DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The characters in this story have been made up. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions or attitudes. This is story is intended for adult entertainment only. All Rights Reserved © 2017 LITTLESALLY666
STORY CODES: LGBT themes, Incest, Cohesion, Corruption, Cuckold, Lolita, NC, Rape, Sadism, Pedophilia, Snuff, MC, Demons, Evil themes, Blasphemy
AUTHORS NOTES: Part 2 for my dearest friend ‘Sandra in Hell’; you are truly Satan’s Daughter. Thanks for being an inspiration. Hope this second installment is up to your expectations!
SATAN’S DAUGHTER – CHAPTER 4 (2,440 WORDS)
So here I am, pretty little Sally, at the St. Mary’s Home of Peace. Can you believe it? I can smell death and desperation in here – all these old fucking cunts waiting for the final day to arrive. They even have a little chapel for the ‘cremation’ services – how convenient. Well, let me explain, it’s all part of the so-called school outreach program, to teach wayward little brats like me; as if it is going to somehow rehabilitate my behavior? Other ‘wayward’ kids think that it as punishment . . . I see it as an opportunity!
“Hello everyone. My name is Sally . . . Sally Johnson. I am twelve years and two months old. I have long brown hair and hazel eyes. I am 4’ 6” tall and though I am short for my age, my mum says that I will one day be a model, because I have nice legs and a pretty face.
“I live with my mum, Eve, and dad, William. My mum is short too. She wears glasses and has nice blond hair. She says that she is twenty-five, but I know she is really thirty-five. My Dad works for the council and is five years older than mum. He drinks a lot of beer and has a big belly. I have a little brother, Peter, who will be eight years old next month; and a baby sister, Elisa, who has just turned six.
“I like school because of I have nice teachers, like, Mrs. Blackthorn, who teaches me religious education. She tells me all about Jesus and God, about heaven and about the angels. She warns me about being bad, because there is this evil man that is called the Devil and he will take my soul to a very hot place called Hell . . .”
“Well, thank you Sally for that interesting introduction.” Said my religious education teacher Mrs. Blackthorn, fidgeting with her billfold and speaking with more than just a hint of haste and sarcasm.
She is quite ‘interesting’ herself. The fucking narcissist . . . preaches to us about the virtues of goodness, about the teachings of the Bible. So, let’s start with invidia (envy) . . . she could never be happy with her lot in life; forever saying to her brow-beaten husband about the neighbors bigger house, their newer car, their sexier image . . . and best of all, criticizing their horny little daughter, while she secretly masturbates with Sapphic incestuous fantasies of the her and her own daughter . . . her envy was like poison in her bloodstream, she believes that she deserved better and now it is boiling out in a myriad of vindictive little things. But, I digress . . . let me tell you about the mischief at hand in St. Mary’s Home of Death. I watched as Mrs. Blackthorn turned to address all the kids in our group.
“Now, you all have been allocated a resident room each. You will talk to the your resident or residents; get to know them; read to them; clean their room; help them wherever you can . . . now, Sally, this is your first time, I suggest you talk to Sister Maria, she one of the nuns at St. Mary’s. Go and find her in her office and she will allocate you a resident.”
I found Sister Maria. Sixty-five years old. Cloistered nuns who had taken her oath when she was very young and still in her prime . . . her philosophy is that the work of the Lord could be achieved without haste! She had fallen fast asleep at her desk. The first thing I noticed was that she was porker fat – grossly over weight . . . even just sitting there she was sweating profusely beneath her shabby black habit, as she tries to simply breath. She’s a fucking heartache on legs. Her nasty hairy cunt is never washed. She reeked of gula (gluttony) . . . another wonderful sin . . . I could see that beneath her eyelids as her pupils moved back and forth in REM sleep. I run my hand over her pendulous breasts and rub softly against her hairy aureolas, and then closed my eyes.
The nun stirred in restlessness. The dimness reassured her that she hadn’t just fallen asleep whilst she was supposed to be on duty. Whatever would the Mother Superior think of her constant lethargy? It hadn’t always been that way, but as the years rolled by and with the constant expansion in her waistline, it seemed to simply get harder and harder not to dose off now and then. The Lord was compassionate. She felt small hands pressing against her shoulder as she continued to lay face down. The tiny hands moved in small semicircles relieving muscle tension and relaxing her further. Massage. She must have fallen asleep whilst being massaged. That was it. That was the explanation, a soothing massage. As her mind relaxed so did her body. She felt lotion being applied and the smell of lemongrass. The repetitive music sounded Indian or Thai. She couldn’t quiet place it. She didn’t care to work that hard. The hands moved down her naked broad back, pressing, rubbing and stimulating her torso. Lovely. More please. Just like that. She felt the small fingers on her naked thighs, as they kneaded the fullness of her cottage cheese legs, the feeling was incredibly relaxing and rejuvenating. She opened one eye, and could make out the blurred figure of a young girl. Was she naked? Without her glasses, everything looked so blurred. Mmmmmm, nice blur. The girl’s fingers were expertly manipulating her naked buttocks, pressing the deep fatty body tissue against her what little muscle there was there. She had never been massaged there before. It felt strange, but she didn’t want to stop the feeling. Nice young girl. Nice massage. The nun let out a subconscious moan as the girl’s fingers tips grazed ever so slightly against the rim of her hairy anus and the edge of her sweaty perineum. She parted her thighs inviting further massage there. No hesitation. Nice fingers between her buttocks. Lovely feeling makes me wet. The fingers made no doubt about their destination as they rub directly over her anus and vagina simultaneously. Naughty hands. Touching my vulva. Must stop them. But I just can’t be bothered. What a sinful thing . . . but the feeling was so taboo . . . nobody will know . . . fingers inside me now . . . oh yer! Fingers inside me! Up me! In me! Oh! Oh! Pressing into my wetness. She knows that want it. She is kissing me down there . . . such a naughty mouth . . . kissing my anus. Mouth! Oh! A tongue licking! Oh! More fingers . . . they’re making me so fucking horny . . . rubbing me and giving me sinful thoughts . . . that’s it press harder . . . my clit, that’s it rub my clit . . . something hard . . . oh! God! Something blasphemous! Its my crucifix . . . holy fuck, she’s pressing Jesus, in my asshole . . . fingers, mouth, tongue . . . more . . . fuck me with the crucifix . . . fuck me with Jesus! Oh sweet young child . . . lick me out . . . lick me anus . . . you pubescent whore . . . make me cum . . . make me cum hard! Fuck my cunt with Jesus! Make me a whore for Satan . . . fuck me Satan! Fuck my hairy stinking cunt with your evil cock! Fuck! Fuck! Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh . . .
I walked alone down one of the long corridor with doors to the left and to the right. This was the one. It had the name, Mrs. Edwina Irving written in broad felt tip marker on a piece of cardboard slipped into a holder next to the door. She won’t be there too long. In my mind I saw the letters form the word, ira (wrath) . . . a particularly nasty sin.
Mrs. Edwina Irving, aged seventy-three, lay clutching her rosary beads and bible whilst lying semi-reclined on her hospital-style bed next to the oxygen tank. Her breathing was short and sharp . . . each breath taken as if it were her last. I stood besides her bedside and gently stroked her damp brow. She shivered as I touched her . . . a strong shudder that seems to go from right from her head to her toes. I closed my eyes, as I could feel her in the grips of a strange dream or maybe a nightmare . . .
“Excuse me Miss. Excuse me.” Said the little girl with an apologetic voice as she pulled at Edwina’s sleeve. Edwina looked down at the naked girl, no longer than twelve. She looked as if she had been crying and seemed to be very lost. Her nakedness seemed to worry Edwina, as she looked as if she had been sexual abused. There was something about the situation that suggested that it had a dream-like quality. That was it – she was just dreaming. All her pious life she had tried to live by the ways of the Lord . . . her place in heaven, secured by the endless selfless acts and Good Samaritan deeds of her long life. “I’m very scared.” Said the little girl, her eyes searched Edwina’s face for a hint of sympathy and salvation. Edwina looked at her dirty feet and matted hair. She smelt of promiscuous evil. Precocious little slut, she smelt of sex and semen. Everything about this little girl screamed sexually active. The little harlot probably brought it upon herself. She was probably promiscuous and tempting some weak-willed man. The Lord moved in mysterious ways – maybe she needed to be punished, disciplined and brought to see the errors of her slutty little ways . . . Else she become nothing but a cheap hooker . . . a junky night-walker on the streets, shooting up Crack and leading our good men astray. The men weren’t to blame – it was the blatant sexuality that the devil used to trick them. Edwina shook herself and reminded herself that it was all just a dream. Punish her . . . she’s nothing but a worthless harlot . . . this is the way of the Lord . . .“You’re safe with me. What’s your name?” Edwina bent down on one knee, so that they were both eye level. The filthy little thing had no breasts, thin and waifish, her vagina was hairless, and looked distressed from being abused. Edwina was disgusted but intrigued at the same time. “Sally.” Said the girl, her eyes dipped in shame from guilt. Yes, Edwina felt this tiny whore’s guilt – she needed to be shown the errors of her ways. She needed Edwina. “You’re safe with me.” She repeated, but as the words left her mouth, she grabbed the girl by the hair and pulled her close to her side. “PLEASE . . . You’re hurting me . . . please.” Cried the little girl. Her hands reaching up to Edwina’s, but were far too weak to break Edwina’s determined grip. “Come with me.” It’s just a dream. It’s not real. But Edwina felt her heart rate race with adrenaline and the prevailing thought that . . . no one would ever miss this child . . . she was trash . . . human waste, nothing more . . . she was invisible . . . Edwina could do anything she liked to her . . . anything she desired . . . and nobody would be the wiser . . . she would be doing the girl a favor, yes, by reforming her immoral and disgraceful ways . . . the Lord knew her real motives . . . yes, dream or not, it was her Christian duty to punish her. As the thought solidified, so did the means . . . she quickly secured the naked girl, arms out-stretched, legs also pulled wide. Like the girl, Edwina found herself naked with only her long Rosary and crucifix around wrinkled old neck, standing alone in a place that said, isolation, hidden, secret . . . no one will ever know . . . yes, punish her . . . whip the hide from this cheap harlot, show her the way to God! Edwina took the short riding crop that lay on the table next to a number of implements of punishment, and sadist sexual abuse. She eyed the obscene black dildo strap-on. Just a strange dream. No consequences. Just a dream. You can do anything you want – no limits. “Beat me Miss. I’ve been very bad. I played with myself in front of them . . . I asked for it Miss. Beat me Miss. Beat me and make me bleed.” Yes, I will beat you, thought Edwina, standing just out of the field of vision of the restrained girl . . . as she thought about it, she pressed her crucifix against the wetness of her flabby old cunt. She moaned lewdly. No consequences. No limits . . . Edwina brought the leather riding crop down upon the small girl’s back . . . whistling through the air it make a long red mark against little Sally’s back . . . accompanied by a scream of agony . . . oh yes, the bliss of the Lord’s punishment . . . she could feel her wetness and constriction of her vagina muscles around her crucifix as it reached up inside her . . . another pain lash, crossing the first, another across her little chest and another across her exposed vagina . . . that will teach you! Marked as a whore! Edwina’s fingers pressed against her clitoris, harder and faster with every savage blow . . . “Aaghhh . . . please . . . beat my pussy . . . punish me for my waywardness and cock worshiping ways. I’ve been so bad Miss . . .” cried little Sally . . . “Repent sinner! Repent you child whore!” Cried Edwina whipping the girl again and again . . . as she wriggled towards her own private ecstasy . . . her crucifix pressed harder and harder into her needy old cunt . . .
SATAN’S DAUGHTER – CHAPTER 5 (2,555 WORDS)
I walked across the hallway and slipped into the room of Mr. Lawrence. William Howard Lawrence was a sickly old pervert who loved little girls – the younger the better. He was deemed to require full time care and had been institutionalized in St Mary’s for over two months. In the past couple of weeks his health had determinate rapidly and additional suffered from memory lost – sometimes forgetting who or where he was. He eyed me lecherously from his hospital bed.
“Hi Mr. Lawrence. My name is Sally . . . Sally Johnson. I am twelve years and two months old. I have long brown hair and hazel eyes. I am 4’ 6” tall and though I am short for my age, my mum says that I will one day be a model, because I have nice legs and a pretty face.”
“Let me see your nice legs then Sally. Show them to me. Show me how you model . . .” His hand was already beneath the bedding that moved conspicuously as he watched me pretend I was a model on the catwalk. Mr. Lawrence drooled – as he undressed me with his eyes. Yes definitely, luxuria (lechery) . . . my favorite of all sins.
“You remind me of my granddaughter . . .” He said throatily. He had lusted after her for years. Every night he would wildly masturbate him self with fantasies of her nubile little body. Then when he got the opportunity, he molested her beneath the bathwater, under the pretext of washing her private parts. He had got away with it. Nobody knew his perverted desires.
“Oh Papa it feels funny when you touch me between my legs.” Said his nervous little granddaughter as William presses the material of the rough hand towel back and forth against her erect clitoris as it peeped out of its fleshly little hood. She may not understand what he was doing, but he certainly did . . . and reveled in it. Corrupting her was such utter bliss; a dark fantasy finally come true. “Oh! Oh!” Exclaimed the naughty little girl obviously enjoying her grandfather’s salacious touch. “Am I hurting you?” He asked, leadingly. “Do you want me to stop?” The girl was moving her hips wantonly under the waterline in response to her perverted old grandfather’s fondling. “Oh! Oh!” She moaned, unable to respond, as the pleasure of her clitoral orgasm began to build. “Do you like it?” She nodded without saying a word. “Do you want more?” She nodded again, this time raising her hips above the waterline, so that the old pervert could clearly see she was enjoying him intimately touching her. “Oh! Papa . . . do it faster. It makes me feel all ticklish!” Groaned little pre-teen as her hips fucked back and forth. “Why don’t you join me in the water . . .” Reluctantly, he temporarily ceased the masturbation of his eager young granddaughter. He slipped from his clothing and looked in the mirrored wall of the bathroom. He smiled at his reflection as it loomed over the delicate young girl, her purity and smooth whiteness contrasted his weathered skin and deep wriggles. His cock stood upright and pulsed like never before, spurred by her keenness to participate in this incestuous liaison made it feel even more illicit. It was time for her to pleasure him. He had taken his time. Whilst alone with her, she had been interested to learn about the net and he had guided her to a few of his favorite places, where inter-generational child porn had been the dominant theme. She had been shocked at first . . .even scared. But he told her that it was their secret place, never to reveal it. She had liked the clandestine relationship. Now William climbed into the lukewarm soapy water and knelt between her open spread legs. “Do it like they do in the pictures I showed you . . . kiss Papa’s big thing!” The naughty girl grinned widely and reached forward so that she held his cock in her small hands like she had seem in so many of the pornographic images; leaning forward she first kissed its angry mushroom head; then began licking it like a lollypop. “That’s it baby . . . mmmmm . . . that’s so hot!” She giggled and sucked on her grandfather’s cock head as he continued to encourage her. “Oh, baby, that’s so hot! Suck it harder, keep rubbing it as you suck . . . that’s it, and get her tongue around it! Oh! Yer! Hot! . . . keep going, suck harder, take more it into your mouth . . . just like the little girls in the video.” He was close. He couldn’t hold back much longer. He wanted it to last, but it was just too crazy . . . he held her head in his large hands as he started to fuck her face. She squirmed a bit. Obviously uncomfortable with the amount of her grandfather’s cock that was now pushing against the back of her throat . . . he could feel his balls about to explode with an overflow of pent-up semen . . . she struggled against his vice-like grip, but his orgasm was about to erupt and he wasn’t about to let her go anywhere, in fact, he pushed his cock further into her throat and she began to gag . . . Oh yer! Fucking swallow it! Fucking choke on it bitch! Aaarrrghhhhhh! . . . his entire body was overwhelmed in the power of his orgasm – semen spurted forth with inhuman quantity . . . streaming from the sides of mouth, out of her nose . . . she finally escaped his grip just as more squirted from the eye of his cock across her face and neck . . .
“There you are.” Said Mrs. Roberta Blackthorn as she caught up with me lying on the grass of the bushy gardens of the expansive property.
“Yes Miss. This place smells funny.”
“Yes I know what you mean. I also need to get some fresh air. Old people. Dying. It’s all a bit bleak.”
“Miss. Can I ask you a question?”
“When these old people die . . . will they all go to heaven?”
“If they have lived a righteous life; they will be judged at the gates to heaven by St. Peter. Don’t you pay attention in class?”
“Oh yes Miss. I was wandering how he does that?”
“Well. I suppose St. Peter has a record of their past deeds. Good and bad.”
“Like a book, Miss?”
“But what if they just think bad things?”
“Well, St. Peter has a record of that too.”
She watched her husband’s car back out of the driveway. She waited just long enough to know that he was not coming back. That slight chance of discover . . . she had to be sure. Her daughter, Crystal, looked anxiously at her mother; while Roberta just smiled evilly back at her daughter – it was the look of someone knowingly corrupt and completely rehearsed their vice. A beautiful and malicious fantasy brought to life. Yes, she thought, finally she would get back at her next-door neighbor for their shear audacity to live and breath . . . she hated them all with a vengeance. She hated everything about them. She hated Mrs. Yale’s self-affirming declarations of their religious standing in the community. Too fucking good for this neighborhood. But that was about to change. She would make them as sinful as her. Today, with the help of her own incestuous little daughter, they would seduce Mrs. Yale’s smug little bitch of a child, Emily, and both her and Crystal would ride her face in Sapphic triumph! “Call her,” said Roberta. “I have,” answered Crystal. “She’ll be over shortly.” Crystal had been over the Yale’s house before, for sleepovers, and had a strong impression that their daughter was sexually interested in her, though not active, fearing her parents and their pious attitude towards anything sexual. In Emily’s mind, they surmised that sexual thought and religion ran opposed in every aspect. Her churchly education and strict upbringing would no doubt be brought into question during their dual seduction. But she would succumb. Just knowing that Emily was to be reduced to a lesbian skank made the world of difference – Emily, the fuck toy for mother and daughter to abuse from this day forward. There was no doubt in Roberta’s mind and she would make sure that she had her trophy! The doorbell rang. The moment had arrived. They welcomed Emily in and wasted no time. First Crystal would suggest a harmless game of truth or dare. Roberta had set-up a video to record their game . . . a video that she would use to blackmail the little bitch into becoming their plaything. She would do anything they wanted . . . just so that she would not show the videotape to her parents – this would be a fate worse than death to Emily . . . they would have her just where they wanted her. It all went as planned, in no time Emily was kissing her school friend intimately as the camera caught all the action. Roberta masturbated as she zoomed in . . . and then backs out again, so that nothing was left to the imagination. Kissing became petting, petting became finger-fucking, finger-fucking became oral sex . . . Roberta had already cum several times watching the two beautiful young girls pleasuring each other . . . Crystal tongue flicked over Emily’s pussy and further up towards the delicate flower of anus. Emily moaned loudly in urged her school buddy to tongue-fuck her rectum. Roberta could see the vaginal juices dripping over her daughter’s face. Another orgasm swept through her as she muffled her own cries of ecstasy in case she was discovered before their blackmail video was complete . . . now the two girls where scissored together, their clits frantically rubbing together . . . this would be the moment . . . the moment when Roberta would ‘catch them’ at it . . . reveal the video . . . the begging and pleading would follow . . . and then the realization that she had no choice but to do everything that Roberta wanted . . . today and everyday henceforth . . . or else the tape would be send to her parents, her priest . . . there would be no way back!
“Sorry Miss, did you say something?” Asked Sally.
Mrs. Blackthorn snapped back into the moment. “No. I didn’t. Sorry, I must have been daydreaming for a moment. What’s the time? Good gracious, it’s getting late. Need to gather you kids up and get ready for the school bus.”
“Are we coming back tomorrow?”
“There will be something big happening at the Home tonight, so, we will be back to regular classes tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry yourself about it. Now get back to the concourse, while I round up the others.”
The way to the concourse at the front of the Home, I made a short pit stop at the infirmary, where patients needed round the clock attention. I watched unnoticed as the infirmary doctor made his final rounds. Dr Benjamin Green was an ambitious man, who hated his work at the Home of Peace. He hated the elderly. He hated their sicknesses. The truth was that this was not a popular situation, but the money was very good. Better than good, but he loathed everything. He had wanted his own private practice in a good neighborhood. He dreamed of the sexy young patients, both male and female, that would be ripe for bawdy seduction . . . a far cry from the decrepit old cronies in his ward. His greed, avaritia blinded him. The fact was, he was not particularly good at his job or caring for his patients. As far as he saw it, they were going to die anyway . . . just a matter of how and when.
Standing by the door to the refectory, I pretended to be lost. Dr Green’s eyes lit up as he noticed me. His eyes scanned the room, making sure that know one else had noticed me, and then returned to gloat at my charade of innocence and naivety. I was a dream come true; a beautiful distraction from the monotony of this awful place.
“Can I help you?” His words did not match the look across his face that really said ‘Can I undress you and stick my big throbbing cock in your mouth and pussy’ . . . I fainted and he caught me gracefully in his greasy big hands . . . his thoughts raced ahead of him self as my limp lithe body fell against the pressing bulge in his pants . . . I could smell his arousal, or was it the dried cum stains inside his disgusting underwear . . . I allowed myself to flow into his thoughts . . .
I was still lying in his sweating arms, but either of us was dressed. I could feel his erection pressing against my side. We were still in the infirmary, but his fantasy infirmary was grotesque . . . all around us were the macabre bodies of partially mutilated patients, some dangling from meat hooks, other human carcasses hung above a old white enamel bathtubs with scalloped legs . . . I could see that it was half filled with a dark viscous liquid that was obviously the blood he had drained from his victims. Dr Green . . . feed the dead patients to the living? You little devil! From death comes life, from old comes the reborn . . . He carried me to the edge of the bath and then laid me into the red broth. Vampiric games . . . a lust for blood or blood for lust . . . he admired me, as I stirred, making it obvious that I was enjoying his lewd attention as well as the perversity of his dream . . . As I knelt up in the bath, he pierced the squirming body of a woman, her blood spurted like a shower over me . . . I soaked my hands in blood and reached for his cock, I masturbated him slowly and deliberately, smothering his genitals in the bloody fluids . . . drink my darling . . . drink the blood . . . so we may share a blood kiss . . . he wanted me to revel in it, to masturbate myself whilst immersed in it . . . drench myself in it . . . look at the beauty of death . . . the corpses call for sexual gratification . . . necro-baby they want us to copulate for them . . . show me your desires to fornicate with the dead . . . let us lay in their warm entrails and worship the devil together . . .
My work was here . . . he was already a soul for my father . . .
SATAN’S DAUGHTER – CHAPTER 6 (2,091 WORDS)
Emily Yale smiled at the new girl. It was a warm and inviting smile. The new girl in her second year human biology class was of yours truly . . . Sally. And I guessed I must have smiled back, because at lunchtime she came and sat with me at the rear of the schoolyard.
“You’re new right?” Asked Emily.
“Yes. My name is Sally, what’s yours?”
“Emily. Emily Yale. You’re in my human biology class right?”
“Yup. Don’t you hate it?” I added.
“Yer. Most of it is boring crap, but not as bad as Math and English – at least you get to hear about sex stuff.”
We both giggled.
“Did you hear that Anthony got a stiffy in class, when we did gametes and fertilization?”
“No. Did you see it?”
“No. He was sitting on the other side of the class that day.”
“You have a lot of homework?” I asked.
“I never do homework; it drives my dad round the twist!” Obviously Emily was an underachiever. How I like acedia (sloth) . . . “Actually, I can’t wait to leave school and go on the dole.”
“I like your make-up.” I complimented her. She looked nicely made up. Make-up and hair was definitely more her forte than education.
“Thanks. Do you want me to do you a makeover? I mean, not here. Maybe you’d like to come over after school? My house is only just up the road.”
“Cool. I haven’t got to be back early, as my parents both work.”
“So do mine. We’d have the place to ourselves.” She blushed suddenly. But quickly turned away, as if her attention was distracted. I said nothing.
“See you at the main gate then at 3.00 PM?”
I could see her waiting for me from a distance. She actually looked a little impatient. Maybe she thought I might have changed my mind.
“Hi. Cool, you came.” She said brightly. Maybe there was touch of surprise? Maybe she thought I would change my mind or chicken out? She picked up her school and bag and we started walking in the direction of her house.
“Yer. Can you really make look as sexy as you?” I asked putting out a little bate. She laughed uneasily as we both walked briskly in the direction of her house.
“Sexy? I don’t think I’m really sexy.” We linked arms as we walked.
“Yes definitely. So do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. Not really interested in boys right now.” She replied without hesitating.
“Girlfriend? . . . ” My voice trailed off. Emily picked up on my pseudo-nervousness . . . taking it as a sign of my possible interest in her. Her arm gripped me noticeably tighter.
“No, never met anyone I liked enough . . . You?”
“Well, I’m new here.”
“Where you lived before. Did you have a boyfriend?”
“No. I’ve experimented before . . .” Again I deliberately sounded a little awkward.
“With . . . boys?” She asked in a whisper, though nobody was in earshot.
“With, you know . . . both.”
“Wow! You’re bi?”
“Yer. Is that a problem.”
“No . . . of course not. It’s really cool. It’s just at this school, nobody I know, just comes out and says it, even if they wanted to . . . the nuns would have a fit!”
“Don’t tell anyone. Can you promise to keep it a secret?”
“Yer . . . of course. I promise Sally!”
We arrived at Emily’s house. She fumbled nervously as she put the key in the lock and finally opened the front door. We walked into the hallway and dropped our school bags by the coat stand. It was an expensive looking place, very modern. The Yale’s obviously had no shortage of money. The walls where covered with religiously themed artworks. On the hall mantle piece there was a wooden crucifix and another larger one placed on the living room wall was visible from the hallway. In the privacy of her home, she smiled at me again expectantly . . . obviously knowing my sexual interest in her had already caused some chemical reactions.
“I like you Emily. You make me very horny!” I pulled her towards me.
“I like you too.” She answered anxiously. I kissed her mouth. Dry lips against dry lips. She smiled . . . like the first smile she had given me in the classroom. “I’ve . . . never done anything with anyone before . . . with a girl or a boy.”
“Well, Emily, it’s the same sweet, just a different wrapper!”
I kissed her again, pulling her closer to me, more urgently. My hands guided her, so that I pressed our flat chests and protruding groins, frotting against each other through our school cloths. She kissed me back and though our mouths remained closed, we pressed firmly against each other.
“You taste nice.” She remarked. “Let’s go up stairs. You know, away from the pictures of Jesus and Mary.” Emily suggested.
“You don’t like to make out . . . in front of Jesus?” I asked.
“He’s kind of creepy. Watching you, if you are sinning and all . . .”
“Doesn’t it give you an extra thrill to do sinful stuff?”
“I . . . don’t know . . .” Emily was smiling, but she was also fretting about it. As if even talking about sex and religion in the same sentence, would make her squirm with painful discomfort.
“Try it Emily. Let’s make out in front of fucking old Jesus. Let him watch us sin together . . . it turns me on!” I slipped my hand beneath her school blouse, rubbed her braless breasts and kissed her on the mouth as I felt her up. As my hand passed across her chest, I could feel the mixture of tenseness and excitement. This time when I kissed her, I pushed my tongue between her lips. We tongue kissed each other slowly as she gradually dropped her guard.
“See . . . doesn’t it feel crazy sexy to do nasty stuff in front of Jesus and his whore mother?”
“That’s blasphemous!” Emily said as she playfully slapped me. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that . . . you’ll go to hell!”
“I don’t care. I think, if it turns you on . . . you should . . . go on . . . say ‘fuck you Jesus, I want lesbo sex will Sally’ . . . go on, I dare you . . .” I kissed her mouth again as I gently squeezed her hard little nipples. She giggled like a naughtily little pre-school kid.
“Fuck you Jesus. I want lesbo sex with Sally . . . there I said it!” She seemed shocked at herself. My hand had snaked into her pants and I could feel the heat coming from within her cotton panties. Heat was followed by wetness. “F-u-c-k . . . y-o-u . . . J-e-s-u-s,” she groaned as my finger started to penetrate her tight little pussy. My finger became coated in her juices . . . Emily was very turned on.
“Wow! You’re so cool. Now take off your wet pants and rub them on his face . . . say ‘Fuck your mother! Fuck god!’ . . . do it, you’re turning me on so much.”
Emily removed her damp pants, as I removed mine and both took turns rubbing them over the picture of Jesus, laughing and tongue kissing each other.
“Does it really turn you on? Because I’ve always been to scared to do anything like this, but with you . . . I’d do anything! ” She suddenly all vulnerable.
“Yes it does turn me on. You’ve made me so wet. Not just because you are so sexy, but because you’re like me . . . I sometime put Jesus in my pussy . . . it makes me come so hard!”
“What do you mean, you put Jesus in your pussy?” Emily looked very excited.
I took the crucifix from the mantle piece. Emily watched, awestruck. She was touching herself as she watched. Retrieving the wooden crucifix from the mantle, I first rubbed Jesus against my pussy and then licked my juices from it. I did it again and offered it to Emily.
“Taste me Emily . . . taste my pussy juices on fucking Jesus!”
She licked the crucifix and smiled; then rubbed it over her own pussy and offered it to me. I licked it and then kissed her mouth. Our tongues dived back and forth as our fingers pressed against each other’s clits.
“Have you done this with your other lovers?”
“Yes . . . and we do more . . . we all pray to Satan for longer orgasms!”
“Oh! To Satan . . . and what happens? Do you get longer orgasms?”
“Oh Emily, you didn’t tell me that you were going to have a friend over.”
It was Emily’s mother. Mrs. Hilary Yale was dressed up like she was expecting the Queen to drop in anytime soon. She looked embarrassed by her own daughter. I could feel the superbia (pride) in her lifestyle. Everything had a place. And Emily inviting a girlfriend from school, without prior notice, obviously did not agree with her and her high standards.
“We will have to talk about this later.”
I didn’t say a word. Deliberately and purposeful, I just stood next to Emily. The both of us looked like we’d been rolling in the hay. Mrs. Yates said nothing further and whispered to Emily that I would see her tomorrow at school, that we should text each other tonight. And then I was gone.
Mrs. Yale watched me from the lounge room window.
“Emily. Emily come her.”
Emily timidly stood and waited for her mother to turn away from the window. She looked deep in thought.
Mrs. Yale watched Mrs. Blackthorn as she walked down the driveway to the house next door. That woman was unfit to teach children. Just look at her. She’s nothing but a tramp. She should be cleaning the streets, not anywhere near her precious daughter. She would make an anonymous compliant and get her fired. The fact they lived next door was bad enough. Trashy people belonged in the trailer park. Not in her street. Not in her neighborhood. Trailing behind her mother was Crystal Blackthorn. They were arguing about something that Mrs. Yale couldn’t hear through the double-glazed glass. Now there’s a true slut. She’s probably got one or more of those venereal deceases. If she were her daughter, there would be none of this nonsense. She’d not take that girl’s lip. She’d have Mr. Yale give her a good thrashing across his knee . . . beat her while Mrs. Yale watched . . . take her pants down . . . that’s if she wore any . . . Slap! Slap! Slap! She could see it clearly. The little slut held across her husband’s hairy bare legs. That’s right, you hold her firmly Roger. She needs to be punished. Don’t let her move while I paddle her . . . put those nasty sticky panties in her mouth . . . that would stop her screaming . . . let her tardy mother watch . . . her slut daughter . . . deserved nothing less . . . that smooth white skin needed to burn red with the shock of Mrs. Yale’s hands, hitting her over and over, as she cried pitifully into her own soiled pants . . . Slap! Slap! Slap! That’ll teach you . . . keep you lower class people in your place . . . my husband’s erection pressing upwards again the slut as she lay across his lap . . . not his fault, that this slut was trying to gain pity by rubbing herself against his manhood . . . what would the Archangels do with these vermin? God never meant her to have to put up with neighbors like this . . . Roger needs relief . . . then get the slut to relieve you . . . for God’s sake that’s all she’s good for . . . but let me watch . . . mmmmmmmmm . . . that’s it, cum in her face dear, abuse her, degrade her in front of her worthless cunt of a mother . . .
SATAN’S DAUGHTER – CHAPTER 7 (2,026 WORDS)
St. Mary’s Home of Peace was filled with an eerie darkness, Shadows danced libelously as if gathering in the chapel. The night was alive with a furtive evil. This was now the house of my father. But there seems to be some who actually still believe that God gives a fuck! Their souls belong to my father. Even now I envision them all gather naked in the chapel and await to worship me, as Satan’s daughter – to commit gross indecencies, to openly blaspheme, to fornicate upon the sacred altar and pray for orgasmic delight in return for their allegiance to the god of the world, the incestuous father who sodomizes his own children; the sick and the dying, fornicating with each other in twisted and perverse orgy.
I entered the small private chapel. All was sedate. The gathering of lost souls sat solemnly in against the uncomfortable wooden pews. There was Mrs. Edwina Irving, Mr. William Lawrence, Dr. Benjamin Green, Mrs. Roberta Blackthorn and her daughter Crystal Blackthorn, Mrs. Hilary Yale, Mr. Roger Yale and their daughter Emily Yale to name the faces that I instantly recognized.
They were all dressed in somber black; their mock religious ritual had transformed the small chapel with white roses and carnations. Sister Maria stood in front of the small congregation, leading them all in solemn hymn over the black polished coffin, as it laid ready for cremation. Their voices sounded cheerless and listless – a monotonous blur of religious lyrics, sung without feeling or emotion . . . as if going through the motions . . . with no commitment, no passion and certainly no belief . . .
It felt hot and humid as the congregation tried to focus on the nun’s slow lethargic sermon.
“Perversions of the flesh either accompany or follow idolatry.” Announced Sister Maria over her thick glasses. “The people built a golden calf, ate, drank, rose to play, danced and engaging in ritual prostitution. Later, the idolatrous ceremonies that accompanied the worship of these evil gods, particularly the worship of Baal and Astarte, involving lewd and sexually explicit behavior . . . sexual intercourse was to them a re-enactment of the fertility cycle in nature, and that such re-enactments pleased the gods. Carnal human nature had no arguments against this floored logic, especially when it satisfied its lusts. Amen.”
“Amen.” Groaned the crowd. Words like lewd, carnal and lust, seemed to at last capture their interest.
“But God decrees, ‘Whoever commits any of these abominations, of nakedness and lewdness, shall be punished . . . ‘uncovering another’s nakedness defiles the land, and the land will vomit out the inhabitants who practice it.’ God’s same punishment will be brought upon the descendants of Israel today, as pornography, lewdness, and sexual sins continue to increase uncheck. The nakedness of our harlotry shall be uncovered! Amen”
“Amen,” again her references to pornography, lewdness and sexual sins draw moisture between legs, blood that filled stiffing organs.
“We shall bear the penalty of our lewdness and our harlotry . . . we shall repay for our lewdness, as we shall pay for our idolatrous sins . . .”
She paused and pushed her dark rimmed glasses up her nose and wiped the perspiration from her brow. Her fat hairy cunt needed to be fingered.
“From Proverbs 22:6 – the Bible calls it ‘this evil world.’ We all repeat whatever corruption was imposed on us. People who were abused as children repeat that behavior when they become adults – abused children are six times as likely to abuse their own children when they become parents. The abused become abusers. We are all material and mortal. Does God prepare us for eternal life? Does he train us a way that will endure for all eternity? He says . . . ‘Train a child according to their evil inclinations; let they do their own will, and they will continue in their evil way throughout their life.’ Amen . . .”
“AMEN!” Again they responded as if they all were excited by the contrary . . . they seemed aroused with restlessness . . . searching for something . . . waiting for something blasphemous . . . something perverted . . . our congregation was ready.
It seemed that the chapel temperature had increased by at least ten degrees in the same number of minutes. I moved to the front of the congregation and stood next to Sister Maria. I opened my blouse and exposed my flat childish breasts . . . then removed my school skirt and exposed by hairless vagina . . . I raised my hands upwards towards the huge looming crucifix above their heads . . . all eyes looked upwards upon the inverted cross . . . yes, it was inverted . . . blasphemously hanging with the naked Jesus . . . his cock fully erect . . . “Is it a dreary life eternal that you all seek, to live only to die and be reborn in a tedious heaven? Is it that our devout lives are given over to a monotonous and tiresome existence forever and ever? Or is there not more? I ask you look upon me, for I am a sign of the truth . . . that is embodied in true beauty of idolatry. Is there not a place that will be rapturous, blissful and divinely sensual . . . that celebrates our lewdness and lustiness, that doesn’t deign, but affirms our earthly desires, that magnifies them a thousand times in a myriad of orgasmic delights . . . is that not the house of my father? Kneel before the blasphemous idolatry as he welcomes you . . . without judgment . . . the salacious and the perverse . . . the fornicator, the prostitute . . . the lesbian, the gay, the transgender . . . where sodomy is an act of solemn worship . . . cocksuckers all! Fall before the androgynous Baphomet, the horned god of nature . . . of unbridled lust and dark fertility . . . so powerful the desire to spread your legs and masturbate in eternal praise . . .” The chapel was filled with an eerie red light – like torches licking at the walls with red and amber . . . walls that were adorned with the pornographic images of Satanic lust . . . the phallic altar had become a bed, that awaited copulation . . . the congregation, naked and excited as they were in the time of Moloch, Baal and Astarte . . . “bring forth the naked children, so that we may prepare them for the ritual abuse . . . so that they know the world of evil . . . ‘Train a child according to their evil inclinations; let they do their own will, and they will continue in their evil way throughout their life.’ . . . abuse begets abuse . . . and that we may all embrace the pleasures of the true father . . . raping them . . . sodomizing them . . . offering them to the god of the world, the god of pleasure, the god of lust!” The naked congregation groaned in agreement with my prayer . . . their fingers explored their sexual organs and brought themselves to a state of sexual excitement as Crystal and Emily mounted the podium – their nubile young bodies in sharp contrast to the aged and wrinkled flesh of the rest. Crystal and Emily lay in a sixty-nine position; so that they could lick each other between their spread thighs . . . the crowd encouraged their urgent copulation . . . I am Succubus . . . I am Incubus . . . I am your God!” As I turned to face the entire on congregation, they all bowed to my androgynous form . . . from between my legs, where my vagina had been, the daughter of Satan, had changed into the legs of the faun, with an erect penis that stood upright from between my fur-covered hind legs . . . huffs for feet and small breasts crowned with nail-hard nipples . . . I knelt behind Crystal upon the altar bed. With Emily beneath me, so that her mouth and hands pleasured me from below, guiding my long goat-like penis between Crystal’s labia . . . “Behold the Goat of Mendes . . . worship Satan! The god of lust!” cried Sister Maria masturbating upon the upturned face of Dr. Benjamin Green. . . I gripped her thighs, drawing blood from my claws, as the head of my enormous cock sunk into her wet little pussy, but as the girth of my knot became too tight, she screamed in agony – I pushed harder, forcing it deeper into her virgin cunt as I crushed against Emily’s open mouth as she pleasured my hairy balls and anus. Crystal felt limp, like a rag doll on the end of goat phallic – fucking her harder and harder with every stroke. My balls were boiling with a new pleasure that I had never felt so strongly before . . . FUCK! I shot my load, my hot semen blasted out of my cock into her torn body . . . the dead virgin dangling on my animalistic appendage . . . I tossed her aside and took Emily, this time in the anus . . . my cock still rock hard despite my power orgasm . . . I felt only LUST . . .the desire to destroy . . . She was powerless to stop me and I plowed into her bowels, deeper and harder, until her guts were mush! FUCK another hard CUM! Oh yer! FUCK! I am Satan’s Daughter! FUCK YOU ALL TO HELL! The heat was almost unbearable to those around me. Their screams of pleasure, seemed to turn to screams of pain . . . as the chapel became like a furnace around me . . .
The fires of hell seemed to consume the Home of Peace within seconds. Screams of those trapped in the burning building could be heard as helpless onlookers and firemen were pushed backwards from the intensity of the fierce heat of the burning structure that seemed doom to collapse inwards. No one could escape this alive. It was an inferno of death.
Yet . . . miraculously a small twelve-year old girl, somehow managed to make it out alive. They had found her among the burning cinders. A truly divide mystery . . . rumors of almost ‘saintly’ proportions where reported . . . who was this girl, the young and enigmatic Sally Johnson who had escaped a fiery death . . . certainly it wasn’t her time to perish, like the rest of them . . . and her guardian, Dr Daisy Harvey, was there to help her long after the news crews and reporters had finished covering this story of death, destruction and unimaginable hope and glory . . . praise to the merciful God! Praise to Him for saving the innocent little schoolgirl that had been helping at the Home of Peace on that dreadful day . . .
The end. Or not?
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