by Anton Palmer
With every ounce of her soul she finally let out a scream. No sound came - her terror-struck vocal cords falling prey to the same numbing paralysis as her arms and legs. As she lay, unable to move, unable to shout, the demon climbed onto the end of her bed and placed its hands on her ankles. Victoria gave a strangled gasp as the heat from its fingers immediately reddened her skin, a barely audible squeak escaping her lips as the beast pulled hard on her legs, dragging her down the mattress until she lay flat on her back.
Victoria knew instinctively what the demon was here for. She could sense its desire - the stench of its foul lust hung thick in the air. She knew it had come to take her. To rob her of her purity. To defile her. As if sensing her thoughts and wanting to leave her in no doubt about its intentions, the beast leaned back, thrusting its huge, erect, dripping penis towards the terrified teenager.
Victoria’s eyes widened with fear as the beast inhaled a deep breath, its broad, muscular chest expanding, the creature’s physical presence suddenly seeming to occupy even more of the small bedroom. With thick, glutinous streams of saliva dripping from its dark lips it leered at her, enjoying the pure terror in her eyes, yet acutely aware of the musky scent of her arousal. Pushing her trembling legs apart, the creature slid up between them, flicking and thrusting its snake-like tongue deep into her innocent, virgin heat.
Victoria whimpered, staring at the picture of Christ that hung on her wall, pleading for him to save her from this demon. As she prayed, over and over in her mind, she felt her face begin to burn with shame, and tears fall from her eyes, as desire filled her body. She prayed harder, trying to clench the muscles in her thighs, fighting the increasingly irresistible urge to spread her legs further apart to allow this fetid creature even deeper access to her innermost parts as its hot tongue ignited pleasures she had never imagined possible.
This is wrong!
This is a sin!
Sex outside of marriage is a sin!
Sex for pleasure is a sin!
It didn’t matter how many times she said it, how many ways she phrased it, she couldn’t deny the truth. And even if she did, the wetness gushing from between her splayed thighs and soaking into the mattress was far beyond denying.
The beast suddenly lifted its head, drool pouring from its tongue. It grabbed her hips, raising her lower body and aligning his rampant member with her dripping wet hole. Victoria felt faint, nauseated, as the heat of its glans touched her delicate lips.
Oh please, Lord, no!
It wants to penetrate me!
Please, almighty God, please don’t let it!
It will hurt…sex for women hurts!
Her father had told her repeatedly, sex is painful for women. It was God’s way of stopping women having sex just for pleasure. The Lord had created sex purely and solely for procreation.
Victoria had questioned her father – if sex was so painful for women, why did other girls have sex ‘just for pleasure’?
“Because they are dirty bitches!” he screamed at her, “Wanton sluts! Filthy, disease-ridden whores! Those foul animals are so consumed by their sinful desires that they are willing to endure the pain, just so their men will keep buying pretty things for them – dresses…and jewellery. Filthy, disgusting whores!”
Victoria tried to close her legs, felt the muscles inside her begin to clench and tremble as she fought to keep the creature out. But it was too strong. It thrust hard and deep and she screamed aloud, the sound bouncing off the walls of her bedroom. Her eyes suddenly widened with shock as the echoes of her cries returned to her, and she heard, not a scream of terror or pain, but an animal-like howl of pleasure – a wailing cry of pure lust.
Even as the realisation hit her, her legs were already wrapping themselves around the demon’s back, dragging it closer to her, forcing him to take her deeper still.
***
“Victoria!”
She thought she heard her name being called. Distant. Far away. But she was too lost in her pleasure to pay it much heed.
“Victoria!”
As she felt her first orgasm approaching, the demon began to fade, the sensations from his thick shaft dissipating at the same time. She opened her eyes, just as her father burst into her bedroom.
“Victoria, are you alright…” he sniffed the air, his face suddenly wrinkling with disgust. “Oh no…not you as well. Not my only daughter whom I have brought up in the ways of the Lord?”
Victoria stared at her father, confusion in her eyes. He stepped towards her, bending his face to her bed, inhaling another deep breath.
“I can smell it. I can smell your…lust!”
He reached between her thighs and ran a hand over her slippery sex. Bringing the hand up to his face, he slowly rotated it, watching the light that shone through the open bedroom door as it glistened on his wet fingers. He sniffed at the slick digits before wiping them on his dressing-gown, his face now a scarlet mask of rage.
“Just like some dirty slut! Just like your…Mother!”
Victoria pulled her nightdress down and tried to climb back under her blankets.
“Get up, Slut!” Her father grabbed her arm and pulled her, screaming, out of her bed and onto the floor. He yanked hard on her wrist, hauling her to her feet, “Get up, Whore!” He dragged her out of her bedroom, across the landing and into the bathroom. Victoria stood helpless as her father ripped her nightdress from her, leaving her naked and exposed. Turning the temperature dial to cold he ordered his daughter into the shower cubicle, and as she shivered under the freezing water, attempting to cover her modesty, he told her to wait.
Victoria trembled under the icy stream as she waited for her father to return. Fear flooded her brain, her mind contemplating what he would do to punish her for her sins.
And she had sinned.
She couldn’t deny that fact. It may have only been a dream, but while the rest of her body shivered under the freezing blast of the shower, her most intimate area still throbbed with the heat of her desire.
Her father returned a few minutes later, a wire brush held aloft in his outstretched hand. Victoria had seen him use it recently to scour the rust off the iron gate at the side of the house. Her father handed the brush to her and she looked at him, her face blank.
“Scrub it.”
Victoria continued to stare at her father.
“Scrub it!” He pointed between her legs. “Scrub it clean. Scrub the lust away, you filthy, disgusting, bitch!”
Victoria grabbed the brush by its wooden handle and rubbed her fingers across its metal bristles – stiff, sharp - brown traces of rust visible on the tips. She looked at her father again, tears filling her eyes. He stared back at her impassively, his face red and sweaty, the vein at his temple pulsing wildly.
“Scrub it!”
Victoria scraped the brush lightly over her labia, wincing as the gentle strokes scratched and scraped her.
“Harder, bitch!”
Sobbing loudly, Victoria did as her father commanded, brushing herself as hard as she could bear.
“Give it to me. Let me do it!”
Her father snatched the brush from her hand. He pressed hard between her thighs, much harder than she had done, and rubbed the steel bristles up and down, his pressure parting her outer lips, scouring the more tender areas within.
Victoria cried louder as blood began to drip from between her legs, staining the pool of cold water in the cubicle tray a rusty-red. Her father cleansed her for several more minutes before grabbing the shower head and washing the blood away from her raw, swollen genitals.
Turning the water off, he threw a towel at her. “Get yourself dried and get back to bed. We will not speak of this again.” He turned and walked out of the bathroom leaving his daughter, crying, shivering and bleeding.
5
The dress was too short.
Victoria had quickly popped to the shops after work to buy an outfit to wear to the party. The garment she had picked covered her breasts well enough �
� not a hint of cleavage – but now that she looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror, it was quite tight across her bust, emphasising her assets rather than hiding them. It also showed far too much leg.
Didn’t it?
She pulled a chair in front of the tall mirror and sat down, studying her reflection. The dress stopped a good six inches above her knees.
Was it too short?
There was no thigh on show – even when she was sitting.
It was fine! She was being over critical.
With the dress being given the thumbs-up she sat on the floor in front of the mirror to apply the lip-stick she had also bought that afternoon.
It was red – but a rusty-brown shade. Bright red was the colour of sin. Sluts wore bright red. She had deliberately chosen a more subtle shade. Applying the make-up as best she could, as she had often seen women at work do it, she smacked her lips together and studied her reflection. She was shocked at the difference just a small application of make-up had made to her face. Her lips looked fuller, plumper, with a silky sheen.
She liked her new look. She felt suddenly more alive, more feminine…more…desirable.
She gasped out loud, her heart suddenly pounding in her throat as that word – desirable – and all its connotations, burned in her mind. A burst of hot excitement filled her belly, like a million fiery butterflies swarming inside her. Her head swam with the awareness that she had made herself an object of desire, of lust – of sin. And that she was enjoying it!
Her mind was torn, her head physically hurting with the torment of attempting to reconcile her life-long held beliefs with this new realisation…
“Take it off, you slut!”
Her breath froze in her lungs at the sound of the voice, the butterflies in her belly instantly turning to ice.
“Take it off, you painted whore!”
“I’m sorry, Father. I just wanted to see what it would look like…”
“Well now you’ve seen. You’ve seen that the moment you put that filth on your face you let the Devil inside you. You felt the heat of his wickedness burning in your blood, didn’t you, child?”
“Yes, Father…”
“You know what you have to do now. Go down to the basement and seek the Lord’s forgiveness.”
“Yes, Father.”
Victoria plodded slowly to the bathroom, tears falling from her eyes. As she grabbed a wad of toilet paper to wipe her lips clean, she heard the doorbell ring. After swiftly rubbing her mouth with the paper she gave her face a quick wash with a cold damp flannel, freshening up her puffy eyes, before answering the front door.
Mandy stepped across the threshold without waiting for an invitation, keen to see what Victoria’s home was like, and pressed on into the living room. Despite the fact that she knew her colleague had no TV, the sight of a living room devoid of such a device still caught her by surprise. Every living room she had ever been in had always been organised around a television set. Over the years the TV’s may have become larger - her own was a fifty inch plasma monstrosity (Mark’s choice) that dominated their small lounge – but living rooms up and down the country were always arranged so that the bright screen was the focal point. An altar at which all occupants of the rooms seemed to worship.
The furniture in Victoria’s living room was arranged so that the fireplace was the focal point, wooden shelves on either side containing hard-backed bibles and other religious books. On top of the stone mantelpiece sat a small wooden urn. Mandy picked it up, admiring its smooth, polished surface.
“What’s this, Vic? A trophy or something?”
Victoria hastily took the object from her colleague’s hands and placed it gently back on to the mantle, pausing with her head bowed for a moment before turning back to her friend.
“It’s my mother’s ashes.”
“Oh fu…I’m sorry Victoria. When did she…?”
“She died giving birth to me. I never knew her.”
Desperate to put the crushing awkwardness of the last few seconds behind her and remembering why it was she was actually here, Mandy turned to her colleague, taking stock of the dress she had chosen as a party outfit. It looked more suitable for a job interview, but Mandy knew Victoria didn’t get out much socially, and, keen to not offend her anymore, she just said, “New dress?”
Victoria looked down at herself for a second and frowned. “Is it alright?”
“It’s fine.” Mandy smiled, “Are you ready?”
Victoria suddenly felt herself getting hot and sweaty, nerves beginning to get the better of her. She felt like saying “No.” Saying she had changed her mind, wasn’t feeling well. She still had to go down to the basement – to seek God’s forgiveness. Perhaps she could do it later…
Would God mind if she went out first and did her penance when she got back?
“Come on then.” Victoria felt Mandy grab her by the arm and drag her towards the door. “We don’t want to miss the fun.” Despite the reservations tumbling over and over in her mind, she made no effort to resist.
***
The spacious bar of the Red Lion was populated by a couple of dozen people, quietly enjoying a drink. Some were playing pub games – darts and pool, others sat in small groups at various tables. A few individuals were perched on the tall wooden stools at the bar itself, staring, melancholic, into their glasses.
Victoria looked around the room, her nose wrinkling at the faint odour of stale beer, the hum of conversation mingled with occasional bursts of laughter filling her ears. She had never been in a bar before. She had always been led to believe they were all ‘dens of iniquity’, places of debauchery and sin. Scanning around, searching for familiar faces, she was alarmed that she couldn’t see anyone that she recognised and was suddenly nervous that Mandy had brought here under false pretences. Perhaps her colleague was one of those lesbians and secretly desired her, cooking up some story about a party in order to have a ‘date’ with her.
No. She was being ridiculous. Mandy had a boyfriend.
A sudden loud, but muffled cheer, erupted from elsewhere in the pub and Mandy grabbed her arm again, dragging her towards the bar. “The party’s in the back room. Let’s just get a drink first then we can go on in. What do you want?”
Victoria gazed in wonderment at the various bottles of alcoholic drinks behind the bar. A part of her desperately wanted to try some of them, but as she heard Mandy ordering a small white wine, she found herself asking for a glass of water.
“Water? Are you sure?”
Victoria looked again at the numerous alternatives, then nodded her head.
“And just a water please?” Mandy said to the barman.
“Tap, still or sparkling?” The barman directed his question at Victoria who stared at him, perplexed.
He let out an audible sigh. “Do you want fizzy bottled water, non-fizzy bottled water or just plain old water out of the tap?”
“Um, just tap water will be fine. Thanks.”
With drink in hand, Victoria followed Mandy across the room towards an off-white door at the far end. As Mandy opened it, the laughter from the back room spilled out into the bar, the other customers behind them looking in their direction momentarily before returning to their games and conversations.
There were maybe thirty of forty people in the back room. Victoria recognised some of the faces, but most were unknown to her. As the crowd in the room turned to look at the latest arrivals, she felt herself shrivel inside, her gut twisting tight. She wanted to turn tail and go home, but before she had any more chance to dwell on it, Mandy dragged her into the throng, the thick spring attached to the top of the door pulling it shut behind them.
6
“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you…”
Victoria rubbed her bleary eyes as she walked into the kitchen, clothed only in her long white nightdress, her father’s singing making her wish she’d stayed in bed a little longer.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Her father han
ded her a cup of tea and kissed her on the cheek. He motioned to the card and present that sat on the kitchen worktop.
Victoria took a couple of swallows of the hot drink before setting the cup down and picking up her card. The pink envelope simply stated, “Victoria.”
She opened the envelope carefully and slid out the card from inside. As she opened it, some money fell to the floor – two twenty-pound notes and a ten. Her father bent down to retrieve them as his daughter read the card.
Happy 18th Birthday to my beautiful daughter, Victoria. From your loving Father XXX
Victoria smiled at her father and gave him a hug, before taking another swig of her tea.
“Aren’t you going to open your present?” Her father seemed to be fidgeting, nervous.
She picked up the brightly wrapped gift, feeling its weight, before carefully peeling off the tape that held the wrapping paper in place. As the paper fell away it revealed a plain brown cardboard box. Victoria looked up at her father, surprised to see he was perspiring, the vein at his temple pulsating gently. She opened the lid of the box and peered inside.
She gasped, dropping the box back onto the worktop. Before opening the lid she hadn’t any idea of what her present might have been – but she certainly wasn’t expecting the thing she saw in the box.
“Take it out, Victoria.” Her father’s voice was stern and measured.
Feeling nauseous, scared, she reached a trembling hand into the box and slowly pulled the object out. The polished wooden handle was cold in her hand. She held the thing in front of her, studying it, fear etched on her face. Attached to the dark wooden handle were several lengths of rope, each half an inch thick and knotted at the ends.
“You know what it is, don’t you, Victoria?”
Victoria nodded her head slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. She had seen her father’s own version hanging from a peg in the basement, its ropes stained with the blood of many years of use. And she had seen him using it, flogging his own back until his skin was raw and bleeding, seeking to atone for his sins, punishing himself to please the Lord.