5 comments/ 18284 views/ 10 favorites The Taming of the Shithead By: Serafina1210 More adventures of Brenda, the God-fearing twenty-six-year-old dental assistant who figures in my stories "God and the Cum Dump" and "The Rent-A-Slave." No, you don't have to read those things to make sense of this: it explains itself. But think twice before you go on, because this story is filthy and disgusting: full of pee, scat, enemas, vomit, straight and lesbian sex, gangbangs, and a whole lot of people with really poor impulse control. Length: ca. 17,000 words (short novella). ***** 1. An afternoon snack "Just shut the fuck up and eat me," said Mo. Mo was in her thirties and had bright red hair and that perfect skin that redheads sometimes have: her ass cheeks were this luscious white, her face, shoulders, and tits were freckled, and her pussy and asshole were a pale pink that made me break out in a sweat. So did her bushy red pubic hair and the thin spray of red hair in her crack. Mo thought women that shaved their pussies and cracks were idiots. Right now she was lying on her stomach on a towel out by Betsy's pool, and I was working on that asshole, slurping at it wetly, and meanwhile wondering what she was going to do to me: make me sniff her farts, drink her piss, eat her shit, or something else that I hadn't dreamed of yet. Mo was Betsy's house slave, and Betsy was this rich lesbian dominatrix that scared shit out of me and made me wet. But so did Mo, who had a filthy mouth and was always in a rotten mood. She totally dominated me, but she was submissive with Betsy, even though she told her to go fuck herself like every time she talked to her. It was hard to figure out how Mo got away with that, and how she managed to be submissive and bossy too, but when I tried to ask her about those things she just told me I was a fucking moron. And I guess she was right about that. I barely managed to get through high school and a few vocational courses, and the only way I was able to hold onto my job as a dental assistant was to let my boss Dr. Rosenberg fuck and degrade me however he wanted. He was kind of a pervert and mean as spit too. He used me like a sex doll or toilet and hardly ever talked to me, except to like tell me to suck his cock or call me a stupid cunt. I lived in a little upstairs room in his big house, and he told people I was his maid, but really I was just there to fuck him. He was a complete shithead, a sorry excuse for a human being, and I was crazy about him. I know what you're thinking. If I was like in love with Dr. Rosenberg, what was I doing here in Betsy's backyard, eating Mo's ass? Well, I didn't say I was in love with him, I said I was crazy about him. There's a difference, you know. When you're crazy about a man, you have to fuck him. When you're in love you never want to fuck anybody else - isn't that how it works? I figured I couldn't be in love, because I wanted to fuck just about everybody I saw, and when I say that I don't mean I just kinda sorta wanted them. I mean if I found myself in a room alone with a man, I'd be on my knees sucking his cock within five minutes. I couldn't help myself. I'd been out of control for like two weeks, ever since my boyfriend Lester face-fucked me, made me puke, and stormed out of my life in a rage, leaving me more turned on than I'd ever been in my whole life. That very night I fucked eight men outside Mickey's Tap, and within two days the whole town knew I had turned into a slut. The Reverend Jonathan Edwards, the pastor at my church, helped me think through these changes in my life. He explained that it was God's will that I should be a cum dump and do all kinds of unspeakably filthy things so He could manifest His glory by forgiving me over and over again. I had loved Jesus all my life, but knowing this made me love Him even more, and I was determined to do His will. Today was my first day off since I moved in with Dr. Rosenberg, and I wasn't due back at his house till Friday after work. Betsy had invited me over to be fucked and degraded, and I was more than happy to go. And that's why my face was planted between Mo's perfect ass cheeks, and why my heart gave a leap when Betsy appeared at the edge of my vision, completely naked and carrying what looked like two big onions. Betsy naked is an awe-inspiring sight. She's really old, like in her sixties, with short gray hair, and hugely fat, and there's something about her that makes you totally want to do anything she says, and that makes her really hot. If I wasn't already wet from servicing Mo's body, I'd definitely be getting wet now. "Up, girls!" said Betsy cheerfully. "Time for a snack." "You and your fucking enemas," said Mo. "Now don't be grumpy, Mo," said Betsy. "You'll be getting today, not giving." "You lose, babe," said Mo to me. I saw now that what I'd thought were onions were actually bulb syringes. I got queasy and my nipples perked up. "Have you ever given an enema?" asked Betsy. "No," I said. "Then Mo can go first." "Thanks, fuckhead," said Mo. Ignoring her, Betsy said, "This is a milk-and-molasses enema. It's non-toxic, it works fast, and the effects can be spectacular. Ass up, Mo." Mo scowled, but got on her elbows and knees so her ass was high. Betsy handed me one of the syringes and said, "The tip's already lubricated, and I see you've been lubricating Mo. So just ease it in and squeeze it in." Mo heaved a big sigh of martyred patience. She didn't say anything as I inserted the tip into her asshole and slowly squeezed the fluid into her. "Well done," said Betsy. "Yeah," said Mo. "When Rosenberg fires her, she can work here giving us enemas." "Good idea," said Betsy. "Naw, she'd find some way to fuck it up," said Mo. "Dumbest cow I ever saw." Her bowels rumbled. "I'll bet she can do the next part, though," said Betsy. "Do you like warm milk, Brenda?" "Not much," I said. "Molasses?" "Yuck." "Well, you can spit it out if you want." "Long as you agree to hose down the fucking deck," Mo added. "Okay," I said. This didn't sound like a lot of fun. I'd watched videos of girls squirting milk from their asses into each other's mouths, and I wasn't impressed. I mean, milk is milk, even if it has been in somebody's ass. I wished it was beer instead. Mo's bowels gave a loud growl, and she flinched and said, "Why the fuck couldn't you use something gentler?" "I like cramps," said Betsy complacently. "Fuck!" Mo groaned, and Betsy said, "I think Mo needs some rimming to distract her." Mo's gut gurgled, and I looked at her ass dubiously. "That'd be your job, Brenda," said Betsy. Stomach fluttering, I leaned towards Mo's asshole. She rumbled again. The idea of the milk and molasses churning inside her was repulsive, but her cheeks were so smooth and fair, her hole so tight and such a perfect pink . . . I kissed it, and it was warm and sweet. "Aaaahh!" Mo cried, and erupted into my mouth, filling me up to overflowing in a second. Instantly my stomach heaved, and I realized that this wasn't an enema like the ones you see girls drinking from each other's asses in videos - all white and clean. This was a real-world enema, a mix of shit and milk and molasses, and it was bitter and sickly-sweet. I knew a good bit about shit. Dr. Rosenberg loved to shit in my mouth and make me swallow it, and I'd had it soft and sticky, firm and hard, and nearly liquid; I'd had it dark and light - but this nasty mix was way worse than shit. I vomited into Mo's crack before I could back away. "You cunt!" she yelled, but the last word trailed into a moan, and another geyser of tan liquid jetted into my face, thick and stinky. Now her perfect crack was wet with my puke and Mo's liquid shit, which was running down over her pussy lips and dripping onto her towel. "Oh, excellent!" Betsy said, and shoved my face into the mess. I spluttered and tried to pull away, but Betsy pushed me harder and at the same moment clapped a hand over my pussy and rubbed my clit. I breathed in the smell of vomit and shit mixed with the cloying sweetness of the molasses, my stomach lurched, and my pussy was like on fire, I was so hot. I opened my lips around Mo's asshole just as she moaned "Oh, fuck!" and expelled another jet of shitty enema into my mouth. This time I swallowed it, and it instantly backfired. My vomit splattered my face since Betsy was still holding my head in Mo's crack and there was no place else for it to go. Mo said "Oh, fuck!" again, a kind of sigh now as the warm mix ran down her crack and over her open vag. She pushed back against my face, her gut gave a low growl, and she squirted again. This time I was way turned on and waiting for it with open mouth. A turd - just a little one - shot from Mo's ass along with the jet of shitty milk and flew straight into me. I gagged on it and fought to get control but couldn't, and I puked again. Laughing, Betsy grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head back, scooped up the turd from where it had fallen on the towel, and popped it into my mouth before shoving my face back into Mo's crack. I chewed the turd while I waited. Shit is bitter and disgusting, and it just makes you feel like these amazing feelings to eat it and realize while you're doing it that it doesn't get any better than this or any worse, and you're as turned on as you're ever likely to get. I swallowed Mo's shit little by little, and I had about half of it down when she cried "Aaaahhh!" on a rising note that ended in a shriek, and her asshole pushed out and a huge turd fired out of her like a cannonball, followed by a torrent of brownish glop. It all flew into my mouth with the force of a firehose, and when I was full it splashed and coated my face like somebody'd hit me with a creampie. I watched Mo's asshole twitch and little streams of brown goo ooze out of it. I took stock of myself. I had a long turd in my mouth, one end sticking out a couple inches, and shitty glop was running out of me around it. My stomach was convulsing, but it was nearly empty and I wasn't throwing up. Betsy was still rubbing my pussy and I was rubbing my right tit. My face was drenched, and I was like drowning in the shit and vomit smell. Then Betsy clapped a hand over my mouth, still holding the back of my head, and mashed the shit into me. My cheeks puffed out with it, and I coughed behind her hand, blowing foul air through my nose. I sat back on my heels, and Mo sat up and turned around to watch me gag. "Swallow it, Brenda!" Betsy ordered, and I worked on forcing it down. Mo crawled over to me, reached between my legs, and massaged my pussy while I swallowed her shit, hiccuping and doing my best to suppress little gushes of puke as I did. It took a while to get it all down, and meanwhile Betsy still had a hand over my mouth to make sure I didn't cheat and spit some out. By the time it was almost gone, it had turned to a thin paste, and Mo was rubbing me so hard it was almost painful. My stomach was jumping and my arousal soaring. My mouth was full of bitter saliva. I made myself swallow it, emptying my mouth at last, and that's when I came, arching my back and screaming as Betsy took her hand away. Panting, I looked at Mo, then at Betsy. "What do you think, Mo?" said Betsy. "She eats shit well, don't you think?" "Just another stupid cunt," Mo snapped. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Why do you say that, Mo?" asked Betsy. "She's living with that shithead Rosenberg." "You think all men are shitheads," said Betsy. "That's because all men are shitheads," said Mo. "And the women that fuck them are idiots." "There you have it, Brenda," said Betsy: "Mo's verdict on your sex life." "I don't think all men are shitheads," I said, "but Dr. Rosenberg definitely is. That's what I like about him." "That's what Mo likes about me, too," Betsy commented. "Asshole," said Mo. "Speaking of assholes," said Betsy, picking up the other bulb syringe, "I haven't taken a shit in at least thirty-six hours. I need some help." She handed me the syringe and said, "Would you do the honors, Brenda?" She got on all fours with her ass towards me. It was huge, pale and mottled, and her asshole was brown and dangerous looking. I turned aside and vomited a thick torrent onto the deck. Then I put my face in Betsy's wide crack and went to work. 2. Dr. Rosenberg objects I spent the night at my place with my best friend Casey, who was teaching me to turn my promiscuity into cash. The next morning when I went to work, Dr. Rosenberg growled, "Go clean the bathrooms and come to my office at noon." You've got to keep the toilets in a dentist's office super clean, and I guess cleaning the bathrooms wasn't really supposed to be a job for a dental assistant, but I kind of liked it. I was developing a special relationship with toilets. After I was done with that, Marsha the office manager gave me a stack of papers to copy and some insurance forms to file. Everybody was doing their best to keep me out of the treatment rooms: I was always handing the doctor the wrong things, and any time I had to work with him on a filling or a crown, he'd end the appointment in a foul temper. Copying and filing were boring, but it was nice to do a job where I wasn't being yelled at all the time. At noon I went to Dr. Rosenberg's office. I knocked and let myself in. "Lock the door behind you," he said. I did that, turned towards him, and waited. He looked pissed off, but that wasn't unusual. "What did you do yesterday?" he demanded. "I went to see Betsy and Mo." "Did you fuck them?" I smiled. "Of course I did! It was so cool. Betsy had these enemas . . ." "And then what did you do?" "I spent the night with Casey." "And I suppose you fucked her too." "Dr. Rosenberg," I said, "Me and Casey always fuck!" "What the hell were you thinking?" "It was my day off, Dr. Rosenberg. I get to do what I want." His face was dark with anger. He came around his desk, grabbed me by the lapel of my white jacket, and flung me face down across his desk. "No, you don't get to do whatever you fucking want," he said, lifting my skirt and pulling down my panties. "I fucking own you." I loved it when he threw me on the desk that way, and I liked him angry - which he usually was. He was real classy, living in this great big house in the best part of town and married to this super rich beauty that had just left him. He wasn't supposed to want a slutty girl from the wrong side of the tracks, especially one like me that was kind of pear shaped, with a big butt, little boobs, thick features and big teeth. But he couldn't help wanting to fuck me, and that totally pissed him off - and got me off too. Still, this idea about him owning me was kind of disturbing. That wasn't what I had in mind when I agreed to be his sex slave if he doubled my pay. He thrust into my pussy and hammered me, saying, "You're done fucking Betsy, and you're done fucking Mo. No more Casey. Forget that kid at the cable store. I bought you and paid for you." He rammed me extra hard and growled "Stay out of Mickey's Tap. You fuck the whole place every time you go." Dr. Rosenberg was right about that, but he didn't mention that Mickey's Tap was the first place he ever fucked me, two weeks before when he'd joined a gangbang in progress. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. "Tell that pervert Randy you're busy. And stay away from my fucking wife." It's true Randy was a pervert, but he was married, and I wasn't going to like run off with him, so what was the harm? And I couldn't figure out why he didn't want me to fuck his wife, since he didn't want her any more than she wanted him, being a lesbian and all. I said, "But Dr. Rosenberg . . . ow!" His cock was pressing into my ass. Jesus, but it hurt! The wetness from my pussy wasn't enough lubrication, and he was too pissed off to care. It felt like he was splitting me in two. I grabbed the edge of the desktop, clutched it tight, and worked hard on not screaming. "You'll fuck me and only me," he snarled, banging me hard. "If you do anyone else, it'll be because I told you to. Understand?" "Fuck!" I whined. It felt like he was holding a blowtorch to my ass. He grabbed me under the chin, pulled my head up, and snarled into my ear. "Do you understand, Brenda?" "Ow ow ow!" I cried. "Okay, Dr. Rosenberg!" He hauled me off the desk, spun me around, shoved me to the floor, and fucked my face till he came. He was so pissed off, I thought it was the best load of cum I'd ever tasted. "Go get lunch, and be home on time," he said. He turned to his desk and pretended I wasn't there. I had a quick sandwich and spent the next couple hours copying and filing insurance forms. We closed at three, and I dragged out of the office feeling depressed about not being allowed to fuck around any more. I went to Dr. Rosenberg's house. He was in the cavernous living room, reading a newspaper. He didn't look up when I came in. I went upstairs to my little room and turned on the TV I'd bought to keep me company. Me and Dr. Rosenberg didn't eat together, but there was a kitchenette upstairs, and I heated up a frozen lasagna there and carried it back to the TV. I was about halfway through Shark Tank when Mo called. She got right to business. "Betsy wants you to come over next Thursday," she said. "She has friends visiting from out of town, and she needs somebody for them to fuck." "I'm sorry, Mo," I said, "but Dr. Rosenberg says I have to be monogamous from now on." "What?" "Monogamous. That means I'm not allowed to fuck anybody but him." "I know what monogamous means, nitwit. I meant . . . oh, never mind. Hang on a second." After a minute Betsy came on the line. "What's this about you being monogamous?" she said. "Dr. Rosenberg insists. He says he bought and paid for me, and now I have to do what he says." "That's ridiculous. He may as well say he owns Main Street, and nobody else is allowed to drive on it." My nips tingled. "Gee, Betsy, that's such a cool thing to say." "A girl like you, with just the right combination of sluttiness, perversion, and stupidity, comes along maybe every other generation. You're a treasure, Brenda - a public resource." "That is so hot." Somehow my hand had gotten under my dress and I was playing with my clit. I heard Mo say something indistinct in the background. Betsy said, "Mo is saying you should leave the motherfucker." "I don't think I can do that, Betsy," I said. "It's just too awesome, the way he hatefucks me. I'm just going to have to stop fucking around." "We'll see about that," said Betsy, and ended the call. I gave myself an orgasm and went back to watching TV, but Shark Tank was almost over. At a little after ten Dr. Rosenberg came into my room without knocking, as usual. He was naked, and he already had an erection. He didn't say anything, but came to my chair, turned me over, ass-fucked me, and came in my mouth. It all took maybe fifteen minutes. I was disappointed, because we usually do a lot more than that. Just two days before, he'd spent like all evening with me, face-fucking me in the dining room, pissing on me in the kitchen, dragging me to the upstairs bathroom to shit in my mouth, ass-fucking me over the toilet, and on and on for more than two hours, till I was fucked silly and covered with shit, piss, puke and cum. Tonight, though, I had to settle for a quickie. When he was done, he said, "Remember, you belong to me." "Yes, Dr. Rosenberg," I said meekly. "I'll be good, I promise." Then he left. I tried to call Casey, but she didn't answer the phone. I guessed she was out whoring somewhere. I wished I was too. The Taming of the Shithead I fell asleep during the Tonight Show, woke up at two, and crawled into bed. 3. Bible study with the Reverend Edwards Saturday was worse than Friday. Dr. Rosenberg ignored me most of the day, and instead of fucking me, he went out for the night and didn't tell me where he was going. I heard him come in after midnight, slamming doors and cursing. He came up to my room where I was browsing Gawker, put his cock in my mouth, and pissed for a long time. I guess he'd had a fair amount to drink, and he'd been saving it up. After he was empty I sucked him till he was hard, but he wilted after a few minutes. He snorted in disgust, turned, and stomped out of the room. At least I had my lesson with the Reverend Edwards to look forward to. He wasn't letting me attend services, since members of the congregation were threatening to withhold their offerings because of me, but he cared about my soul and gave me private Bible lessons every Sunday at one. "I can't fuck you today," I said to the Reverend as I came into his office and sat in the chair on the other side of his big wooden desk. "Dr. Rosenberg says he owns me and I'm only allowed to have sex with him." The Reverend stared at me for a second, startled, and then smiled and said, "That's fine, Brenda. The important thing is our Bible study, right?" "That's right, Reverend," I said, relieved. I'd been afraid he'd be mad at me about it. "Today is communion Sunday, Brenda," he said, getting up and rummaging in a cabinet behind his desk. "I want you to be able to participate." When he turned towards me, he was holding a plate with two tiny cups of grape juice on it and two big brownies. "Reverend," I said, "this isn't unleavened bread." "I ran out of that," he said. "And there's no reason why the communion bread shouldn't be tasty. You do like chocolate, right?" "I do," I said, realizing I'd forgotten to eat lunch and was really hungry. "Communion needs to be done in a community, so I have one for me too," he said, picking up one of the cups and downing it. "We'll make a community of two. Bottoms up." He picked up one of the brownies and took a bite, and I did the same. It was delicious, and I ate it quickly and washed it down with the grape juice. "Do you understand what communion is about, Brenda?" asked the Reverend, chewing the last of his brownie and licking his fingers. "It's the body and blood of Jesus, right?" "Not literally," said the Reverend. "The Catholics believe the bread and wine are literally our Lord's body and blood, but that's dangerous nonsense. A cracker is just a cracker." "Then what is it, Reverend?" He pulled a chair up close to mine and sat down: He was a big, hairy man with a heavy five-o'clock shadow, and it was sexy having him so close. "Close your eyes," he said. I did that, and with him so close it was almost like being naked. He said, "We take communion in memory of Him, as He told us to do. When we do it, He's present with us spiritually. Can you feel His presence?" I felt it - it was a warmth rising inside me, up my thighs, through my pussy and stomach and tits, up my neck and into my cheeks, which felt like they were turning pink. "Oh, I do, Reverend. It's so beautiful!" He stroked my cheek with a meaty hand. "Yes," he said in his rumbly voice, "there's nothing in the world quite like the feeling of God's love. Open your eyes." I opened my eyes and looked at the Reverend. There was something different about him - like he was far away but close at the same time, like his face was changed, but I couldn't tell how, only that I suddenly liked him even better than I did before. "You're so cute, Reverend," I giggled. Somehow it was very funny, me telling him this. "So are you, Brenda," he intoned, tracing the outline of my lips with a thick fingertip. "You're shining with God's love. So am I. Can you see me shine?" Now that he mentioned it, there seemed to be a glow around him - a lovely pink. "Yes, Reverend," I said, and giggled again. "It's the color of your cock. I mean the head of it." He smiled a smile that seemed to have a thousand meanings. "That's nice, Brenda," he said, stroking my thigh. "The way you said 'That's nice,' Reverend," I said, feeling just wonderful, looking at him and enjoying his hand on my thigh. "That was so nice." I giggled again. It was so funny, me saying it was nice that he said "That's nice." His hand was under my dress now, stroking my pussy through my panties. "I can feel your love for our Lord - down here," he said. It was true. My panties were soaked, and his fingers felt so good. "Do you . . . do you have any more brownies, Reverend?" "That was the last of the batch, Brenda. But we can celebrate our faith with another kind of brownie." He took off his minister's robe: he was big and beefy, with thick black hair on his chest and round stomach and all around his cock, which made me think of a pink bird in a big black nest. I giggled again: it was very funny looking. Still giggling, I said, "I'm not supposed to do this, Reverend." "Jesus is here with us," he rumbled, lifting me up off my chair and pulling my dress over my head: it came off so easy, like a glove, it made me laugh. "Doing His will is more important than anything." It was true: my body was on fire with Jesus, my pussy flooded with His love. How could I not obey Him? "Any" (another giggle) "more juice" (giggle), "Reverend?" "Of course, my child," he said. He got me to kneel on the floor with my elbows on the chair, and he produced a tube of lubricant from somewhere (like magic!), lubricated my asshole, and pressed in. It felt so cool! I'd never noticed before how much it was like taking a shit, but the other way. The thought cracked me up. He fucked me slowly as I giggled, "Oh, Reverend, it's so sweet, your cock!" and he laughed too, a low chuckle as he thrust in and out and in and out. I lost track of the time - it seemed to be going slow and fast all at once. I was just thinking maybe I should start counting his strokes when he paused, and I felt a kind of warm fullness in my ass. "What are you doing, Reverend?" I tittered. "Giving you more juice, Brenda," he said. It was exactly like getting an enema, except the thing you put in your ass for an enema isn't nearly as big as the Reverend's cock, which was the second biggest I'd ever seen (the first belonging to Jeremiah, the guy from the cable store, who wanted to marry me). "Reverend!" I said, choking on my laughter, "that was the biggest enema I ever had!" "Do you like enemas, Brenda?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Reverend! They feel so fucking good!" "I like them too. Let me know when you need to go." "Go poo, Reverend?" I giggled. The word "poo" sounded so funny! "Yes," he said. "Go poo." "Pound my ass, Reverend, and I'll let you know." He fucked me hard, and I tried to keep count of his thrusts this time, but I got distracted by his heavy breathing somewhere around eight, and what was the point, anyway? I was having a grand time, and I didn't care how long it went on. It's hard to tell you've got to take a shit when somebody's fucking your ass. The sensation of a cock in your backdoor just interferes with those other sensations. So I had to guess when the feeling of having to shit got more intense than his cock. I sang, "I'm gonna go poo, Reverend!" I didn't quite expect what happened next. The Reverend growled, "Oh, yeah, babe!" pulled out of me, got down behind me, and started to suck my ass noisily. Now that he wasn't pounding me with his big cock any more, I realized I really did have to shit, but I wasn't sure I was supposed to, you know, squirt piss and shit into the Reverend's face. I mean, he was like a man of God! But he was so cute, and his whiskers were so scratchy, and his wet tongue and eager lips felt so good on my sore asshole, and he was groaning, and my stomach was rumbling and it was getting really hard to hold it in. So finally I breathed a sigh, and relaxed my body, and it was like the world shifted into slow motion, and I felt every little thing: the delicious squirting of warm fluid, the slippery lumps that shot out in the stream, stretching my asshole as my body shot them out, the way my stomach tingled, the Reverend Edwards's groans of pleasure, the pissy smell. I took a deep breath and felt my bowels move again, and I squirted out more piss and shit and heard the Reverend slurping and chomping and felt his warm lips in my crack and his beard tickling my lips. I pushed and squirted again, and he spluttered and gagged behind me, gasped, taking great gulps of air to keep himself under control, and finally was quiet. I rolled onto the floor on my back and looked between my knees at the Reverend, who had sat back on his heels. His face was wet and flecked with shiny brown globs. His mouth was full, and he was chewing with his lips twisted into an ick shape. He didn't look happy. I sat up and said, "Reverend Edwards, you look like . . . you look just like you're eating shit!" I giggled, then started to laugh uncontrollably. He smiled a little, then grinned, and started to chuckle, more and more till he had to spit his mouthful of shit onto the floor. He guffawed then, holding his stomach. I don't know when I've ever felt as silly as I did that afternoon. I think maybe it had something to do with having sex right after taking communion: you know, like Jesus was really there, and His presence made everything sexier and funnier. I don't know how else to account for it: it's not like there was something in the brownie. I sat up and said, "Reverend, you look so sexy with shit on your face!" I picked up the shit he'd spat out and rubbed it all around his mouth and on his nose and cheeks - the whole room stank by this time. Cackling crazily, I pushed him onto his back - he was just like a doll, letting me move him around how I wanted - and squatted above his head. In that position I could squeeze out the last of the mess in my ass: it was so great the way he made these wet choking sounds as I crapped brown liquid into him. And then, since I was squatting anyway, it occurred to me that it would be really fun to piss. "Open up, Reverend," I giggled, leaned forward, put my hands on his tummy, and looked between my legs. He was so silly, his big face all bristly and smutty, his mouth wide open. I pissed on his face, and it was terrific, watching the stream splash right on his chin. Laughing, I moved around, getting some in his mouth, some on his eyes, some on his nose, which I thought was extra funny and laughed even harder. The last of my pee dribbled into his mouth. "Down the hatch, Reverend!" I sang, and watched his face screw up while he forced down my piss. "Oh, Reverend, you are so cute!" I said, and sat down on his face. I know you're not supposed to sit down in shit - you could get it in your vag and get an infection - but fuck it felt good! And I think he liked it too - he was jerking off, anyway, and he didn't seem to care he was getting shit all over his cock. I rode him till I had a huge orgasm that went on and on, and then I decided it would be cruel to let him finish himself off with his hand, and I went down on him, letting him lick my pussy while I did it. I can't say I've ever loved the taste of shit, but it was wicked sexy sucking his shitty cock with him eating me out down below, getting dirty on both ends till he came in my mouth and I got to swallow the mixed shit and cum, all slimy and bitter. Me and the Reverend showered together, and before I left I made him give me five hundred dollars. Casey says men love paying for sex, and the Reverend is always cheerful when he pays me out of the big stash he keeps in his desk drawer, out of sight of his wife and the IRS. By the time I got back to Dr. Rosenberg's house, the world seemed a little less funny. He was sitting in his big living room reading something on his iPad. "You didn't fuck that Edwards guy, did you?" he growled. "Dr. Rosenberg," I laughed, "he's a Reverend!" And that was perfectly true. I try very hard to lie as little as I can get away with, because that's a sin. "Well," he said, putting the iPad aside, "come here and suck my cock." Kneeling between his legs and undoing his zipper, I cooed, "I'm your good little girl, Dr. Rosenberg." As I sucked him I thought, well, that was sort of true. I was being as good as I knew how, anyway. His cock was hard, but it didn't pulsate with rage the way it usually did. He got off, but he didn't rough me up and defile me. Sex with Dr. Rosenberg was starting to get boring. That night Dr. Rosenberg went out again, and I heard him come back in at one. He banged doors and cabinets, just like before, and once he shouted "Fucking stuck up bitches!" It was really exciting hearing him so pissed off, and I decided to go down and try to get him to fuck me. I found him in his fancy media room, drinking a scotch and staring at some old movie on the TV. "Dr. Rosenberg?" I said. "What are you doing up?" he growled. "I'm horny. Fuck me?" "Go back to bed," he said, and took a sip of his drink. 4. The silent brothers Life got more and more dreary day by day. Dr. Rosenberg didn't bother to fuck me at the office, and at home he fucked me on Tuesday and that was it - the sex was quick and vanilla. I spent a lot of time in my little upstairs room watching TV or talking to Casey on the phone. "I'm going out of my fucking mind," I complained. "It's totally not fair, sweetie," she said. "We've got to think of something." "Yeah, but what?" When Thursday came around again, my day off, Dr. Rosenberg said to me, "Are you going to be good today?" "I promise, Dr. Rosenberg," I said, very earnestly. "I am totally yours." "Very good, Brenda," he said complacently, and I went off to meet Casey for coffee. "I've got this cool thing for us to do today," she said. "You know the monastery of St. John, up north of the city?" "You mean the guys that make the wine?" "Yeah. They're having a wine tasting today." "I don't know, Casey," I said. "I'm sort of a beer person." "Oh, come on!" she said. "It'll be fun!" "Aren't they Catholics?" "Yeah, so what?" "Well, Reverend Edwards says they're like these really dangerous people. You know what they say about holy communion? They give you like this cracker? And say it's really Jesus? But anybody can look at it and tell it's just a cracker!" "Brenda," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "We're not going to talk to the monks about religion; we're just going to taste their wine." "Well, I guess it's okay," I said without much enthusiasm. It was a good forty-five minute drive to the monastery, and Casey spent a lot of the time patiently listening to me complaining about my life with Dr. Rosenberg. "He's not fucking me," I said, "and he won't let anybody else either." "You don't have to stay with him," she said. "You know what I think about lovers." "He wasn't supposed to be like a lover," I said; "he was just supposed to be able to fuck me whenever he wanted." Casey snorted. "You're being naïve, Brenda. Men always want to own you if they can." "Whatever," I said. "And meanwhile he's going out all the time. I sit home being good, and he's getting laid every night!" "Maybe," Casey giggled, and smirked, and then shut her mouth - which she hardly ever did - and I couldn't get another word out of her on that subject till we pulled up in front of a big stone building with a heavy wooden door. There were no other cars out front. "Casey," I said, "if there's a wine tasting, shouldn't there be like a sign or something?" "This one's by invitation only," she said. "C'mon!" She got out of the car, and I trailed her to the door, where she pushed a bell. Soon the door was opened by a man in a long monk's robe, complete with one of those belts made of rope. He glanced right and left and then whispered, "Come in quickly." As soon as he closed the door behind us, Casey squeaked "Prior Robert!" flung herself into his arms, and kissed him energetically. He put a hand on her crotch as he returned her kiss, then looked at me curiously. "This is my friend Brenda," said Casey. "She's come for the wine tasting." "Hi, Mr. Robert," I said politely. He looked confused for a moment and then said, "Ah, yes, welcome to the wine tasting, Brenda." "Got any new varieties, Prior?" Casey cooed. "Just the old standards, I'm afraid," said Prior Robert. "Oh, but I do love those old standards!" she chirped. "This way, then," he said. "The wines are in the refectory, all ready for sampling." "Come, Brenda," said Casey. She took my hand and almost skipped as we followed Prior Robert through a hallway to a big long room with a stone floor. The ceiling was arched and there were stained glass windows along each side of the room. It was pretty, like a really old church, and it filled me with the spirit and made me wet and hot. A lot of tables had been pushed back against the walls, leaving a big space in the middle of the floor. At the far end of the room, ten men in monks' robes stood in a neat semicircle. Oddly, there was no wine anywhere, just a few empty bottles and glasses on one of the tables. "Oh!" Casey squealed in excitement, running towards the man on the left, who grinned at her. "Brother Emmanuel! It's been so long!" She threw her arms around him and kissed him, then turned to the next man. "Brother Xavier! I'm still sore from the last time we met!" He smiled and nodded but said nothing. She worked her way down the line, greeting each of the men by name: Brother Francis, Brother Paul, Brother John, and more. They all smiled and kissed her, but said not a single word. "And this is my friend Brenda!" she sang when she'd greeted all the men. "She's a terrific gangbang slut and a whole lot of fun! C'mon, let's get naked!" She pulled her tiny fuck-me dress over her head, and the monks all opened their robes - none of them had anything on underneath. "Casey!" I whispered urgently. She came to me and said, "What is it, honey?" "I'm not allowed to fuck!" "Have you noticed that none of these guys have said a single word? They've all taken a vow of silence. They won't say anything!" I looked at them. They ranged in age from the twenties up into the sixties. The youngest was handsome and trim, with a dark bushy beard, and the oldest was gray-haired and heavy. They all held their stiff cocks in their hands - some big, some little, some standing straight out, and some turned upwards. I imagined all those cocks spurting thick loads into my throat and I flushed all over. "They're fucking gorgeous," I said, and pulled my dress off. "You start on the left, and I'll take the right," she said, and set a course for the monk on the right. "Oooh, Brother Peter," she sighed, taking his cock in her hand. "I remember this sweet pecker." She got to her knees on the stone floor and sucked his cock. I went to Brother Emmanuel on the left, said "Hi, Emmanuel," and went down on him. Soon me and Casey each had five guys pressing in around us, wanting to be sucked, and we gave them all turns with us till they were worked up and sort of took over, the way men usually do, even monks. They threw us down on the floor and stuck like two or three cocks at a time into us till we were both shrieking for the huge stimulation. They hauled us this way and that, sometimes laying us on our backs on top of one of them who'd fuck our asses while the others penetrated from above, and sometimes having us ride one of them cowgirl while the others took us in front and behind. The Taming of the Shithead We whooped and screamed while they panted and sweated, yelling, "Yeah, fuck me!" and "Gimme that big cock, Brother!" and things like that, or we'd call out to each other, like "Suck that big one, Casey!" or "Brother John wants a turn in your ass, Brenda!" But all this time the monks didn't make a single sound, besides the occasional grunt or groan. They were like other men that gangbang you, if you know what I mean: they slapped us, shoved us, pulled our hair, and passed us around, but they did it all in total silence. It must have gone on for almost an hour, till my ass was raw, my nips were swollen, and, my tits and ass were red from slapping. Finally our two groups merged into one group of ten, and they laid me on the floor and put Casey on top of me, and they took turns coming in her ass. As each one thrust in, Casey counted them off: "One! Two!" And after each one came, he put himself in my mouth, and I sucked the slime off his shrinking cock. Then he stepped back a few feet, stood with his brothers in a neat line, and silently watched as the others came. When Casey had called out "Ten!" she squatted above me, with her cute asshole gaping just above my mouth and her cheeks red from spanking, and she let the cum run into me: first just a trickle, and then her asshole widened and swelled, and she crapped it out all at once. Ten loads of cum glurped out of her, thick and white, till it filled my mouth full. Casey got up, turned around, and stood over my head, smiling at me brightly. The monks stepped forward and stared solemnly as I opened my mouth as wide as I could to show them how full of cum I was. Then I closed my mouth and swallowed it all at once. It takes a lot of effort to swallow that much of anything so thick, and it's easiest if you do it in one big gulp. I sputtered a little and almost choked, but I got it down. I sat up, looked at the brothers, and said "You've got nice wine here." "They've got lots of delicious wines here, sweetie!" Casey giggled, ran to the table where the wine bottles were, and picked up one of them. She brought it to me with a wine glass, reading the label: "St. John's Pinot Noir"-ooh, yummy! She showed me the bottle. "It's empty, Casey," I said. "Brother Peter's the winemaker," she said, and carried the bottle over to him. Smiling brightly, he held the bottle low in front of him, took careful aim, and pissed into it, then passed it to the next brother, who also pissed. They passed the bottle around till five of them had pissed and it was full. She brought the bottle back to me, poured a little into the wine glass, raised it to her nose, and sniffed. "Very fresh," she said, then sipped. She wrinkled her nose. "Not my favorite vintage," she said, "but I think you'll like it." She filled the glass about halfway and handed it to me. The piss was amber, and there was a little foam on top. I sniffed: it smelled like piss. I took a sip: it was warm, acrid, and wicked. One of the monks took his cock in his hand as he watched, and I felt his stare in my pussy. I got up on my knees, legs spread a little, and chugged the glass of piss: another one of the monks, an older man, was touching himself, and the first one was hard again. Casey took my glass and refilled it. "Casey!" I whispered. "I can't drink the whole thing!" "Look at them!" she whispered back. "They're loving it!" It was true. Half of them were jerking off, getting hard again: they were all staring at me glassy-eyed. I touched one of my nipples: it was hard and prominent. I drained the second glass, rubbing my pussy as I drank. "Ah!" I said "That is so fucking fine!" Casey filled the glass a third time, and I drank it down, letting a little run out of my mouth and down my chin. All but a couple of the brothers were jerking off now, and most of them were getting hard again. She filled the glass a fourth time, and I sipped it. It was starting to feel heavy in my stomach, but I drank it all in one go. She held the bottle up to show me there wasn't much left. "One more, sweetie," she said, and poured. It was only half as much as she'd poured before, but it looked huge. "I don't think I can do it," I whispered. Casey held the glass under her and pissed into it. I watched, hypnotized, while the yellow piss jetted out of her pretty slit and into the glass till it was overflowing and making a puddle on the floor. It looked so fantastically good - I rubbed myself harder. She held the glass up and said, "There! That's better," and handed it to me. I snatched it out of her hand and drank greedily, and meanwhile one of the brothers that hadn't peed into the bottle came over and aimed himself into my face. I wondered if he could do it with such a hard cock. It was dark and engorged, with a purplish head and thick veins. I so wanted to feel that hot gush in my mouth. I finished my glass of piss, wetted my finger in my mouth, and reached between his legs. I slid my finger into his crack and worked it into his asshole, looking up at him. His face was lean and lined, with shining blue eyes: he looked like he was hardly there at all except for his cock and his lust. "Uh," he said. I opened my mouth and waited, wiggling my finger in his ass. "Oooh!" Casey cooed, sounding like she'd never seen anything so exciting before. "Ah," said the brother, and started to piss, a great hard stream that gurgled in my mouth and filled me in seconds. I gulped it down, piss splashing all over my face when I closed my mouth to swallow. Soon the others who hadn't pissed yet joined him, and they were all pissing into my mouth and on my face, way more than I could swallow. I rubbed it on my tits, and it ran over my belly and wetted my pussy, where I was still masturbating with one hand. By the time they were done pissing, the brothers were all revved up again, and they fucked me and Casey, taking us every way they could. They didn't all manage to come a second time, but six or seven of them did, mostly on Casey's tummy and tits, and I got to lick it off. The last two of them came in Casey's mouth, and she kissed me and dribbled the cum into me. The brothers gathered up their robes and filed out of the room silently, not looking backwards. "You're such a fucking skank, Brenda!" Casey giggled. "Do we go home now?" I asked. "Not quite," said Prior Robert, who'd been out of the room during the gangbang. "Casey and I have a private appointment," he said. "And while we're meeting, the abbot would like a word with you." "The abbot?" I repeated, puzzled. "He's sort of the boss of the place," said Casey. "Do you think I could like clean up first?" Actually, I was starting to feel like I really needed to pee. A wine bottle full of piss is a lot of liquid. "The abbot won't mind," said Mr. Robert. He led us down an impressive stone hallway to a big wooden door, which he knocked on. A muffled voice said, "Come in," and Mr. Robert opened the door and led us into a big office, where an impressive-looking monk with white hair and a bushy white beard sat behind a big desk. "This is Abbott William," said Mr. Robert, "and this is the girl I told you about." The abbot said, "You two go and have your meeting, and Brenda and I will talk." He gestured me into a wooden chair where I sat nervously, dripping on the floor and very aware of my nakedness, while Brenda and Mr. Robert left. I wondered if the abbot was going to try and convert me. He smiled reassuringly and said, "Welcome to the Monastery of St. John, Brenda. I hope you've enjoyed your visit with us." "Very much," I said, squirming in the chair. Between me being all wet and needing to pee, I was really uncomfortable. Behind the abbot, on the wall, was a cross with Jesus literally on it, naked except for a loincloth and bleeding from his hands, feet and side. He looked sad and sexy. I imagined Jesus here with me, letting me kiss his bloody feet, and my pussy got hotter and there was this stab of pain, like my bladder was going to explode. "Um, Mr. Abbot?" I said. "Call me Father William," he said, smiling gently. "Father sWilliam?" "Yes, my child." "I really need to pee. Could you like tell me where the ladies' is?" He smiled wider. "This is an all-male establishment, Brenda. We only have men's rooms." "Okay, Father William," I said, holding my legs tight together. I gritted my teeth as he went on. "The brothers have dedicated their souls and bodies to God, but one doesn't stop being a man just because one has given oneself to God. We find it makes the life of hardship and poverty they've chosen for themselves much more supportable if they're able to get their rocks off now and then." "I understand," I said. "Um, Father William?" "Yes?" "I don't think I can hold it much longer. Could I like use the men's room, maybe?" Jesus was on the cross a long time. I wondered if he peed himself. If I could have stood under him . . . Father William's smile seemed a little like a grin. "We can't allow that, I'm afraid. It wouldn't be proper." He glanced at a big silver cup on his desk, hesitated a second, and then pushed it towards me. "Here, use this," he said. Well, it was his party. I scooted to the very edge of my chair, reached for the cup, held it under me, and pissed into it. I peed till it was half full, and then decided I was comfortable enough that I didn't have to go any more right now. "Just set it back on the desk," said Father William. I set the cup down and sat on my chair. Father William drew the cup towards him, peered inside, and wrinkled his nose. He didn't say anything, but went on staring at the cup. The silence was getting awkward. At last I said, "Can you tell me about the cracker, Father William?" "The cracker?" He looked at me, puzzled. "I mean, there's this cracker, right? And some wine? And you guys say they're actually Jesus, and like how do you expect anybody to believe that?" He smiled. "Do you believe in miracles, Brenda?" "Of course I do!" I said. "That miracles are possible because God can do anything He wants?" He pulled the cup closer to him and sniffed it. "Yes." "Then God can be present anywhere He pleases," he said, dipping a finger into the cup and putting it in his mouth. "In His own flesh, in a cup of wine, in a little piece of bread." "I guess," I said. He made the sign of the cross over the cup, lifted it to his lips, and sipped. He coughed, pursed his lips, set the cup down, and stared at it for a few seconds. "In fact," he continued as if talking to the cup, "He can be present in anything you eat or drink, if you have faith and you believe completely in His power." "But Father," I began, and then stopped as he suddenly picked the cup up and drained it in a few seconds. He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a fart, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and rose grandly from his chair. He pulled his robe off and dropped it on the floor, where it made a big brown puddle. Naked, he picked up the silver cup and brought it to me. "And if you believe," he continued, "Christ will be present in those things, and you will be blessed." I stared at his cock: it seemed to be surrounded by a lovely light - a kind of halo. "Oh, Father William," I sighed, "that's such a beautiful thought." "Only believe," he said, pissing in the cup, "and you will receive God's blessing. Kneel, my child." I knelt as he pissed into the cup till it was full. He held it out to me, and I reached for it, but he said, "No, no! Don't touch - drink the blood of Christ." I let him hold the cup to my lips, and I swallowed mouthful after mouthful of his strong yellow piss till it was gone. Then he set the cup down on his desk. I was incredibly turned on, but troubled too. "Oh, Reverend," I sighed, "I'm not a Catholic." He grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back. He said, "You don't have to be a Catholic to believe in the omnipotence of God - that He can be anywhere, everywhere - that wine, or piss, or anything at all, can be His blood if He wills it." "Oh, yes, Father!" I felt like his piss was alive inside me, warming me and filling me with the Spirit. He turned back to his desk, picked up a little silver plate that I hadn't noticed before, and set it on the floor. Squatting over it, he said, "And anything can be His body. Bread, a cut of lamb, anything." "Yes, Father William," I cried, watching as he strained and shitted one long, golden tan turd onto the plate, which he picked up and brought to me. I knew better than to reach for it this time, but watched as he intoned "Receive the body of Christ!" and broke off a piece of the turd about an inch long. I opened my mouth, and he neatly placed it on my tongue. I closed my mouth and chewed. The body of our Lord was bitter and mushy, but at that moment I wouldn't have traded it for ice cream or cake. He fed me from the plate, and his eyes gleamed and his cock got hard as he watched me slowly chew his shit and swallow it. When it was all gone, he made the sign of the cross over my face, said "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," and pulled me to him, ramming that hard cock into my mouth. Holding my head in both hands, he fucked my throat while my stomach churned and I rubbed myself, and I was so filled with the love of God that I came just as he was spurting into me. I held his cum on my tongue as he stood back and watched, smiling. It tasted holy somehow, and I felt blessed when I swallowed it. There was a bathroom I could use after all - Father William had just been kidding about that - and he let me clean up there. A little while later, Prior Robert was ushering me and Casey along the hall towards the front door. "We'll be having another wine tasting next month, girls," he said. "I'm so going to be here," said Casey, but I didn't say anything. "We'll be in touch about the exact date and time," he said, opening the door. A figure was crossing the driveway towards us. He stopped, half in the shadows. I stared. "Oh my God! Jeremiah?" "Um, hi Brenda!" he said. I ran to him and gave him a hug and a kiss. "What are you doing here, Jeremiah?" "Um, I've, uh, got an uncle that lives here. I'm, like, just visiting him." "That's awesome, Jeremiah. Call me up soon? I've missed you!" "Um, sure," he said, glancing nervously towards Prior Robert, who was waiting patiently in the doorway. We got into my car, and I pulled out onto the street. Casey said, "Visiting his uncle!" and giggled. "What do you mean?" "It's so fucking rich! It like totally cracks me up!" "I don't get it, Casey." "Didn't you know like half the monks are gay?" "No, I didn't. But so what?" "Jeremiah's a whore, sweetie! Everybody in the life knows about him! He's going to get gangbanged there, just like we were." 5. Jeremiah's leap "Come spend the night with me," I said. "Can't, sweetie," said Casey. "I've got to meet with the school board tomorrow morning." "You have a kid in school?" "Don't be silly, honey - it's a date, of course!" I went to my place, showered, went to bed, and slept soundly till I was woken up by somebody pounding on the door. I looked at my alarm clock: it was not quite four-thirty. I stumbled out of bed, pulled on my robe, and went out to the living room. "Who is it?" I called through the door. "It's Jeremiah. Open up, babe." I opened the door. He was as clean cut and neatly pressed as ever, even though he was looking tired, with dark circles under his eyes. "I'm sorry about the time," he said. "I just like had to see you." "Come in, Jeremiah! You look like you've had a workout." He sloped into the room. "I'm okay," he said, looking at me sternly. "I got to talk to you about reforming your lifestyle. I know what you were doing at the monastery tonight - it's not Christian, and it's not good for you." "Fine one you are to talk, Jeremiah," I said. "Visiting your uncle! You were there getting gangbanged, just like Casey and I." He sank wearily onto my sofa. "I do have an uncle there," he said. "The abbot." "Father William? He's super kinky!" "Yeah, Uncle Will." "But you did get gangbanged, Jeremiah. I know you did." "It's hard to make ends meet, working retail, you know." "You told me you were going places in cable. You were a man with a future." "I totally am, babe. I'm gonna be an entrepreneur. But it takes time to get something like that going. Meanwhile, gay men tend to think I'm kind of cute." "You're not gay yourself?" "Absolutely not!" he said indignantly. "Homosexuality is sinful. Though I've got to admit it's nice to suck a a few cocks and get my ass drilled every now and then. They were doing it two at a time, though. Fuck, I'm sore!" "Poor baby," I said. "I know just how it feels." Him and his boss had introduced me to double anal penetration just the week before. "They fucked me like half the night, and I never had an orgasm," he said, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. "C'm'ere and gimme a suck." "I can't, Jeremiah. I promised Dr. Rosenberg I wouldn't fuck around." He was jerking off, making himself hard. His cock was a wonder, long as my forearm. I couldn't help staring. "C'mon babe, it's bad enough you're living with a Jew . . ." "I'm gonna convert him, Jeremiah, you'll see." ". . . but making promises, being like faithful? You can only be faithful to a Christian." "That doesn't make any sense, Jeremiah." "Anyway, what were you doing fucking my uncle, if you're being faithful to the Jew?" "Casey told me we were going to a wine tasting, Jeremiah. I was blindsided." "Babe, I've really got to fuck you!" He looked in a sad state. He had this expression on his face like he was really in pain, and his cock was so big it looked swollen. And he was so nice, and he did love Jesus, just like me, so we had a special bond there. Staring at the head of his cock, pre-cum dribbling out of the slit, I said, "You'd have to like force me, Jeremiah." He frowned and said, "I'm not a rapist, Brenda." "But if you were desperate enough, you might not be able to stop yourself. You'd like drag me into my bedroom, you know, by the hair? You'd rip my robe off and tie me up, you know, on my back with my head hanging off the edge? You'd just like ignore my struggling and yelling. You'd fuck my face, really deep, so I gagged . . ." "Oh, God," Jeremiah groaned. ". . . and threw up." I massaged a breast through my robe and squirmed in my seat. "You'd fuck my ass then - it's still stretched from the monks, and oh, so sore! I'd scream and scream, because your cock is so huge and wicked! Then you'd fuck my face again . . ." "Ass to mouth," he murmured, jerking himself off. "Yeah," I said, "but you wouldn't care what was on your cock, you know? That wouldn't be your problem. And you'd just abuse my body as long as you wanted, and there's not a fucking thing I could do about it." "You got some rope?" I thought about that. I couldn't think of any - this seemed like a flaw in my plan. "I don't think so, Jeremiah." He sagged a little on the sofa. "Oh wait!" I said. I jumped up, went to my bedroom closet, rummaged a little, and came back with a ball of red yarn. "I was going to learn to knit, but I never got around to it." I dropped the yarn in his lap, went back to my chair, and sat down. "You should learn to knit, Brenda," he said. "It's a useful skill for a Christian wife." "Maybe someday. But you wouldn't force me, would you, Jeremiah? 'Cause you're a good man, and not a rapist." I slouched back in my chair, opened my robe and cupped my left tit with my hand. "So I guess neither of us is going to get fucked tonight." I put my feet up on the chair, opened my legs wide, and shoved two fingers of my right hand into my ass. "It's so fucking sad."