by Poppet
And with that profound statement he saunters out, his pompous gait lost in my torrent of tears.
I'm in hell. I'm being tortured!
The two thugs with gorilla sized muscles reenter the room, Kenan staring down at me like the angel of death come to deliver vengeance, while they apply their bleaching agent to my 'starfish'.
After a lifetime of hell they wipe me clean with cold surgical swabs. Lube is smeared over my body, sealing my pain, abating the throb in minuscule increments, gel slathered on my wrist, and I'm unbound so they can wrap my wrist in gauze and surgical tape.
They help me sit up and the room eddies in a blurring pirouette, carrying me into the next room where I'm laid down on a hairdresser's wash stool, someone wetting my hair, washing it, and I'm carried to a chair, covered with the nylon cape, and another big man starts styling my hair.
I'm so traumatized that my limbs are weak and shivering.
Why are they all men? Why can't they let women do this?
The stranger gives me highlights, waxing my eyebrows while the highlights set, piercing my right ear up at the top with a diamond stud, then taking me back to the basins and rinsing and conditioning my hair.
Back in the chair in front of the mirror, Kenan looming in the background with a world of wrath on his countenance, the hairdresser bloke layers my hair, blow drying it so it's full and luscious, giving me back to Kenan to carry to the next room.
He's gentle this time, as if softening to my suffering, my jaw still aching from the ball gag even though the hoodlums removed it, and I'm placed down on another massage table, a man clamping my head in metal and growling, “Don't move. If you do you will lose an eye.”
Terrified, my body in such turmoil from excruciating pain and anxiety, the agony in my head now unsurpassed with the migraine gone into mega-migraine territory, he gives me permanent makeup, on my lashes and lining my eyes. He's tattooing my fucking eyelid! I'm afraid to breathe, my heart is convulsing in my chest, my right arm still burning.
Eventually we are done and I'm cleared to leave, Kenan carrying me with a bottle of painkillers prescribed by the purification mafia. Placing me in the car, we drive home without conversation.
He still hasn't said a word to me. I've been to hell and back and he can't even pat my head and say good girl? I feel like my blood's been replaced with acid, I'm in agony everywhere but the soles of my feet.
Negotiating his steep driveway at his state of the art geometric monstrosity of a home, he kills the engine, staring dead ahead at the garage doors, his hands clenching the steering wheel, saying softly, “Why do you suppose he's coming here tonight? What happened between the two of you this morning?”
“Nothing happened, I endured watching myself in an orgy which you clearly sanctioned without giving me any choice in the matter, and then he told me I've corrupted you and made you evil, and the only way for him to be sure I'm not is to fuck me.”
Kenan scowls at me, the grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white, “Now you listen here. You do as you're told, if you don't punishment will be sure and swift. I am being patient but it is also my duty to remind you of what the bible says. Your time had come, the time for love. I spread my cloak over you and covered your nakedness; I gave you my oath, I made a covenant with you, and you became mine Ezekiel 16:8 And He who sent me is ever with me; My Father has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases Him. John: 29. And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32. It is not good for a man to live alone, I will make a suitable companion Genesis 2:18. Woman is her name, because she is taken out of man Genesis 2:23 In spite of this you will have desire for your husband, yet you will be subject to him, he will have dominion over you. Gen 3:16 Sin must no longer rule in your mortal bodies. Sin must not be your master for you do not live under law, but God's grace Romans 6:12. Now therefore, if you will obey my voice in truth and keep my covenant, then you shall be my own peculiar possession and treasure. Exodus 19:6. I warn you that in my anger I will rule over you with a strong hand, with all my power. Ezekiel 20:33.” Slowly he releases the steering wheel, fisting his hands, growling, “Are we clear?”
I nod, my mouth dry and my cranium pounding with endless pain grenades.
“Candace, you have to understand this. We do not live under law, but God's grace. Stop thinking that we're evil, that we're doing wrong to you. You were created for me, you are mine, and I will not permit my woman to be evil or under satan's influence. Alright, sweet pea? It's not that I like to see you get hurt, but it is my duty to administer pain if you challenge my authority. And if I don't correct you, our vicar will. When you say things to me like your body is your own, that it always has been, and that you get to decide who enters it, that you decide who touches it, what am I to do? That's evil pouring out of your mouth, challenging the word of god, challenging me. As I just quoted for you, sin must not rule in your mortal body. That's why a good woman is demure and compliant, she does as she's told, if I tell you to lie down and let every man in the congregation purify you, helping me to redeem your soul, then you will. It's only if your body is still owned by evil and sin that you'd deny my orders. We have to correct you, your body was made for man, it is our duty to enter it and sanctify you, it's our duty to touch it, and it is your duty to do as I instruct you. Now you've been for purification, you look beautiful, and I hope I never hear you speak the devil's creed to me again. Got it? In this Matthew is right, if you struggle and fight against correction, scream abuse and accusation, judging us and saying what we do isn't permitted, well then you leave me no choice but to hand you over for exorcism. I'll have no choice but to take the rod to you.”
He eyes me, looking dangerously serious, “The choice is yours. Only satan fights what is good, struggling for control of your body, trying to lock the pure and ordained out of it. You have the choice Candace, to let him win, or let us in. It's your choice to correct your attitude so that I don't have to discipline you. But now we're under god's eyes, he's watching, and if you challenge me, even once, then this matter is out of my hands and in god's. And god has put men to death for less.”
I nod again, the motion administering a world of hurt; trying to swallow but my mouth is too chalky and dry.
“How are you feeling?' he finally asks, relaxing to survey me.
“My head's been throbbing since I woke up, I'm bilious, I hurt everywhere, and my wrist is burning with such intensity that my arm feels numb.”
He pats my leg, “We'll see if you can walk yet and get you to the kitchen where you can take those tabs, they'll mute the pain, and we'll order in tonight. Okay, Blossom?”
“Okay,” I say, everything in me subdued. I don't dare fight, I don't want more pain. I won't argue, I'll plot. I'm going to find a way out of this.
He smiles, this time looking like he means it, “I have a gift waiting for you. You have endured purification and I will reward you appropriately.”
I just grimace, trying to smile, but my face aches.
He comes to my side, helping me out of the car, supporting me, my legs wobbling so bad I'd fall without him. Opening the front door, he pushes it so it swings fully open, and waiting for me in the entrance is a massive bouquet of red roses, jewelry hanging off every stem.
I wish I was impressed, I do think it's thoughtful, but it's too much. I think it's more to alleviate his guilt than it is to reward me.
We walk slowly to the kitchen where he pours me a soda, giving me four tablets to swallow. I do, without hesitation, desperately needing the agony to be gone.
“I'm going to leave you in the lounge for a bit, okay? I have to make calls, I need security on this house before morning.”
I frown at him, clutching my head and wishing the queasiness in my gut would fuck off.
He gives me a wry smile, shrugging, “I'll explain later.”
Slowly, with difficulty, we make it to the lounge, where four woman wait, standing as I enter, yelling, “Surprise!”
&nbs
p; Kenan leaves me on his favorite chair, strangers gathering around me, talking over my head, “Oh my gosh this is bad.”
“Grab the aloe and arnica–”
“Amy, get the vodka stat, get this poor woman a drink–”
“Why did they leave her naked?”
“Because she's sensitive. Look at her, she's swelling!”
“Celia, did you bring your pashmina? That'll work.”
“In my bag!”
… I don't know what the hell is going on but I'm so grateful to be surrounded with women that the sobs I'd been holding back bellow out of me in wild hiccups, my tears dabbed, my face cradled in a huge bosom, someone rocking me and crooning, “There there, hon. It's gonna be alright. There there, we gotcha.”
~ Chapter 11 ~
I am not possessed by a demon.
On the contrary,- you dishonor Me
~John 8:49
Kenan:
Celia comes walking outside, waiting for me to get off the phone with Tim. Wrapping up the arrangements, assured he'll be here in ten minutes to install burglar bars on all the windows and doors, I give her my attention, “What's up?”
“Kenan, I know it's none of my business but feel I should point out the obvious to you.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stand tall, squaring my shoulders for combat, looking down at the woman, “Yes?”
“Candace isn't like us. She's supersensitive. That means what we consider pleasurable and erotic, she'll most likely find painful. She's not like us, sometimes a woman is made with severe sensitivity, her nerves amplifying touch and sensation. You have to be gentle with this one. If not, you'll end up hurting her, constantly.”
Arching eyebrows, I remain aloof, “So what are you saying, exactly?”
“Ken, she's swelling up like a balloon. For a woman like her all pain is excruciating, all touch is extreme, she's delicate, she'll bruise easily, and she can't go for waxing again. Make them use only the laser on her. She can't handle it. Don't alienate her, you are hers, it's up to you to protect her. Treat her like a newborn.”
Frowning, annoyed, I ask Celia, “What causes that?”
“It's common in folks born premature. I asked her and she said she was. Sometimes they don't develop like we do, their nervous system is always too aware and raw. Be gentle with her, okay? And when it comes to discipline, remember this conversation. She doesn't have a high pain threshold. She doesn't even have a normal pain threshold.”
Is that why she complains? Because sucking hurts? Because her body is oversensitive to normal sensation?
Realization dawns on me and now I know Matthew hurt her. I know last night really hurt her. “Celia, what do I do?”
She looks grim, giving me a reproachful stare, “You give her time to recover. She's not a usual case, and if she screams it might be because she just can't take what you're doing to her. It's not her fault. What you consider pleasure could be her pain.”
Fuck! What do I do now?
Celia steps in, giving me a motherly hug, “Doncha worry hon, you have yourself one of the special ones. God gave her to you because he knows you require a woman who doesn't need a bulldozer, simple guidance will suffice. She's fragile, think of her as a flower, her petals easily bruise, and if you're too rough they'll fall off, destroying her beauty. She'll lose her blossoms and you'll strip her of all joy. She's your newborn, born again today, now you do the righteous thing, you love her right. You give her benevolence. She will always be as fragile as an infant, treat her with a soft touch, okay?”
“How long for her to recover? Matthew's coming over tonight.”
She looks bitter when she says, “Keep her on those painkillers. That man doesn't know the meaning of the word gentle.”
“How long, Celia?”
She shrugs, “A week, maybe more. I've only ever seen one gal with her level of sensitivity, and as you recall she took her own life.”
“Charlene?” I check.
“Yup, it was Charlene. He hurt her, he didn't understand, he didn't care. She was this swollen when she came home from purification, and she never recovered.”
The severity of my precarious situation hits home and I nod, urging her indoors, “Go take care of her. Tim's going to be here any minute now.”
“Why's Tim coming here?” she says, hands on hips, like a mother hen giving me the once over hot coal grilling.
“When I got home Matthew was about to have his way with Candy. I'm putting security on all the windows and doors to keep him out. He doesn't have access to her unless I'm present.”
She smiles wide, patting my cheek, “You're a good man, Kenan. A very good man. She's lucky ta have ya.”
“Celia, why did Nat tell me to stay with Candace for her purification?”
She blanches, going pale, showing me the first flicker of fear I've witnessed in her, “Because it's a vaginal cleansing too if you aren't there. All the men take turns, including Matthew. And we're silenced with ball gags, tied down, and our partners never know because the purification is protected by the vow of silence and privacy. It's between us and god. And if you ever tell them I told you, I'll deny it.”
So it's gang rape, and for a new initiate it is traumatic. I get it.
I watch her walk away, an angry set to her posture.
Left alone on the long driveway I stare desperation at the sky. Her brand, piercing her ear, stripping her body of all hair but her head, she must hate me, and all I did was shit all over her when we got home. This isn't the way it should be done. She needs me, the right way.
I hate to admit that maybe I was wrong. And just maybe Matthew is wrong. She's not possessed with evil, she thinks we are because it hurts her. And I let them bombard her body with pain today to strip satan's hold, to strip his defenses, and now she's paying for my ignorance. She's paying in the worst possible way. Well, at least god will consider her his own now, she's been corrected with pain. She'll never doubt his authority again.
Or mine.
•
Candace:
The short blonde with the bob is Natalie, the big lady with the wide face and long curly hair is Celia, the sandy haired waif is Amelia 'just call me Amy', and the girl next door energetic bunny is Sue. Apparently there are more of them but they couldn't make it today.
Kenan has left us alone, stomping around the house with a cordless drill and assistants, splitting up from some guy called Tim to put retractable bars on the windows and doors, doing the work in half the time while they tackle opposite ends of the abode. It's a cacophony, but it leaves us alone with confidentiality because no one can overhear us with this ruckus going down.
Celia continues my education, clearly having decided to be my mother figure for my time in purgatory, “So make sure that you always drink your alcohol with raspberry and cranberry as your mixer. Girl, ya have'ta take care of your health cos these old boys are so horny even tranquilizers can't keep em down.”
Sue nods emphatically, “Ya'll probably don't know cos you're not from around here, but if you do it that often in no time you'll have a urinary tract infection and you'll be burning like a mofo.”
Amy adds, “And coffee, drink tons of it. Coffee changes the PH of your pee and it helps clean that outta your system.”
Celia reinforces that I understand, “So you got it, right?” Pushing another pink drink into my hand, heavily loaded with cranberry juice, “You drink this shit all day every day. The alcohol also kills those pesky critters. He don't need ta know why ya like yer drinks pink, you juss tell him it's cos yer a girl. It's none of his business anyhow, this is fer womenfolk ta know and they can just butt out.”
The more she drinks the heavier her accent gets, drawling like a cowgirl. Me, I've become an amoeba, I feel like I have a bad case of sunburn, my whole body is a mass of uncooperative jello, but I'm loving this girl time. They're nice and gossipy, and very informative.
I hold my ear again, the heat from the piercing giving me earache, “So why did they put t
his thing in my ear? How's that part of the purification?”
Amy waggles her finger at me, lurching forward in her chair, “It's in Deuteronomy. It's a law from god, we all had to get one, us gals that is, to show we're under our man's authority.”
“More like his possession, cos I read that passage and it says ya do it ta yer servant! Deuteronomy 15:17,” shouts Sue, over the encroaching din.
“Well we are, ain't no changing that fact. But we don't mind cos we have lots of money to spend on all the things we like,” says Natalie.
Celia bugs at me, “You make sure ya spend it. He'll let ya shop online and we're countin' on ya to show him how talented women are at spending. He's got the money honey, doncha feel bad about a single cent, you earned it. Are ya gonna come running with us tamorra? Afterward it's my turn ta host brunch, and I got caviar from Russia and champagne direct from France. It'll be fun, ya have'ta come.”
Amy pushes at her, “Don't be stupid, Celia. Look at the gal, she can't go running for at least a week, hon. She needs rest.”
Sue nods, “Exactly, so why are we still here keeping this girl from shuteye? We have plenty of time to get to know her when she's recovered.”
Celia looks resolved and intense, “Now remember, Candy, heart, love, sex. Say it again with me.”
Slurring myself now, we chant together as a chorus,
“H - hold
E - embrace
A - appreciate
R - respect
T – trust
L – lust and
O - obedience
V - vivify
E – emotion
S - submit
E - excite
X – xtasy.”
“That's right! You let him into your heart, he lets you into his, you love him, and he loves ya, and sex is for everyone ta have fun. There's bonuses ta being here, lots of great perks, we don't have'ta worry about crime, we can sleep with the doors and winda's open, we have our own park, social club, law enforcement, medical folk, you'll see it's dandy! We're lucky ta be here, and anyhow the sex is mighty fine. Once ya get over the first two weeks you'll see, it's safe, the folks are awful nice, and now ya have us.” She leans in to whisper in my ear, “Accept the jewelry, one day ya might leave, and it's the only money you'll have ta barter with, hear?”