem very considerate. 

"But her heart belongs to the Devil. Everything she does has some ulterior motive that is opposed to God's will. 

"She helped Naomi find a boyfriend. She talked Naomi into marrying him. But he was wrong for her. He was only put in her path so that Isabel could manipulate her and lead her into wickedness. 

"Naomi's new husband was just another one of Isabel's lovers, but Naomi didn't know that. So it was a shock to her when her husband asked Naomi to invite her cousin Isabel to perform a threesome."

"Naomi didn't want to, but this was her husband so she gave it thought. And because she trusted Isabel, she confided to her his wish, assuming that Isabel would also be shocked and reject it. But Isabel was not shocked. The whore! Isabel gently told Naomi that this was something she would be willing to do to help the marriage."

"'But what about your marriage, Isabel,' Naomi asked. Isabel pretended to be troubled by that, but she concluded that she could live with it. Yes, she could take the risk to help Naomi."

"Once Isabel was in Naomi's bed, she taught her to do things. Wicked things."

"What kind of wicked things," I asked.

"Shameless things, oh wicked things. Naomi would consent to being sodomized. She had homosexual sex with Isabel while her wicked husband would indiscriminately have intercourse with both women. I know this because Naomi would confess it to me in a state of shock and shame. Oh, she was mortified about the turn of events. She was worried, I can tell you!"

"I would tell her to leave him. But she kept going back to him. 'I can't leave him. He's my husband. I love him.' That was always her reply."

"This went on for several months. Then Isabel stopped going to her bed. But she stopped going only because her husband started bringing one of the deacons, another one of Isabel's sex partners. Naomi was having sex with two men, and in her marriage bed!"

"She would come to see me, wringing her hands and filled with guilt and confusion. Sometimes she would admit that it felt good. But she knew it was wrong. She wanted it to stop and sometimes she would tell her husband to at least slow down. Did it have to happen every weekend?"

"Wow, oh God!" I exclaimed, and to my consternation, Sofia's story was giving me an erection.

"It just kept getting worse. So much worse. Some of the men at church would whisper into Naomi's ear, sexually suggestive comments. She walked about with shame, knowing that the men in her bed were sharing their bedroom secrets with others. And after a few months the first deacon was replaced with another. 

"And after a few more months he was replaced with yet another. That wicked husband of her's was passing her around, getting her to do threesomes not with just her husband and one other man, but a series of hypocritical horny old bastards. I'm sorry, I'm just so agitated now."

I rubbed Sofia's neck and said, "I'm sorry I brought this up. Maybe you should just drop it. I get the point."

"No, no, no. YOU don't. It gets worse. And you have to know. I should have told you sooner. Because you're one of us now and you need to understand."

"One day, Naomi's husband took her with him to a meeting at church and led her into the conference room. And there to Naomi's terror were the four men Naomi's husband had pressured her into having sex with. And another three men. 

"There are eight men involved in Isabel's clique. It's been the same eight men for years. Isabel was there, too.

"And in this meeting, Isabel sat with Naomi and with Naomi's husband at her side Isabel told her that she, Isabel, was a slut and that all these men fucked her all the time. And now they were going to do the same to Naomi. Naomi told me later that she never suspected. As bad as she felt about what she was doing she never thought she was just being used. 

"But she told me that her flesh was weak. She had been desensitized to many things and had been given sex in such doses that for her it had become like some illegal narcotic. She was terrified, by virtue of the carnal knowledge she already had, that they would make her into a slut.

"She wrestled against their hold and protested the intentions that they were carrying out. But they stripped her naked and Isabel got naked and lay next to her on top of the conference room table and held Naomi's head in her wicked arms, pressing her face into Isabel's full chest, and making her kiss her, and caressing her hair and every time Naomi tried to kick a man away Isabel settled her down again.

"They took turns. Every one of theme quickly having intercourse with her like some wicked game of musical chairs. Naomi said Isabel would count to 66 and only let each man thrust into her up to the 66 count and then the next man would come into her. And each time a man went in, Isabel would draw a star across Naomi's left thigh with a black marker. 


She-Devil In Church Ch. 02



The Saturday morning after Isabel's entrancing soul-to-soul talk with Martha, the she-devil was back in her neighborhood church. Deep purple silk shorts hugged her sloping latina ass. Her gray jersey pin-tucked shirt with the caftan neckline showed the full dip of her breasts. The hem of the shirt clung nicely to her hips, allowing most of her short shorts to be revealed. She walked around in bamboo flip-flops and wielded a heavy-duty push-broom, sweeping up dust and the dried tears of pointless confessions from the sanctuary's floor.

Imelda, Simon's mother, came up behind Isabel with the mop and bucket. Imelda, sad and serious, kept her distance, furtively looking Isabel's way when she wasn't keeping a guarded eye on the men.

She didn't feel safe. She knew this group was the worst of the wicked faction that now dominated a church that had once been such a wonderful and uplifting place, her refuge from a troubled world. But now trouble seemed everywhere.

Imelda had slept fairly well the night before. Friday nights were good nights because her son came home sexually spent from his encounter with Isabel and her husband would not touch her out of his own anticipation for sex games in the morning.

The men present were Imelda's husband Ricardo, Martha's father Jose, and Osvaldo's father Oscar. She could hear them making noise as they went about replacing rotted planks on the old wooden deck that led to the rear entrance of the church.

On the surface, it seemed like a pleasant Saturday. Industrious, church-going people, tending to the needs of an old sanctuary. But Imelda lamented in her mind at how decayed from within the church had become. Every passing month the sincere worshipers seemed more dispirited, discouraged at how long it was taking their God to bring cleansing, to punish the wicked. And Imelda found herself in deep crisis, fighting off the lustful advances of her own son. How could he be so disrespectful and so bold? It shocked her senses and left her thoughts tossing. like a leaf in a storm.

All Imelda had to do was look at that slut and she knew where all her anguish came from. That slut! Look at her, dressed to provoke. Imelda was in a long, loose-fitting off-white x-large t-shirt with a simple silk-screen print of a an armadillo with a cowboy hat. Her slacks covered her and kept her from looking in any way like a woman who would dare draw attention from whore-mongers.

Isabel, aware yet unconcerned with Imelda's views of her, swept steadily, enjoying the mild burn in her muscles. She perspired and her thoughts were self-absorbed, constantly conscious of her beauty. She ran an inner dialogue filled with vanity, thinking of the men as if they were horny drones, ever anxious to attach themselves to her.

Imelda grimaced at the sight of the temptress. And those shorts! There was no pantyline, Imelda observed. Of course not, she thought. Why would that whore wear panties? They're all going to fuck her as soon as I leave, anyway.

The women made their way through the sanctuary, cleaning the main hall, then the stage and the narrow hall in the back and the rear bathrooms. Then they went up front to the lobby, then up the stairs and there they make quick work of the nursery room, the Bible study classrooms - all five of them. They went into the media control room and then back downstairs to leave the cleaning implements in the storage closet.

Imelda and Isabel were both sweaty and they took a break, walking out of the church and across the parking lot. Isabel lifted her keys and opened the door to the social hall. She went in first and went to the refrigerator in the kitchen, took out two diet colas and passed one to Imelda.

"I want a regular cola," Imelda said.

Isabel looked Imelda over with a slight frown, as if to note her disagreement. Imelda clearly could stand to lose more than a few pounds. 

"Of course, Imelda."

Isabel put back the diet cola and got a can of regular. As she was about to put it in Imelda's hand, she said, "I tell you what. Take the diet, instead, and I'll see to it your son doesn't lay a hand on you for two weeks."

Imelda's eyes popped and she blushed. A shiver of anger came up from the pit of her stomach, into her throat and made her jaw clench on edge. How did Isabel know?! Was there nothing her son didn't share with this bitch?

"I'm not interested in you, Imelda," the she-devil continued. "It would make life around her more pleasant if I could persuade you to have a more tolerant outlook."

Imelda's blush deepened and she struggled to find her voice. But she had two daughters younger than Simon, girls she desperately wanted to protect from all this insanity. She wanted to say, Go to Hell, you filthy whore. But since that was going to happen, anyway, Imelda dug deeper.

"You're not interested in me, but what about my daughters?"

Isabel smiled. Yes, now we're getting to the heart of Imelda's motivation. 

"What about them?" Isabel said placidly. "What would you do for them, to protect them from those men."

Imelda sensed danger in the questions, but she blurted her honest feelings before giving it more thought. "I would do anything to protect them!"

"Anything?" Isabel said, and now again thrusting the cold can forward, this time between Imelda's breasts.

Imelda took the can. And nodded a yes as tears welled up in her eyes. She was 41 years old, past what she thought of as her prime. And no longer fresh and pretty, but still pleasantly plump.

"There is something you can do for me," Isabel said. "Something simple enough. And if you do this, I will protect you from your son and no one in this church will bother your girls."

Imelda felt a dread and wondered who she would have to fuck. Perhaps all of them? But that was not Isabel's plan.

"Martha is falling, she is coming to us," Isabel said.

Imelda felt a sickness in her stomach at the news. She suspected as much, but it hurt nonetheless to have the suspicion confirmed.

"I want any blame that comes from this to fall on you," Isabel said.

Imelda was shocked. How could anyway possibly think it would be anyone other than Isabel that corrupted a good girl?

But Isabel was worried about her father's promise. She wanted a way to deflect his anger. He was difficult enough to deal with.

"Martha will be spending time with you. Change your wardrobe. Go to the gym with Martha, lose some weight and let the other women think you've gone over to my side. They don't have to know you're not fucking anybody. Just let them think you are, and let them think Martha has come under your influence."

Imelda shook her head no. She frowned and protested, "No one will believe anything to do with her is coming from me. Why me? You don't need me for that. Since when do you care what people think of you? I ... I don't want to hurt Martha."

"She's going to fall anyway. She already has. The little whore is fucking her father!"

That jolted Imelda. She gasped. If the girl is so far gone she would do that, oh Lord!

There was a silence and Isabel smirked, then patted Imelda gently on the wrist, "Think about it. You have time to think about it."

Isabel left Imelda alone with her thoughts in the social hall and sauntered out to go visit the men repairing the back porch. She was chatting with them for several minutes about the back porch, the weather and other mundane subjects, up until the moment Imelda emerged from the social hall, went to her car and got into the driver's seat. Imelda looked down the corner and looked at Isabel. Isabel smiled back and waved bye bye.

Imelda started the engine, pulled out and as she was leaving, her husband Ricardo grabbed Isabel's ass and squeezed. Isabel spanked his forearm, "Stop it, not yet."

He pulled away and Isabel walked around him and sat on the top step of the porch. Isabel looked at Jose, "How did it go with Martha?"

The other men looked at Oscar and he grinned. He had already told Ricardo and Oscar. He grabbed his crotch, squeezed on his throbbing snake and said, "Little bitch opened her legs and begged for it, just like you said she would."

"Good! Very good," Isabel said, a self-satisfied and prideful smiling betraying her wicked intent. Then she looked at Ricardo.

"Richie, tell you son to stop bothering his mom. No more touching. The little perv needs to back off."

Ricardo took that in with some surprise. "Why? I thought you loved that shit from him. I know I do, ha ha haaa!"

The others laughed with him, but Isabel wasn't moved. "I mean it. Tell him to back off. He's getting plenty of action without having to do that. Besides, I need her."

"You need that fat cow? For what," Ricardo asked.

"She's going to take the blame when we do to Martha what we did to Naomi," Isabel said. "And I need her for that. There is enough anger at me already. I don't need anymore."

"Shit, how is she going to catch the blame," Oscar asked.

"I'm working on it," Isabel said. "It will all work out, but Imelda needed some incentive to cooperate, so we're leaving her alone and we're leaving your daughters alone, Ricardo. You should be grateful."

Ricardo shrugged, not so sure that he was grateful, but he nodded a yes and said, "Okay, I'll tell the peckerwood to lay off the old bitch."

Ricardo sat down on the porch next to Isabel, bringing his arm around her back and squeezing the flesh of her waist, "Baby, I'm horny. Let's get busy."

Isabel twisted into him and kissed Ricardo full on the mouth, enjoying his tongue as he enjoyed her's. Oscar knelt down in front of her and reaching between her thick, firm thighs he scratched at the camel toe of her cunt in purple slick shorts. She enjoyed their attentions, kissing as she was fondled.

The back porch at the corner of the building was hidden enough from traffic that she was unconcerned about anyone seeing them. Jose unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it with his right hand, and harrumphing, "What about me. I just fucked my own daughter. I should get special treatment."

"Mmmm," Isabel broke the kiss, looked at Jose and smile. "Yes, daddy. Nasty daddy! Yes you should get some special treatment."

Jose stepped in as the others made room, bitch-slapped Isabel's face with throbbing cock and made her swing her face around to catch the bobbing cock so she could suck it. Slurping on his erect cock, painted lips streaking maroon red on the pulsing prick, sucking, sucking, sucking, her full lips a perfectly shaped O-ring, providing wet friction, the soft slup sound of a cocksucker, neck muscles exercising, a whore's tongue curled with point up, the tip of her tongue constantly pressed against the big vein and tapping and tapping into the underside of Jose's uncircumsized, 39-year-old sex organ.

The others got excited and stroked as they watched. Ricardo and Oscar each pulled out a tit and pulled at her nipples. Oscar began a chant: "Altar fuck, altar fuck, altar fuck!"

The she-devil moaned and smiled with her mouth full, pulled her head back quick, making her hair bounce more than usual and smacked her lips of the head and said, "Yesssssss!"

The four wicked hearts stood and walked into the sanctuary, locking the door behind them. Ricardo hurried up to the media room and pulled out a hidden CD of a Satanic metal band from a drawer and put on one of their favorite songs. As the music began, he trotted out and down the stairs to find Isabel already naked at the altar, her clothes having formed a clump on the tile next to her. Oscar and Jose had also stripped naked.

"A demon dogs domain, laughing at the holy cross and chanting Satan's name," the singer wailed, "plundering a virgin's cunt and ripping out her

guts. Another whore of evil made ... "

The men, all three, jumped in and sang, "We call Satanic Slut, Satanic Slut!"

The Bible was closed and removed from atop the altar and in its place Isabel rested her full, sweaty, slutty tits and Jose took his place behind her bent over naked body, cock in hand, he plunged in and joyously, wickedly sang as he thrusted himself into the collective's brazen whore.

"A sexual need is fed," he sang, "She begins to writhe! Her smile full of lust, you're condemned to Hell."

Now unbridled and inflamed, the men became jackals, slapping her ass cheeks to watch them bounce and turn red, scratching her back and thighs, jerking her hair and swatting her face. "Fuck that cock, whore!" Ricardo barked.

Isabel let out an "aahhh!" with an open-mouthed, trembling grin. She jerked her hips and put her ass in overdrive, fucking back on Jose's enraged and stabbing cock.

Oscar used the edge of the stage to raise himself and get between the pulpit and the altar and thrust forward his hips and direct his cock to her lips. With eyes wide and her face in a horny snarl, Isabel opened her filthy lips and swallowed the head of his prick, moaning into her suckfest, "Uhmmmmm, mmmm!"

"The bitch of hell starts to grin, she can turn a holy man to a world of sin," the lyrics filled the air and defiled the House of Worship. 

Jose reveled in thrusting, releasing her hair so she could suck properly, his hands crept around her waist and he found a swollen clit to torment as she "mmmmphed" on cock and jacks her dirty ass back to milk his wet daughter-fucking pole.

His bloodstream spiked with Viagra, Jose hammered into Isabel for over an hour, forcing her into one orgasm after another. Her whore cunt squirted and drooled slut juice and cum down her thighs and calves. She stood in the juices of their sex as Ricardo and Oscar took turns gag-fucking her throat and doing their best to exhaust her and tame her high-powered spirit. But nothing they did could make her beg them to stop.

Her face a mess of spit, cum and sweat, smeared lipstick and smudged mascara, Isabel panted and slurped and drained one cock after another, even while she suffered cramping orgasm. Her sturdy thighs trembled but she moved relentlessly, daring them to go on. They cursed and fucked themselves into collapse. Each man slumping away to rest.

When they were done, Isabel let her head hang over the edge of the altar. Her neck was sore. Sweat poured from every pore. She had done what she needed to do to keep them her's, and to keep them in line. Sitting two yards behind her, Ricardo looked at the puffy, wet cunt, still exposed and always inviting. He watched her snatch glisten with Jose's fresh cum, watching as more cum leaked from her filthy hole.

Summoning her strength, Isabel pushed up and stood. She looked around at the men, all of them sitting on the two front pews. They were dazed and satisfied and so was she. The music had long ago stopped. The silence was the only witness to their sins, or so it seemed to them. But Satan had been invited into the House and Isabel felt Him. The fingertips of a hot invisible hand caressed, first at her neck, then down her spine. She shivered out of fear, and despite the heat, suddenly felt a coldness in her womb. She shivered and the men asked if something was wrong.

Her eyes rolled up in her head and invisible hands palmed her ass cheeks. She moaned and felt compelled to open her stance, and when she did a Satanic hand slithered down the crack of her ass and under and parted her pussy. The cunt of the whore was suddenly fisted and she cried, "Aahhhhh! Nnnnnn, He is here!"

The men reached for their cocks and stroked excitedly, for they could see the motions of a cunt that was clearly being stretched and violently disturbed, even though was no visible sign of an object causing it. As she moaned, now hysterically, they grunted, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Take the whore! Fuck! Fuck that whore!"

A troop of she-demons, like dark shadows, gathered around the men, whispering and seducing them.

Isabel should have fallen over, but a claw-like cold invisible hand gripped her throat. The men watched, hardly interested in coming to her aid. She cried, now terrified, "Help nnnn me!"

"Fuck her, Fuck her!" the men chanted. Crazed by demonic assault, their minds clouded with all-consuming lust, they could have let her die right then. And their total lack of concern frightened Isabel to tears and a terror beyond her experience.

Isabel told the men of this. It had happened to her twice before. But both times were in her bed, in the night, without witnesses. All alone she had been attacked. She had told them, but they did not believe. Not it was happening before their very eyes.

Neck squeezed and cunt fisted, a hot tongue slithered around her tits and she smelled a foul odor, as if from the mouth of a beast, then the mouth captured a nipple and sucked so hard the men saw it balloon and turn purple. They was dumbstruck, then howling like dogs.

"Oh, Oh! Did you see that? Fuck! Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her! Yeaaaa! Oh fuck yeaaa!"

With supernatural fist inside, perfectly teasing her sex, probing misshapen digits acidly heating, painfully heating her sensitive tissues, something impossibly protruding up into her cervix, Isabel came so hard she screamed at the top of her lungs and her toes turned in and her feet kicked. Suddenly she was lifted inches off the floor, as if floating, as she kicked and trembled and tried to beg for help. What squirted out of her could have filled a tumbler, she lost so much fluid. An bizarre mix of clear, pink and green liquids filled her, then spilled, slimy liquids oozed down her thighs to her feet, dripping off her painted toes to the floor.

And just as she came, she was released and the supernatural malevolent force the abused her retreated. She fell, scraping both knees and without the strength to break her fall, her face fell into the floor. She rolled onto her back, writhing and shuddering, a red welt forming on her forehead.

But in the next moment, smoking translucent hands gripped and lifted her ass.She felt the hairy silky thighs of that which is unspeakable slap into the backs of her thighs. Her eyes burst open in shock and she cried, "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaahhh!"

A ghostly red cock, visible now to the entranced men, lunged into her. Long and steaming, driving in and out faster than any human could possible move. Her sex partners sat in trances, their eyes glaze with lust as she-devil spirits licked their upright cocks, making them hard as steel. Isabel was speechless, wanting to shout but the pain was beyond her ability to will her lungs into engaging her vocal chords. A beastly cock streaking in and out of her like hot lightning.

And finally from her throat came a ghastly, mangled, "errr rrrrr rrrr nK!"

But a soldier of Lucifer had his way with her, released from his realm. She had brought on herself an fearsome invitation. Fucked by an alien being that fed on the lust of humans, it was his time to seal her fate and erase from her will any thought of being anything other than an unquestioning slave to his master. Cum as thick as whipped cream filled her and in the frothing hot fuck of her life, it spilled out of her hole like bubbling meringue.

It seemed like ages, but the unholy spirit was in her for barely a minute. Then the translucent forms dissipated and there was silence. Isabel slumped to the floor and writhed in place, spasms contorting her body like an epileptic.

The men sat silent, then stood almost in unison. Overwhelmed with renewed lust, they lifted her momentarily unconscious body and positioned her for a double penetration. Ricardo and Oscar did the honors while Jose slapped her awake.

When she came to, Jose smiled into her face and said, "Looked like your Lord and Master just reminded you who's boss, bitch!" And he worked his cock back into her throat.

Amazed at the renewed hardness of their cocks, the men stabbed into her orifices, hurting the she-devil that before seemed so invincible. Suddenly, she was human, less than human, a soft, bleeding, moaning, sweating, shuddering, cock-whipped, sobbing mess of a three-way cunt. A whimpering bitch. And they loved it. They loved finding power over her they had not had before. Some kind of incredible force had finally subjugated this damn slut. She was actually struggling to be free! When her throat cleared, she moaned for mercy.




She-Devil In Church Ch. 03



Isabel lay unconscious on the church floor. The mighty slut, so sure of herself, so imposing to the men she enoyed, her inflated ego at times maniacal, now lay in a naked heap, one soiled, sticky thigh pressed into a footleg of the altar.

The men she had turned into whore-mongers were long-gone. She was crumpled flesh, a slab of exhausted fuck meat. Her cunt, asshole and lips seeping the fluids of human and inhuman spirits.

Her mind - once keen and intelligent, albeit diabolical - was now on a parallel to that of a drug-fried, crack-burned street whore. Her body twitched and her vocal chords moaned as her mind went spinning up the funnel of a psychotic tornado, inward to the source of what had brought her over the edge of Hell.

She found herself dressed in filthy rags, some kind of tattered, stained, greasy black babydoll, and reeking of sex and sweat, as if she had just been fucked by 40 men who had not taken a bath in a month.

Lying on her side, she forced weary strained muscles to lift her upright. She found herself sitting in fetid mud, in a place of darkness, some kind of jungle. There appeared near her and all around her piles of wilting, sickly plants, wooden limbs that were rotted and swarming with beetles and worms.

In the pit of her stomach she felt a terrible anxiety and it quickly spread up through her chest and spine and she trembled with fear. She heard then steps as if something tromping through mud, large boots slopping through muck and she jerked to look and flinched as He approached, first as a shadow form and then clear, in all his eternal disgrace.

A scarred man form, about seven feet in height, light skinned and hairy, wearing purple pants with pinstripe yellow lines, the ankle cuffs draped over muddy boots that were studded with red gems on the instep. A large sex organ bulged and throbbed from his crotch to his left knee. He wore a black leather vest and no shirt. His chest was hairy and covered with scars. She glanced into his face, whinced at the sight and looked away.

His face was beguiling and craggy, handsome yet hideous. Unbridled lust, a beguiling, murderous look projected unto her, the eyes were like shiny black glass. He had long and thick, wavy black hair down to his shoulders. She knew this must be an incarnation of Satan.

Isabel sobbed and said, "You attacked me! Why? I have done everything you asked."

His answer was a high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek coupled to a low growl. No human words and yet a message was received. "I am done with you. I have no need for your cooperation. Your form belongs to me. It can carry out my wishes without your spirit."

Isabel cried, "Noooooo!" He was taking from her any hope of repenting, any hope of having any control over her will, any hope of avoiding damnation. She had always toyed with the idea of somehow, at the last minute, she might escape judgment. Her time was ending before she had expected, without warning.

He stepped swiftly forward and pushed at her chest, flinging her into the mud and the mud gave away and clawed hands came up from under her, many clawed hands scratching, sliding around her spine and rib cage, the form of arms wrapping around her torso terrified her. Her head was pulled under the mud and one last full-throated scream escaped: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

She awoke! She jerked up in a jump, still screaming to find herself back in the church and on her feet, screaming: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The first sight of reality was an angel in the stained glass window that for a moment was a devil laughing at her, but as she focused she saw it for what it was, a blue-robed angel with long white wings, frozen in glass and useless to her. It would not come to her rescue.

Shivering with terror, she said, "It was a dream, just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream dammit!"

She saw she was alone and that disturbed her deeply. She remembered the attack and cried into her hands. A demon had raped her and the men (her men!) praised the attack and then raped her themselves. They made no effort to save her. None! They showed no respect for her authority!

Unnerved to her core, unsure of herself for the first time in years, Isabel felt in danger. There was the immediate danger of not knowing the time. 

How long had she been out? Her husband and children must be waiting for her. What if someone were about to come in the church, someone she couldn't trust?

"Oh God! I'm filthy. I need to clean up. Yes, I'll, I'll clean up and go home," she said to herself.

She hurried first to gather her clothes, then to the restroom. She washed and dried and dressed and hurried to her car. She found her purse on the floorboard and pulled out her cell phone. Oh no! She was two hours past her expected arrival time. Her husband had left three messages. She couldn't think of an excuse, so she just started the car and drove home.

She hurriedly pulled into the driveway and double-time marched across the lawn and up the steps. 

"Where were you?!" yelled her husband Zach.

"Oh, honey! I'm sorry. I took ill at the church all of sudden. I just, my stomach, it was terrible. I started throwing up! And one of the ladies insisted on taking me to her place to rest. I went in her car. She lives just a few blocks from the church and I didn't think I'd be gone long. 

"I left my cell phone with my purse in the car. She gave me something to drink and it calmed my stomach but it made me sleepy and the next thing I know ... "

"It's late! And you could have called from her house. Shit! You knew I had to get to work. I'm fucking going to be late. I'm already late!" Zach yelled.

"I know, I know, I know, oh honey, really, I'm so very sorry. I just wasn't thinking straight. I've had a very disorienting afternoon."

Isabel tried to hug her husband but he would have none of it. 

"Get dinner started for the kids, they're bitching about they stomachs. We'll talk later!"

And out the door he went. Isabel hurried behind him and followed him to the porch and said, "I'll make it up to you tonight!"

He turned and frowned. She smiled a lewd smile. He smiled back reluctantly, and said, "Yeah, you sure the fuck will."

She watched him pull away, waving all the time, throwing a kiss to seal her apology. But as his truck disappeared, her dread came back full force. 

She had toyed with terrible forces for her own wicked games. She had gone too far and she knew it. She felt a need to pull away from this. And it occurred to her that she had been so wicked, so nasty for so long that the men in church would never let her out now. She was no longer in control. 

What they had done to her! How would she reassert control?

She could, she told herself. She still had skills, she could still manipulate, keep one step ahead of them. This was a setback, but it wasn't that bad.

"It's not that bad," she told herself. "It's not that bad."

And she went inside to whining children and cooked dinner. She went inside to the fruits of a respectable life, a life she didn't deserve, the kind of life that she had denied Naomi.

*  *

Naomi sat on her back porch. Dressed in bluejean cutoff shorts and a black Ozzy t-shirt, she rubbed her extended belly and wondered if it was really okay not to know who the father was, as she had no clue. She was seven months pregnant. She stared across the unkempt yard. She lived alone. 

Her husband, like her marriage, was a farce. He didn't support her. Her brought her men to fuck for money.

She had a 2-year-old son playing in the backyard. Little Gustavo chased after his puppy. 

Church was the farthest thing from her mind. That life was over. Although she had only stopped going just over three years earlier, she couldn't 

imagine fitting into that scene today. She was a whore. "I'm a whore," she'd tell herself morning, noon and night. It was her way of reminding herself of the options not open to her, like visiting her parents or going back to school.

She didn't like it. She wasn't proud of it. But the lifestyle infected her mind, body and soul. She looked at it like a drug. It was bad for her, so bad. But it felt so good in some sick sweet way, like too much sugar. Bad for you. Like too much wine. Bad for you.

"Too much cock. Bad for you," she said and let out a melancholy, bitter smile. She was expecting a customer, Jose, (Martha's father) had called. 

She hadn't seen him in months and wondered why he'd come by now. He knew she was pregnant and he was one of Isabel's favorites.

Isabel, that bitch! Isabel never came around. Naomi had come to the conclusion some time ago that Isabel never cared about her. She was a false friend, a false "big sister." She was false in every way. And yet Isabel was still respectable.

"Respectable!" she said out loud with contempt.

She watched her son, the innocent! A sweet boy. The one thing that helped restore to Naomi some of her humanity, not that she was entirely at odds with her lifestyle. Some of the men were actually nice. And Naomi held fast to the idea that she was still basically a good person. A person who had a promiscuous, slutty streak, but still a good person. Not like Isabel.

She was lost in thought when she wasn't distracted by the fullfilling sight of her son bumbling around the yard on new legs, so she didn't hear the knock knock on her front door frame. 

"Naomi!" came the call. It was Jose. Naomi stood with some difficulty, didn't bother to answer. She walked into the den from the back door and through the hall to her front door. She opened it to find Jose standing with his daughter Martha. What's this, Naomi wondered?

She unlatched the door without a word and let them in. Martha looked at the floor the whole time, there was shame in her shrouded face and the young lady's humble posture gave Martha a sickening feeling.

"What's she doing here? Why did you bring her here?" Naomi said to Jose in an interrogative tone.

"Suck my dick!" Jose barked.

"Fuck you, Jose. What's she doing here. I'm not doing nuthin with her," Naomi said with absolute resolve.

"How's the baby coming along," Jose countered, a cavalier expression on his face matching and casual don't-give-a-fuck slouch.

"Like you care. What's this about?" Naomi insisted.

Jose smiled a smile that flashed wicked, white teeth. His eyes flickered, going from human to black glass for a split second, then back again. 

Naomi shuddered. She had seen that before, in Isabel's eyes. Whatever had been inside of Isabel was now visiting Jose's body. His right hand rose, arched and swatted Martha's buttock. "Show her your back, girl," Jose said.

Without hesitation, Martha pivoted to present her back to Naomi, lifted her shirt and bent over to reveal a fresh Satanic tattoo for a tramp stamp.

"Oh, girl," Naomi said to Martha's back, a tone of disappointment in her voice. Her head snapped toward Jose and she snarled, "What did you do?"

"That's none of your concern, whore! There's been a shift in the balance of things. Isabel isn't so high and mighty anymore. I'm running our fun and games now. I'm just here to use this brothel for its intended purpose. I'm not here for you. I have some friends coming over to get a taste of this," he said as he knifed his hand between Martha's thighs and made her flinch.

"Why don't you go stay in the back yard with your boy, keep him out of trouble. Better yet ... "

He reached in his pocket for his car keys and wallet, handed Naomi the keys with two $20 bills.

"Go take your boy to a movie."

Naomi took the keys and the money, walked around to stand in front of Martha, she was in a low pant, is if she were a bitch in deep heat. Naomi shook her head, but decided she wanted no part of this. She walked out the back door and across the grass. 

She latched onto her son's little hand, led him down the side of the house and into Jose's car. She started the engine and felt guilt for leaving Martha there, but she wasn't about to go back.

Fifteen minutes later, Willie, Geraldo, Oscar and Ricardo pulled up in an old Buick. Juan, Martha's boyfriend, was not with them. He didn't know his girlfriend was about to be gang fucked by the older men. A few minutes later, Roman and Tomas drove up separately in a truck.

The men gathered in the living room were filled with supernatural will. Jose, demon possessed, transmitted to the others an aura that overpowered Martha once she was surrounded. They nodded at her, squinted at her, snapped their fingers at her, pulled their cocks out for her, and for their own sensual gratification.

Jose went to the truck and opened the cooler in the truckbed. He lifted from it a live toad and a sow's head. He re-entered Naomi's whore house. He made his way to the center, where his daughter was in a trance, panting and rubbing her own pussy, staring at the wooden floor.

Jose pressed the bloody neck of the sow to the floor and smeared its fluids in a circle around his daughter. He then knelt in front of his daughter and asked for her foot. He took a knife from his pocket and cut open the bottom of her foot. She shuffled inside the circle, drawing a thin line of her own blood from center to circle, repeatedly, until she formed the five points of a star.

"Strip whore, make yourself naked," Jose said, his voice rising with excitement. 

She stripped and then lay on her back, arms out and legs spread. She knew it not, but as Satan's presence persisted in this group, His power of the group grew stronger and His ability to use men to use women, and to use women to use men grew more powerful and efficient. 

What He had done to Isabel took years. Naomi's downfall was only a partial success. But Martha came to Him quickly and totally.

As she lay on the floor, her demon-possessed father knelt by her side and place the live toad on her chest.

"Like the toad, you will always have your legs open, whore! Like the toad's image, your heart will be grotesque, whore! May goodness and innocence recoil from you."

Jose raised the sow's head, its dead eyes staring at her, and asked, "How are you like the sow?"

"I am filth," Martha said with a creepy smile.

"How is your soul like the sow's soul?" her wicked father asked, his voice quivering with excitement.

"My soul is dead to me, my soul does not belong to me!"

Jose lasciviously place his free hand on her thigh and rubbed up the inner thigh until his thumb flicked into her slit.

"Who does your soul belong to?" he questioned.

"My soul belongs to Lucifer!" she said exultantly.

He lowered the sow's head and put its snout just above her lips. "Kiss the sow, unite yourself to your Master. Invite Him into your flesh. Ask for your fate."

Martha lifted her head and licked at the snout. She kissed the pig and spoke, "Come make me your whore, Lucifer. Come to me. Fuck me! My fate is damnation. My fate is damnation and ruin! Fuck me Lucifer!"

A cold wind hit her and boxed her ears. "Ahhhh," she cried, eyes closing. She opened them and felt compelled to jerk her head forward, she saw the toad's eyes and she saw them change. The toad shifted shape and became a black snake. The snake grew to the length of her body. She shivered and stared at it. The men stood around her amazed and speechless.

The snaked coiled up on her stomach, raised its head and without warning struck, it's fangs in an instant sinking into her neck. She cried and its 

venom went into her bloodstream. The snake retrieved its fangs, pulled away and slithered off her body. It separated into seven leaches and crawled up the legs of each man. It burrowed into their flesh and within minutes they were ill, their skins turned a blotchy red, then a full deep crimson red. They pulled off their clothes and looked at each other, amazed and filled with a strength they did not recognize.

Martha's skin turned a pale and ghostly white. She came out of her trance and found herself surrounded by seven demons. For a moment fully human again, she was revolted, horrified, she then recalled what she had asked for and cried, "Nooooo I didn't mean it!"

She recoiled and tried to crawl out of the circle. But firm hands latched onto her ankles and wrists. The first demonic man lunged into her. She cried a little. But her moment of human lucidity vanished like a dream by the sixth stroke of his cock and she broke into a cock-hungry smile. 

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhh!"

"Yeeahhhh, yeaaahhh," she groaned out with a lusty sneer. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, nnnnnnnnnnnnnnyeaaa! nnnnnnnnnnnnnnyeaahhhhhhhhhhh! ohhhhhhhhhhhh. 

Yessssssssssssss!"

Slithering, long, snake-like, scaling red cocks throbbed for her. A demon-possessed man knelt by each hand and helped her palms find red hot cocks. 

She pulled and stroked as she was fucked and kept in perpetual, all-consuming lust. 

Her young pale buttocks gyrated and scraped against the floor, getting nailed down even as her abdomen and back were engaged to push back. Her cunt became a frothing flow of musky juices, squirting and sloshing, impaling cock coming with squishing, sloppy, energetic responding humps for a young woman entering whoredom with all her heart.

"Fuck me!" she demanded. "Fuck me!"

Hot jets of demon-tainted seed spewed into her cervix. She was filled, and in the instant one released into her the indiscrimate seed of her certain ruin, the demon man pulled out and stood and she begged for the next to take his place.

"Put that dick in me! Put that fucking red cock in me! yesss, I'm Lucifer's whore and I want that cock! Fuck me and cum. Fuck me and cum hard!"

Her hands and supple, sweet mouth teased angry, hard cocks, keeping them ready to finish their task between her trembling young legs. 

She stroked and licked. She moaned and bucked. She cursed and begged. Her body jiggled and shook. It shuddered and jerked. It humped and slapped back at every thrust and sticky piston-like stroke. United to evil, embracing all sin, two hearts beating in all-consuming lust.

One after the other, they fucked her. One after the other, they pounded between the soft, warm dripping fold of her once pure treasure, they put their hard backs into each driving stab of cock into tight, hot, drooling, cock-loving cunt.

One after the other, they filled her womb with evil seed. They promised her nothing but more of the same, forever. Her feet cramped, the tensions in her were so intense. Her calves and thighs cramped. Her belly cramped. She came with painful force. She howled like a wild animal, cumming on their merciless red hot pokers.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngahhhhhhhhhhh! AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!"

Naomi returned from the movies and a dinner. Her son napping in the back seat. The cars were still there. She got out and walked to the porch. She listened. She heard a female voice growling out profanities like some half-human, half-beast bitch in heat. She peered through the screen window and saw a sight from science fiction.

"Oh my god!" she cried in a stunned whisper. They did not hear her. They were lost in their unholy act. Naomi stepped away, shaking. She went back to the car and decided to keep on driving.

The seven possessed men and Satan's new bride fucked themselves to exhaustion. They fucked their way to unconsciousness. They awoke at midnight, restored to human form, but with hearts even more wicked than before. 

Martha lay on her back, legs wide open, rubbing cum as it leaked out of her, making circles with it on her stomach, fascinated with what was going on in her womb. She knew. She knew.

She looked at the men as they regained consciousness and grinned and spoke. "Mmmmmm, I'm pregnant. Mmmmmmm, yes. I'm pregnant. Uhhhh, ha! I'm so fucking pregnant!"



She-Devil In Church Ch. 04



In the nine weeks after Martha was inseminated, Isabel found herself in terrible stress. She had not been able to reassert her sexual dominance over the men of the church.

Their obsession for her had been calmed. Like a spell broken, and it was obvious why, or so she thought. She blamed it on Martha, that little slut had taken her place!

She was their new fascination. She was all they talked about. Isabel knew they were fucking her every chance they could. Isabel was mad with jealously, not because they were fucking that Hell-bitch so much as because the little devil had somehow sapped Isabel's power.

Isabel had lost favor with Satan, and it drove her to consternation, malicious thoughts and nightmares.

The nightmares were strong and terrifying. Isabel kept falling into ambushes, pounced on by terrifying demons that clawed at her flesh, ripping into her skin as they fucked her.

And with each nightmare, the demon fucking lasted longer and longer. It took her longer to wake from the dreams.

The dreams were coming to her now as she lay helpless in a pool of her own stress-induced sweat, asleep in her bed, next to her husband.

Isabel woke each time cold inside and hot on her surface, choking on a scream, reaching out for her husband, who was always there to hug her and comfort her.

"Another bad dream, honey? Ohhh, it's okay baby, it was just a dream. God, you've been having them so regular lately. But they always go away, right? Okay? Better now?"

Isabel sobbed into her husband's chest, she had a renewed appreciation for her husband, who although not interested in spiritual matters and never having been a church-going man, still had a fundamental decency in him. Isabel would bite her tongue with regret, knowing she did not deserve him, knowing in her heart that her evil ways would sooner than later separate him from her.

He was a hardworking, simple man with a firm moral compass. He wasn't smart, and would never make much money, but he tried hard and he had within him the unswerving self-confidence of a blue collar man who found purpose in his trade and his place in the family.

Isabel had not appreciated him as she should have. In these trying times, he was the rock that held her together. He was her refuge from her dreams, from the torments Satan thrust upon her, from her own dissipated, dissolute conduct.

Isabel knew she had no moral compass without her husband. When he was not there to keep her at least pretending she had goodness in her. Without him, her wanton spirit dominated. 

Isabel had lost a fundamental understanding of her own nature; she had invited into her demonic possession and she was no longer master of her own will.

She was lost without her spouse and less confident each day that she could hold her family together. 

But her husband had to go to work and her children had to go to school. And Isabel was soon alone with her wicked heart. She sat alone, her hand sliding down to her thigh and over her pussy. She rubbed and thought to herself she needed a new conquest, someone to assert her authority over.

She smiled as she thought of Theo, that young, strong, handsome stud of a bricklayer.

She called Manuel to ask where she might find him and he directed her to a new subdivision that Theo was supposed to be working in. Isabel put on an orange peasant skirt with a canary yellow short sleeve blouse that buttoned up the front with a V-neck collar.

She didn't bother with panties or a bra, but she put on thigh-high stockings and a pair of dark brown high heels. She got in her car and drove.

Thiry-five minutes later, she finally came to the subdivision, nothing more than a row of skeletal house frames. In the distance, she saw a couple of houses that were nearly finished. That would be where she'd find Theo.

She pulled in front of a house that was having a brick facade erected in front and stepped out with a cold six-pack of Bohemia.

Theo was surprised to see her and stumbled over his hello, his radar was immediately on high alert. (She's a whore! he remembered).

She tried to invite herself inside, "Have a beer with me!?" she said in a bright, questioning voice that didn't seem to have the same confidence he'd seen in her before.

She had a hint of vulnerability about her that made her project a deceivingly normal, albeit provocative demeanor.

This appealed to his manhood, his cock twitched involuntarily and Theo felt stressed.

He declined her invitation, "I have to work." "What's the harm?," she persisted. "You, me, it's late morning. It's SO hot. I'm sure you're thirsty. Is your boss around? Maybe he'd like to join us?"

"No, I'm on my own here. I ... I don't need any help. I'm my own boss where this is concerned."

"Your own boss! Mmmmm. I guess you really know what you're doing then."

"Why are you here Mrs. Manchaca?" Theo said flatly, suspicion dripping from his tone.

He was putting Isabel on the defensive, but she wouldn't back off.

"I came to see YOU, Theo. Can't a woman enjoy your company? Can't I enjoy your company?"

And with that, and with Theo watching, she straightened the front of her skirt, her hand, palm against her belly, pushing in and down and cupped her pussy with the skirt fabric pressing into her fleshy mound.

She released her hand, revealing what had been touched for a second before the weight of the fabric fell away from her obviously-offered pussy.

Theo had fantasized about having her, but had not seriously considered an encounter. He felt his blood rush, preparing to take her even though he had the presence of mind to focus on his beloved wife. I am married, he yelled to himself inside the chambers of his mind.

Theo felt his cock's twitch stronger, It was swelling with hot blood. 

His sweaty, stinking cock. And dammit, what woman would want to fuck a man who was already stinking from such hard labor?

It outraged him and excited him simultaneously. Fucking whore is right, he thought.

Isabel pretended to lose interest in him. She looked around, walked over the yard as if surveying it with it bare ground. The grass sod squares had not yet been laid.

"These houses look so barren without any grass or people or furniture or kids running in the street. Don't you think?" she said.

Her back to him, she arched her spine and pushed out her big ass while she gently made the six-pack swing back and forth in her hand, a wet cold bottle striking her hip and making that one ass cheek bounce from the indentations; swing-bump-ass shake, swing-bump-ass shake.

"Mrs. Manchaca, I think you should leave," Theo said, (hissing 'fucking whore' under his breath), but he was aroused and betraying a nervous quiver in his voice.

Isabel detected that quiver, and smiled to herself with her back to him. Her confidence recharged.

Isabel turned on the ball of her right foot and stepped sideways into a wide straddle, like a gunslinger getting ready to draw his pistol.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. THEO! And I don't think you really want me to."

She walked toward him, stood beside him, leaned into him and Theo recoiled as she apparently tried to kiss him. Her kiss landed on his shoulder.

She stood up straight and smiled. "I'll be inside. It's too hot out here!" She lifted the six pack and pulled up one glass bottle. "I think I'll start without you."

She walked inside with a saunter and Theo, against his better judgment, watched her ass sway and strut and bounce.

She disappeared and Theo went back to work for all of five minutes. Then he threw down his trowel and stepped away from brick and the bucket of wet mortar. The bucket was almost empty of mortar now and he'd have to make a new batch.

"Fuck!" Theo cursed. "Fuck, fuck!"

He looked at the door and walked toward it. He stepped inside. Isabel was sitting on the floor. Sitting on her butt in the dust, her skirt pulled up so far that the entirety of a tan ass cheek was radiantly exposed in all its slutty glory.

She smiled and lifted her beer in salute. Theo approached her. Isabel lifted her beer over her head and poured it from a distance into her mouth. The stream landed with a sloppy splash, some of it into her mouth and the rest down her neck to her chest and shirt.

"Glad you could make it," she said.

Theo let out a hard sigh and sat next to her, quivering all over. She handed him a beer. He chugged it down in 10 seconds and she said, "I'm impressed!"

Then she took a beer, pulled off the cap and poured it all over her shirt and belly rolls, soaking herself.

"You're one crazy bitch," Theo said. 

"Mmmmmm!" Isabel moaned with delight. "You think?"

And she crawled around in front of Theo, undid his pants. He watched with dread as he gave in to adultery, having another woman expertly handle his cock.

She held his organ so confidently, just the right pressure. He sneered at her, his eyes betraying his angst. This kind of darkness wasn't a part of his nature.

She kissed his sweaty cock. Isabel took long slow licks as she carefully observed his reaction. He wouldn't smile.

She took him inside my mouth and kept him hard in her mouth for over ten minutes. Never going so fast as to draw out his cum too soon.

Then she released his cock and sat back, watching her work. His organ stood up straight and bobbed, as if begging for more attention. She smiled as he watched her smug, slutty facial expression. Isabel straightened up, stood up and pulled up her skirt to reveal her utter lack of an undergarment.

"You slut!" Theo exclaimed. No longer able to contain his lust. "Are you going to fuck on my cock?"

She laughed and straddled him. Riding his cock, watching him pant and grunt and moan. He was bewitched, he was helpless, letting her have her way with him.

She pulled his face into her chest, "Suck my tit!"

Theo resisted. He didn't want to show that much desire for her. Isabel played with her full, aromatic, round right tit, rubbing the big hard nippled on his mouth, "Suck it!"

Theo groaned and opened his mouth. He sucked with sudden hunger. Her pussy was maddening! Giving his cock so much pleasure, his cum boiling up. It was only after Theo ejaculated into her that he thought to say, "I'm married!"

Isabel grinned and looked straight into his eyes. "You think you're telling me something I don't know? Ha! I don't give a damn."

She lifted herself, getting back into a squat, then letting his cock slip out of her. She hovered and let his cum drip out of her cunt at a distance of six inches above his still hard cock.

Theo's eyes watered with post-sex regret and shame. He had cheated on his wife! "You're a fucking whore," he said, but his voice was so shaky and the pronouncement so impotent. He felt like a punk.

Isabel let out a soft chuckle and stepped to one side, she patted Theo on the head, "I'll be back soon, baby."

She stepped into her shoes and sauntered out, her shoes tapping into the dusty floor. Theo lay dazed, watching his sticky cock. It wanted more of that woman, it was already looking forward to the next time.

* * * * In the weeks that followed Martha's defilement, Imelda did as she was instructed. With the promise that her son would stop molesting her, and nothing would happen to her own daughters, Imelda associated with Martha. Imelda knew her cover for the girl had to be convincing. slightly overweight, and 41 years old, and totally out of character for her, Imelda began wearing miniskirts and makeup and she was being seen in public with Martha.

Tongues wagged and the other women began separating themselves from Imelda. It hurt her deeply to have her friends, her sisters in the church think that she had succumbed to the lusts of that evil clique of men that so disturbed the spiritual atmosphere the good ones demanded.

Imelda smiled and spoke to the men known to have brought a Satanic influence into the church. For this, for her association with a girl gone bad, for her dress and apparent resistance to repentance, Imelda was shunned.

Her actions had the unintended influence of corrupting her daughters. Despite Imelda's admonitions that they should do as she said and not as she acted, her daughters took their mom for a hypocrite and began flirting with boys at school.

But no one in the church bothered her daughters and her son stopped bothering her and the bad men only pretended interest in her. Imelda credited Isabel for that small measure of peace of mind, but the credit was misplaced. 

The wicked men, that small horrid clique whose malevolent influence seemed stronger than ever, were using her for cover on their own. They were no longer listening to Isabel and Imelda didn't catch that distinction.

Weeks passed and Marta's belly grew. And with each passing day Marta seemed stronger. She was loving her pregnancy and was incredibly shameless about carrying a child in her womb out of wedlock. In associating with her, Imelda was shocked at the transformation.

"What happened to you," Marta asked more than once. "You were such a sweet girl, so decent. Your parents must be dying of shame. I know they are. Can't you feel their pain? Don't you care?" Imelda asked.

But Marta was death to this nonsense, this babble from an old bitch who didn't understand how the spiritual world really worked. "Shut up, Imelda. Look at you, trying to be a slut and nobody wants to fuck your ragged ass!"

But Imelda endured this. She endured everything. She was getting something in exchanged. She may look slutty, she may be having her good name trashed, but she knew the truth. She was still a good woman and her body had only ever been with one man.

"I am woman with honor," Imelda told herself. She could only feel sorry for Martha, who was so clearly under the Devil's influence.

Imelda could not comprehend the danger she was in. Her sense of security was about to be destroyed. In the sixth month and fifth day of Martha's pregnancy, she invited herself to breakfast. She would be at Martha's house the following morning at 6 am.

"So early?" Imelda said into her cell phone. But she agreed without giving it further thought as the pregnant slut had already had many meals now in Imelda's home, although Imelda didn't appreciate the mischievous and conspiratorial conversations that Marta engaged in with her impressionable daughters.

The following morning, Imelda lay in bed immobile. She awoke and found herself unable to move. The room was empty but she could tell by the light that 6 a.m. of the day of the sixth month and sixth day of Marta's pregnancy was minutes away.

"Why can't I move?" Imelda asked herself. She room was empty and she heard voices, too many voices. More than her husband and her son, more than Marta who was giggling somewhere on the other side of Imelda's bedroom door.

"Why can't I move?" Imelda asked again, now in a growing panic. She tried to rise. She could not.

She lay naked in her bed, the sheets pulled away. "Why can't I move!!!!"

The door opened and she recognized her son, his naked body. "No!" she thought and she tried to speak but nothing came out. She knew the son by his body but his face was hidden by a Halloween Jason mask. "No!" she screamed in her head but only managing a soft terrified grunt.

He sat beside her on the mattress and his finger circled around her right nipple, then her left nipple. He traced his finger down between her full breasts, down the middle of her stomach. He tapped a fingernail into Imelda's belly button and a sudden surge of erotic heat flowed and zinged up and down her body in a way she couldn't understand, how could she feel that kind of lust from such a touch?

Her son scraped three fingertips down her abdomen and finally reached her clit. Imelda tried again to move. "No! Roll away, uh! Why can't I roll away from him?"

His hand expertly worked her clit. He teased her pussy to secrete its juices, then he formed a spear with his hand and thrust it into her. "Ohhhhhhhh, God help me!" Imelda cried, but only in her mind, her ears only heard her muffled groans.

Imelda was on the verge of cumming within eight minutes. In the ninth minute, her old cunt released, exploding in an orgasm that seemed to have no end. She came and came and came again. And her son fisted her mercilessly.

Simon, her son, then stood and pressed his hands against her hip and rib cage just under the armpit, he rolled her onto her side and unseen to her, he removed five pins that had been placed in her spine while she was in a drug-induced sleep.

Imelda felt mobility return, but slowly. She was in slow motion, trying to roll across the bed away from her son.

"No you don't!" he said. "I'm not finished with you."

She pulled herself to her knees and hands and managed to get one leg next toward the floor, but that was as far as she got. He pounced behind her, the bed shook and he gripped her hips and drove forward his body, pushing her face into her husband's pillow.

"I did what I was told!" she cried. "I was promised immunity!"

"The one who made the promise," he said as he found his spear at the slit, "has been broken, and with her the promise is dead!"

He thrust and she who brought him into the world gasped at the feel of his sex organ, plunged deep into her. "Ohhhhhh!" she cried with a shudder.

"Ohhh yessssss," he cried with a shudder.

He held her fast. He held her in a struggle she was losing with each and every thrust. He held her with hands like claws, locked down, nails plunged into her thick flesh. He held her as the dominant and she found her submissive spirit too weak to resist.

The door opened. Imelda felt herself fucked and fucking. The young and wicked Martha appeared at Imelda's side and Imelda looked and she blushed with shame for she was enjoying her son's cock and Martha was witness!

"Don't look at me!" Imelda cried.

Martha lifted a hand and swung her arm and slapped Imelda's face and the shock of the violence so startled Imelda she was put into a state of total confusion. What is happening, she yelled into her mind and up to her God.

Simon gripped his mother's hair and jerked up her head and lifted her body into a 45 degree angle up from the bed, plunging his cock into her as Martha undressed and slid between Imelda and the bed's headboard, sitting her pregnant ass on the pillow of Imelda's husband.

"Where is my husband!" Imelda cried. "Why are you not here to protect your wife, Ricardo! ... Ricardo!"

"Like he still cares about you!" Martha snapped, and the young Devil-bitch grabbed Imelda's face and pushed it to her pussy. "Eat me, you old pig!"

Imelda was reduced to a gasping, cumming, confused wretch. She struggled for air. She lapped like a dog. Her ears burned with the foul words the young pair rained on her. She moved her ass faster when spanked and commanded. Imelda squirted and groaned.

She was frightened by the carnal power of this threesome, this forbidden sexual encounter so far beyond any kind of sexual exercise she had ever dared submit to.

Her hands resting and balanced against the womb, Imelda felt the baby move inside the slut whose pussy she ate and how she ate and licked and slurped, driven forward into the tender pink and slick flesh of a young spirit-filled woman, but spirit filled with a darkness so deep Imelda could only shiver in fear.

Imelda felt her thighs wet to her knees in the sheets, that wicked young man feeling his way inside her dishonored vaginal cavity, her ears burning as his piggish grunts and curses of "Take it you fucking whore take my fucking cock goddamn you!"

And Imelda's eyes filled with tears for she had been defeated, God had abandoned her, surely. Something had gone terribly wrong. "God has abandoned me!"

* * *

Hours later, Imelda lay in the bathtub, shivering under the spray of a cold shower, hugging her shoulders, trying to comprehend what had happened. How could such evil take over her house, her community, her body?




She-Devil In Church Ch. 04



She was in an empty house and all she knew and loved was spoiled and out of control. She had made a bargain with a devilish woman and had been betrayed.

She cried and gritted her teeth and ground at her teeth, working her jaw obsessively, like a cow chewing weeds all day. She sought her anger and found it.

She would have her revenge, she would go to Isabel's father and tell him the truth of everything. She knew Isabel's father hated his daughter for what she had become and for how she had assaulted their once idyllic community.

Imelda knew Isabel still feared her father. If she was afraid of nothing else, she was afraid of his wrath.

* * *

With each passing week, Jose awoke to find another demon tattoo on his body. They appeared supernaturally in his sleep. But they were real. He marveled at them in the mirror, not fully understand that each one represented a new demon that had taken residence in his body. Jose felt powerful, he felt immortal. He was drunk with power and found every woman he was attracted to could not resist his touch or his lust.

He didn't notice that he was only approaching sluts, women that openly or secretly enjoyed wanton sex. He fucked at random and as he fucked scales slowly formed on his spine where he could not see or notice them. But the women would and they would remark. 

But blinded by his own demonic possession, that part of him that was human never heard their remarks. His demons tuned out his humanity whenever anything suspicious might approach his ear. He was lost and unknowing of his own lostness.

And so in this state he came to his daughter who knew what was really happening to him because she alone really knew what was happening to every single one of them.

She smiled in her own bed and opened her thighs and invited her lost father to waste himself between her legs and so he did the night after Imelda resolved to see Isabel's father.

And Jose fucked until his fluid ejaculated, pulling out just before the first spurt and showing the young bitch's swollen belly as she panted and smeared his splashing semen on the huge mound, her hands playfully finger painting cum around and around on the fleshy living container that was the vessel of her unborn.

Marta knew what was inside. She knew of its designed deformities, of its unnatural crimson red skin and it's half-inch tail and albino eyes, its genetic makeup averse to consuming anything but meat, she knew her breasts would only produce sour milk that no one would drink and from the start her baby would only drink on pig's blood.

She knew all this and she knew her father was no longer really her father for he was submerged and only aware of his condition in the most shallow sense.

"Kagnuzcik," she said, addressing the most dominant demon in her father's body.

He smiled, realizing he had been recognized. "Yesssss, my pet."

"Why do we keep Isabel? She did not do a proper job with Naomi. Naomi still knows of her human nature, she was never fully converted."

Kagnuzcik grinned, "And you, pet? Do you know who you are?"

Marta grinned and stroked on the most available cock. "Eltha-na shares space with me but Master trusts me to have my own mind."

Kagnuzcik winked. "You are an able human. You know Eltha-na will not let you share space for long."

Martha smiled. "I know. I'm ready to submerge when she demands that I go under. But to my question?"

Kagnuzcik smiled and shrugged, "Master is done with her. She'll be in Hell soon."

And Martha laughed. Kagnuzcik laughed.

And miles away, Isabel lay asleep, trapped inside another horrible nightmare of demons ripping her flesh even as they fucked her to death. She awoke with a scream and found herself alone her in bed. Where was her husband? She sobbed and cried and felt wetness between her thighs. She opened her legs. She was bleeding into the sheet and she screamed. 



She-Devil In Church



"After the eighth man pulled out of Naomi, Isabel made Naomi sit up and count the stars, and she asked her what she was."

"Naomi sobbed and said she was surely a slut. Isabel gave her a hug and consoled her for several minutes. Then she slid off the table and Naomi shrieked, 'Where are you going?! And Isabel said, 'Nowhere, dear cousin. I just need to help these men finish the job."

"Isabel sat in a chair and gave oral sex to one man at a time, the man that was going to penetrate Naomi next. While the men came over Naomi and fucked her, Isabel sucked cock and cheered them on. Naomi's body betrayed her quickly enough and she endured a series of ... of ... she called them 'intense mind-fucking orgasms.' "

"After Naomi told me about that incident, that was the last time I saw her. She stopped coming to church. She was too ashamed to come. She just couldn't face the other women anymore. She couldn't be in the company of the wives of men that had seduced her into doing those things. She was never as shameless and black-hearted as Isabel."

"Her father was concerned about her and went looking for her. He found her in her home naked and with several men, but only one that he knew from our church. Her husband wasn't home and her father insisted that she leave with him. 

"But Naomi refused. Her husband had turned Naomi's home into a whorehouse and men from within the church and the surrounding community were fucking her day and night. Naomi was addicted to sex and she wouldn't repent and she is in that state of sin to this day."

"What happened spread like wildfire throughout the church and Isabel was blamed. The church split. There was a tribunal. She was denounced in church on a Sunday morning and her excommunication was put to a vote. Many were confident that this would be the end of it. But we didn't realize the extend of her influence. 

"The eight who were fucking her, and many of their business associates who trusted their word voted in Isabel's favor. And Isabel herself protested her innocence. 

"Naomi was not there to testify against Isabel. I spoke for Naomi but what I said was condemned by some as gossip and hearsay.

"The pastor could not accept the outcome. He resigned, and those who voted with him left the church with him and started their own church. This church used to have 120 members. 

"We are down to 70. When the pastor left, his parting words were that those who stood with Satan's bride would reap God's judgment. Most of the men that remain here, I am sorry to say, they are not good men.

"But their wives are sheep and they stay here suffering by God's will and for the sake of the children, to protect the children. Isabel's own parents stay for another reason. 

"I have not heard it said to me, but I have heard that Isabel's father stayed to watch Isabel. I have heard it said that he warned her that if she does again to another woman what she did to Naomi, he will kill her by his own hand."

Sofia stopped speaking and I remembered what Isabel told me in the upstairs hall: Enjoy your wife while you can, the way she is now.

I thought it meant something else at the time, perhaps a reference to age and appreciating our youth while we have it. But now, I worried for my wife, and I said, 

"Oh God! This is horrible. That's horrible."

Sofia lunged forward and hugged me and said, "Yes, but we have each other. Please tell me that is all you need."

I hugged her tight and promised her that she was indeed all I needed. And in my mind I hoped that I was speaking the eternal truth.

* * * * * * 

Five nights later, a Friday night, Isabel was on the stage in church with the band, her young man band, practicing the music program for Sunday's service. 

But these young men were the sons of the eight, the unholy eight deacons who had been fucking their whore for years. And the young men knew Isabel for what she was. Out of sight from their mothers and sisters, without the observant eyes of aunts and grandmothers, their behavior toward her was very different.

There was some of the same friendly banter as they worked their way through the sheet music. Isabel was the band director. No one else had the discipline to keep rehearsal on track. 

They were too busy thinking with their cocks, and even at times lewdly stroking themselves and making overt references to Isabel's full and luscious lips.

Isabel understandably tolerated their remarks and kept bringing them back to the music. She realized that she too let down her guard somewhat. Instead of the formal Sunday dress the public was accustomed to seeing her wear, she was in short red denim shorts and had no bra under a black leather vest that hid her chest only because of the lace string that cinched the vest across her front top.

The boys knew she had no panties on (the bulging camel toe of her cunt was visible in her tight shorts) and her blood red platform sandals showed off her red painted toenails. The vest and shorts were both too small to hide the tattoo on her back, a tramp stamp black pentagram with a Satanic goat head in the five-pointed star in the small of her lower back.

She managed to keep them on course for an hour, but by then the horseplay was too much and Isabel said, "I think we've done enough for one night."

She set aside her electric bass guitar and sat on her high stool on the stage. Walter put down his saxophone. Juan pushed away from his electric organ.

Simon lay the acoustic guitar back in its case and Osvaldo put down his drumsticks. 

They all gathered around Isabel and pawed and tugged at her body. She felt again the thrill of being the center of attention, the fulfillment of their desperate need, the source of their joy.

Each one of them had known her for the first time by way of an introduction from the father. Their first sex with her was father-son sex with the resident queen slut. 

And Isabel had always lived up to her reputation, infecting them all with mad desire for her. Being the cum slut they had all dreamed of meeting one day.

For two of the four, she was their first fuck. And for all of them she was the standard by which they would measure girls. She would teach them how to train the prissy, preppy, God-filled maidens that faithfully came to the Lord's house. The young men freely touched her breasts and pussy for they were chosen ones, chosen by their fathers to corrupt themselves and their peers. 

And this would be done by encouraging their obsession for lust with a woman dedicated to fanning the flames of sin incarnate. 

Young hands rubbed and stroked and pinched and slapped her all over, from calves, up thighs, around the ass and up the stomach and back, slithering on and over tits, gripping neck and shoulders, pulling lips and pinching nose, tugging hair and earlobes.

Isabel closed her eyes and let her soul be immersed in their boiling over expressions: Yes bitch. You like that? Oh you can tell she likes it. Fuck, I wish we could do her all night. Let's get going, slut. Come on.

Walter, who was by now teaching his girlfriend Rita to take his cock up the ass, grabbed Isabel's great bottom as she walked with the young men up the center aisle of the church, into the lobby and down the hall to the pastor's office. Simon, who had run ahead, was laying out Pastor Gonzalez's vinyl upholstered futon on the 

floor of the office. 

Isabel casually stripped, pulling and shaking her tight shorts down off her hips. Her vest was already unlaced, she had walked out the sanctuary with her great tits exposed and now she let the vest fall with a shrug of her shoulders. 

She bent over to unsnap her sandal straps and as she did, Osvaldo speared her pussy with three fingers and began thrusting fiercely. Isabel let out a soft moan.

She slowly went to her knees on the edge of the futon and crawled to the center, staying on all fours. Walter stepped into her face, bouncing his brown cock in hand and making a drop of pre-cum fling out in a thin string, like a whip it lashed out in an arc and landed on her eyelash. The string made a zig-zag landing across her cheek and the side of her nose. 

She opened her mouth and Walter thrust in, immediately stroking, fucking lightly into her mouth.

A whap of hand and butt was heard as Osvaldo exclaimed, "shake the butt, whore!"

Isabel gladly complied, arcing back and dry humping ass up and down, making her butt cheeks jiggle for the young man. Osvaldo looked at the dancing pentagram, snarled and lunged forward, tapping through the wet slit and joyously fucking, fucking, fucking. "God-damn hot whore! Ohhhh sweet bitch!"

Juan stood by with Simon, both of them stroking their cocks and waiting their turn. 

"Isabel," Juan said. "I got Martha talked into getting a tramp stamp on her back. Wanna see what it's going to look like?"

Isabel moaned an 'mmm-Hmm!" as she sucked cock to the balls.

Juan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. He unfolded it and hung it over Walter's cock so Isabel could see. There dangling in front of her was a tattoo artist's rendering of a smaller pentagram than her's, but extending from each side horizontally were devil's horns. "Handlebars!" Juan said, and that followed with his laugh.

Isabel moaned loud and clenched at Osvaldo's thrusting cock. It made her feel so deliciously wicked, the work she was doing. Martha was a sweet, church-going miss who had been dating Juan for over a year. Her mother disapproved, but her father was fucking Isabel - a fact that Martha knew. Martha also knew Juan was fucking Isabel. That bothered her a little, but not enough to break it off with Juan. 

She held onto a morbid fascination of what life would be like if she followed down the path Juan was laying out for her. He was the only male she had ever had sex with and she was very much enjoying it.

Juan was reluctant to share her, although the subject had come up. But Isabel was confident that in time he would pass her around.

Osvaldo clawed at Isabel's hips, digging his nails in deep into her sides and growling, "Fuck on it baby, fuck that bone, whore!" And to that, Isabel sucked in air and picked up speed.

Simon, impatient, knelt by Isabel's side and while stroking cock with one hand reached under her and pinched the nipple of her flopping jugs. He pinched and pulled hard to hear her cry and she did. "NNNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!"

That incited Walter to grip two fist-fulls of dark hair and fuck into her throat. Isabel loved this! They were raging hardcore whore-mongers. So young and so able! And it was all thanks to her willingness to give them practice time.

Walter barked at Osvaldo to switch places. "I want to cum in her pussy this time!"

Osvaldo refused. "Then you should have grabbed her ass first!"

They were in a standoff and Walter bitched. Isabel curled her tongue and pressed into the shaft with her lips, trying to make it worth Walter's trouble to fuck her throat. He eased off his demands and felt his cum load boil, "Ohhhhhhh yes bitch .......... nnnnnn FUCK!"

He pulled back while Osvaldo kept ramming the whore's vagina. Walter furiously jacked on his cock and let fly with a grunt his cum finding a place to land. Spurting into her scalp first, then the right eyebrow/eyelid, a third shot right between the eyes and sending the spunky trickle down the bridge of her broad nose. The next two spurts zeroed into her mouth, landing inside on cock-sucking tongue.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh fuckknnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," Walter moaned.

Isabel was fucking back on Osvaldo's young firm, long-driving prick, her eyes closed and cunt in ecstacy. "uhhhh uhhh uhhhhh ohhhhh!" she moaned.

All the while, Simon pinched nipples and slapped her bouncing fat tits while he pulled on his swollen penis. Isabel had had Simon excited for so long that he was molesting his own mother. The poor woman, still lovely in her own way, was fighting a constant rearguard action, always retreating from her son's advances, and losing more ground every week. 

She was caught between a husband who wouldn't come to her defense and a son who showed no mercy. Although Simon had not succeeded in getting his mother to perform intercourse, she was by now tolerating clitoral fondling, allowing her son, however reluctantly, to rub her to orgasm as he dry humped her thigh.

Isabel knew her power. She knew the extent of her reach. She knew that with each passing day she was driving out the saints and corrupting all within her sphere, infesting the souls with demonic influence. She slapped her ass to Osvaldo's groin, enjoyed his spearing cock and let Simon express himself by tormenting her tits. 

It was all part of her master's plan.

Osvaldo let out a grunt, then a "fuck!" and his pace went full speed as he bored his cock deep and ejaculated. "Fuck oh fucking whore uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh take it take it!"

Isabel, face dripping of cum, looked at Juan. He shrugged and said, "I'm waiting to stretch your ass." 

Panting raggedly and waiting for Osvaldo to pull out, Isabel turned to Simon. "What about you baby, let me suck your cock."

"Uh uh," Simon said in refusal. "I wanna titty fuck these fine mature fuck bags, mama."

Osvaldo pulled at, slapped ass and said, "Damn!"

Juan stepped up to the bitch's crack and was about to push in when Isabel said, "Wait. How are we going to do this?"

She pulled away and sat down, legs folded to one side. "Juan, let me sit on your cock so Simon can titty fuck."

Juan lay on his back and Isabel squatted onto his cock, slowly easing it up her rectum. Simon, now of a vicious mind, spat and spat and spat on Isabel's face and tits.

"Mmmm yes baby, who's your whore uh who's your mother whore?" Isabel said to Simon.

"You are! Spit! You're my mother whore, my titty fuck-toy," Simon said. "Spit!"

He slapped his cock on her breastbone and Isabel shoved her tits together, forming a whore's hot-dog. She expertly fucked them both to orgasms that let her chest, chin, neck and asshole cum-coated.

Shortly after Simon and Juan spent themselves, Martha drove into the parking lot to pick up her boyfriend Juan. She honked and Juan said, "It's Martha!" He rapidly jumped into his clothes and the others sat on the filth futon and played with their cum, smearing it across Isabel's defiled and supple body. Then they heard footsteps. 

"What the fuck?" Walter asked.

"Come here, there's something I want you do see," Juan was heard to say.

Isabel, in her most stern voice barked, "Juan don't! She's not ready!"

But Juan was willful and pulled Martha into the doorway. She took one look at the mess and shut her eyes, "Oh God!"

She turned her head, "Juan, I want to leave."

"Take another look, sweet-cakes, come on!" Juan insisted.

"Goddammit Juan, let her go, get her away from here!" Isabel commanded.

"But she's ready Isabel, I just know it," Juan insisted, and then he reached between Martha's legs, rode his hand up her thighs and grabbed her pussy. She squealed, 

bent over and said, "Donnnnn't!"

Like a streak of lightning, Isabel rose, dashed to the door, gripped Juan by the throat with strength he couldn't imagine she had and rammed the back of his head into the door frame. She looked around her and said, "All of you, out!"

They scurried to leave and Martha started to pull away. Isabel grabbed her arm. "You're not going with Juan. Let one of the others give him a ride."

After the boys left, Isabel grabbed a towel and wiped herself off. She pulled on her shorts but didn't bother to put on the vest. Martha, always looking at the floor, took a moment to survey what Isabel was wearing and betrayed a disapproving frown.

"Don't judge me," Isabel said. "You're the same as me, you just don't know it yet."

"Ohh," Martha said as she shook her head no. "I'm nothing like you."

"Really?" Isabel said.

"Uh yeah! Really. God, what was I thinking. You are such a skank!"

Martha stood nervously, backing into a wall for support. Isabel grabbed the rolling desk chair and sat directly in front of Martha. She put her hands on Martha's knees and squeezed. "Did you agree to put the tramp stamp on your back?"

Martha blinked and looking around evasively. "I haven't made up my mind."

Isabel slid her soft hands up the outer thighs until she possessed Martha's ass, her dress scrunched up.

"You know that Juan fucks me. You know that your father fucks me. You stay with Juan. You don't denounce your father."

Isabel squeezed Martha's butt cheeks and pulled them apart, she leaned forward and blew air on the young lady's crotch. "You told Juan that you would agree to take the Devil's brand on your back. Tell me the truth."

There was silence, Martha looked about evasively and tried to form the word STOP in her brain.

"Tell me!" Isabel shouted, and the girl flinched and shuddered. Painted whore nails dug into the butt cheeks.

"Yesss. I did. I said I would, but ...."

"But now you have doubts. Is that right. Couldn't bear to look directly at the wicked consequences awaiting you?"

Martha froze. I should say something, she thought. But there was no time. Isabel wouldn't give her anymore time. Isabel smiled and jerked at Martha's panties. When they were down to her knees, Isabel leaned her face in and planted the tip of her devilish tongue on the young woman's clit. She licked the distraught innocent to a 

squealing, heaving orgasm.

Then another.

And another.

Then they had a long, long talk. At times, Martha shook her head and was on the verge of tears. Each time, Isabel calmed her down and massaged her slipping and falling soul with one argument after another. Slowly closing off every option Martha had looked to for escape. Then the two walked out and when the parted company, Isabel leaned into the window of Martha's car door and said, "You know what you have to do." She gave the young woman a kiss on the lips and left.

Martha drove home, back to her parents. It was late and her mother had gone to bed. Her father was in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, sitting on the living room sofa and watching a boxing match, or so it seemed. He had his cell phone in his hand. Martha stood in the doorway, unsure of her next move.

Her father spoke softly in Spanish, "Hable con la puta." (I talked to the whore.)

Martha said nothing. She took two timid steps into the room.

"Ven mas circa mi hija," he said. (Come closer, my daughter.)

She took three more steps and stared at the carpet. She could see from the upper periphery of her vision that he was reaching for his penis and pulling it out. He was stroking it in her plain view.

"Ensename tu tesoro," he said. (Show me your treasure.)

Martha didn't know where it came from, or why it persisted, but she had been masturbating to this scene for years. And this was the fantasy that she confessed to Isabel.

She lifted her dress up past her hips, above her chest and over her head and dropped it on the carpet. Thumbs into the elastic and pushing, she worked her panties down to her ankles and walked like a penguin to between her father's hairy brown legs. She knelt, looked at his penis, took it in hand and swallowed the head.

And just as in the script in her head, her father said, "Asi mi putita, chupa la pinga de donde venistes." (Like that, my young whore. Suck the prick from whence you came.)

Her fantasy fulfilled on the front end, she excited her wicked father to push her into the carpet. She lay on her back and he knelt his knees into the fibers. He slapped his cock at the entrance and looked at her, waiting. And then she lost her soul.

"Que me lleva el diablo!" she said in excitement. (May the devil take me!)

"Siiiiiiiiiiii mi putita. Mmmmm, aqui viene el diablo." (Yessssssssssss my young whore. Mmmmm, here comes the devil.)

And he pushed his rigid penis into the soft, hot, wet and now willing chamber. He gave her the key to hell. And she surrendered. She more than surrendered. She listened to her father's ragged, raspy whispers, promising to share her, promising to make a whore of his own flesh and blood, exciting her to beg for them, to beg for the others to circle in and ravish her.