by Norman Wills
I’ll tell you no lies
Norman Wills
KINDLE VERSION
Copyright © 2014 Norman Wills
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PublishNation, London
www.publishnation.co.uk
For my Mum Sarah, simply for being my mum and keeping her sense of humour.
Foreword
Angels are thought, by some, to be immortal spiritual beings which act as intermediaries between God and humanity. In other words messengers from on high. Some people believe angels exist whilst others believe they are a figment of a weakened mind, an imagination far too easily influenced by what others say to be correct.
There are yet others who have never even considered the possibility that there might well be some ‘unknown’ force guarding us, something lurking in the shadows guiding us through life’s highs and lows. Something we don’t yet understand, assisting us to fulfil our final destiny in life, the very reason we were all put on this earth. That is, if in fact there ever was a reason, some pattern amongst all the chaos, some good amongst all the evil.
Have you ever wondered how many people on this little planet of ours believe they can communicate with their very own ‘guardian angels’? How many people do you know who are guided through their existence, making fundamental life-changing decisions because of what their guardian angel or angels suggest they do? How many are happy to accept the word of an entity that only they can see and communicate with, advising them on the correct path to follow, answering the most important questions a person can ask?
There are people who put all their trust in something they can’t even see, something very personal, known to them alone. Some of these people are household names, celebrities in their own right. I think you’d be surprised at how high the number is. You probably know somebody yourself with a guardian angel, maybe a friend, maybe a relative, maybe the person you stood behind at the checkout today. Maybe you have a guardian angel that you know and trust very well. If not it’s unlikely many people will ever tell you about their guardian angel. That is unless they feel totally comfortable in this cynical world we live in. Who knows, maybe they’ve been advised to keep a secret.
Of those people who believe they can communicate with their guardian angels, how many realise that the Devil is nothing more than a heavenly rebel, in fact, a fallen angel?
Not all of them…
If you are one of those people who don’t believe in guardian angels then don’t be put off, please read on, you might even enjoy the story I’ve written. If, however, you are one of those who truly believe they are in touch with their guardian angels and communicate with them on a regular basis then I strongly suggest you read on. You might even be able to relate to the story; but not all of it I hope! I don’t believe it’s going to change your life, but that’s up to you to find out for yourself.
As to whether I believe in Guardian angels? Well that’s a very personal question to ask, we hardly know each other…
So, ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.
Some things are best left unsaid. But if you don’t like the book don’t shoot me, after all…
I am only the messenger…
One
Yes, yes, yes, thank you God, thought Steve, this is actually going to happen.
Steve had let her talk him into being tied to the bed, but the truth of it was that he hadn’t taken much persuading; he’d practically offered himself up there and then thinking the lads wouldn’t believe him when he told them. The reaction would most likely be, “Lucy Kirkpatrick, you lucky bastard!” or more likely, “Lucy Kirkpatrick, You lying bastard!” He could imagine the lads cheering his exploits over a beer in the bar at the rugby club later, when he’d revel in telling them exactly what he’d got up to with Lucy. Would they ever believe him? Probably not, but at least he’d know the truth.
When he’d agreed to be tied up all he was thinking about was having his kinky little sex fantasy fulfilled, at last, after so many rejections. Not only that, it was with Lucy Kirkpatrick, and she was making all of the running. Okay, so in his fantasy he wasn’t the one being tied up, but he’d get his chance too, she’d promised. This must be a dream he thought, it has to be. Lucy suddenly reached under the pillow and brought out a gag. Smiling at him provocatively, she slipped the gag over his head and tightened it around his mouth. Steve was not overly concerned at this, whatever floats your boat Lucy he thought. There wasn’t much he could do about it now anyway he was in this for the excitement of the journey, he was just hoping as he looked at Lucy that he’d be able to make the journey a long and memorable one and not the quick drunken fumble it usually ends up being.
Ever the optimist, Steve offered up his usual quick prayer of thanks to the God of sex. This was a prayer collectively written over a few beers one night after training. He knew that seven of his mates were still in the habit of offering up the same prayer on a regular basis; the guys who had managed to remain single.
For this and every other beautiful liaison thou shall ever grant to me,
My heartfelt thanks and gratitude I offer up for free,
I ask only two things O lord in this my hour of need,
Let it be that all my women are a nice tight fit,
And please ensure my condoms never split,
Amen.
She got to work on him then. She quickly brought him to a full and, even Steve would have to admit it, glorious erection. In no time whatsoever he was stood up proud and ready for action so to speak. Steve was as ready as he’d ever been, Lucy was not going to disappoint in any way. After making sure Steve was well tied to the bed, leaning over him and giving him a brief taste of what he thought was to come Lucy reached under the bed and brought out a toolbox. Giving him her most seductive look yet she started taking the tools out of the box, one by one. She showed each one to Steve before lining them up on the end of the bed. These were not the sex toys Steve had imagined they would be when he saw the toolbox. She brought out a hammer first followed by pruning shears, saw, electric drill, heat gun, Stanley knife and chisel.
Steve was now more than a little concerned at his total lack of control, his inability to influence what was happening. But wasn’t that what she’d said being tied up was really all about? Losing control, “you’ve never felt anything like it until you’ve tried it”, those were her very words. So here he was giving it a go, no control, his life in Lucy’s hands. Lucy, the woman he knew well but had met for the first time that day.
He started to sweat, started to test the strength of the bindings that made him so vulnerable. Not to an extent that made him seem desperate, he hoped, but such that she thought he was playing along with the game. He wasn’t playing along with the game. He could take a joke as well as the next man. But this, come on! It just wasn’t funny any more. Wait until he found out who had set him up, he’d pay them back for this, with interest. He’d set many of his team members up before now. Not like this though, whoever had thought of this had done a really good job. This one would go down in rugby club history, very funny. He wanted to say “good one, you got me, really, can we stop now?” but he couldn’t he was bound and gagged he had no control at all.
The thought the
n struck him that none of his mates knew he was here, in fact, nobody knew he was here, only Lucy. His heart felt like it was going to give up on him, right there and then. Strangely enough though, even in a crazy situation like this, he was still fully aroused. Even with his total lack of control he was still standing proud, he was definitely still up for it. Lucy had been spot on. Sexually, he’d never felt anything like it. He just needed her to put the tools back in the box, point proven and they could screw each other’s brains out. When they finished whatever debauched sexual activity she had planned they could have a good laugh about her scaring the shit out of him and how he never lost his appetite for it. That was what he was hoping, praying for even. He’d forgive her everything for that. Please Lord let it be that, he said to himself.
When she picked up the pruning shears with a crazed look in her eyes Steve tried to scream but it was useless, Lucy was in control, screaming was pointless. Steve knew then that he was losing his cock, not yet though, and not because of excessive use. Quite the opposite, he wasn’t going to use it at all.
Lucy was in the room with Steve but there was somebody else in there with her as well as Steve. The person with the shears was Lucy Kirkpatrick, but Sally-Anne was guiding her, helping her fulfil what she’d set out to do. Sally-Anne was a different proposition altogether. Sally-Anne was about to float her boat in one of several of her favourite methods. Lucy was there taking advice as the game unfolded.
Before she’d finished with him all the tools had been used and what had been left tied to the bed didn’t look very much like Steve any more. His mother would have been hard pressed to recognise anything of the pulpy, slimy, stinking mess Lucy and Sally-Anne had made in that room as once ever having been her son.
Sally-Anne had been thorough in her advice; nobody could ever accuse her of being anything else. But then they wouldn’t ever get the chance to accuse her of anything, never mind being anything other than thorough. It was a strange relationship that existed between Lucy and Sally-Anne.
…
Come all you sinners,
Come one come all,
Like lambs to the slaughter,
Come live in my thrall.
Two
Most women when they saw Lucy looked at her with envy, they thought she was exceptionally beautiful and in reality she was. Most women are only too aware of what true beauty is. They all strive for it from the moment they reach puberty, no matter what hand they have been dealt regarding looks. But most women looking at Lucy would say it was actually possible to become too beautiful. To have too much of what everyone sought was like a sin in itself. It was like being obese as a prisoner in Auschwitz. She stood out.
At a fraction under six feet tall she was a natural blonde, she had big green eyes and a complexion so totally unblemished women would kill to look like her, but at the same time they just couldn’t find it in themselves to forgive her for looking that perfect. Nobody should be that gorgeous.
Admiration would, in a lot of cases, turn to jealousy and hatred but also occasionally into lust. The lust from another woman she could more than accept, even relish, especially when she saw what it did to the men around her. She didn’t enjoy the hatred though, but she thought she understood it. She knew people, especially men, were weak around her.
She had learned to live with the hatred since she’d been eleven years old, and let’s face it, girls at that age can be just a little less than forgiving and more than a little tactless when it comes to the “pretty” girls feelings. At twenty-two years old she was still coming across the same old prejudices only more subtle in their nature, disguised but never the less still there. She was a master at spotting it though; she’d lived with it for ten years.
Lucy Kirkpatrick had no such problems with the men who wanted to be part of her life, and there were men who would sell their souls to get their hands on Lucy, or more accurately all over her, even for one night of passion. Perhaps if they really knew her they would feel differently; but men didn’t care about getting to know her well. The men who wanted to be part of Lucy’s life had only one thing on their minds, and a long-term relationship did not figure high on their lists of priorities. When it came to Lucy she was seen as too high maintenance. She was like a Ferrari; most people could never even dream of owning one, they probably couldn’t even afford to service it, but just to drive one once would be one of life’s ambitions fulfilled, something to tick off their bucket list. Lucy figured high on many men’s bucket lists. She was definitely something they wanted to ‘do’ before they died.
Had they understood her sinister side, the side of her that had had to deal with other people’s jealousy and ignorance for the last ten years they would probably have taken a big step back; they would have allowed themselves time to reconsider their position, or just turned around and run like hell.
The testosterone levels that Lucy was capable of producing in the men around her rarely allowed those men to see beyond the exterior beauty into Lucy’s soul. A soul which had they been able to see it, they would have realised was a very dark place indeed.
Unlike a lot of women in this world, unless you knew her well and she knew you well, Lucy’s beauty rarely went any deeper than skin deep. Unfortunately for a lot of women, most men, when they look at the ladies they encounter in life rarely try to see beyond the twelve square feet of epidermis. The first thing they set eyes upon is the first thing they want to set hands upon. First impressions aren’t always right, when it comes to girls like Lucy gut instinct should be to the fore, but rarely is.
Three
Lucy’s life had been on the whole good up to the age of eleven. Nothing spectacular, nothing out of the ordinary just a good, solid, and for the most part happy, family life spent in Aldershot with the people she loved most and the friends she’d made during the first eleven years of her life.
Lucy’s brother John was seven years older than Lucy. She loved having an older brother. He made her feel safe and special. John spent a lot of time with Lucy; he made a real effort to bridge the age gap where some older brothers wouldn’t have had the patience at his age. And he loved her, as an older brother should love and guard his younger sister.
Lucy’s life started to change for the worse when John told her he had been accepted on to a photography course in Bristol. It meant, just like many of his friends he would have to leave home that summer, take his first steps on the road to a life less ordinary. Lucy was devastated, she felt like her best friend was leaving. In fact it was her best friend who was leaving. She felt real sadness for the first time in her life. Life was changing and she thought it would never be the same again. Had she known what was going to happen over the next two months she would have been happy to accept John leaving home if it meant her world could keep some semblance of how it had been for the first eleven happy years so far.
David, Lucy’s father and sole provider within the family had a good job; he worked hard within the pharmaceutical industry and provided more than adequately for his family’s needs. Sometimes this isn’t enough though and people want more. David wanted more; he wanted to achieve more, earn more, give his wife and kids a better future. Call it what you like, ambition, greed, ego gone mad, but as far as David was concerned he was stuck in a rut and needed to get out of it, move on.
David had felt like this for some time before talking it through with his wife and mother of his children, Marie. After several weeks of lengthy discussions and soul searching on both their parts it was agreed that David should apply for the general manager position at his current employer’s Manchester site. He’d been told about the position and ‘advised’ that he stood a good chance. Aldershot to Manchester would be a big move but both he and Marie felt it was an opportune moment, what with John going to college and Lucy changing school after the summer break anyway. They knew it wouldn’t be easy, especially for Lucy, but she would understand eventually that it had all been for the best.
No one took the time to consult Lucy
on any of this until the decision was made, the interview taken and the job accepted. When Lucy was told that they were moving to Manchester as well as John moving to Bristol she felt as though she would never smile again, and for a long time she didn’t.
The decision for David was easy, he was a Northern lad, born and bred. Getting back to his roots would be a good move. He had no family to speak of in or around Manchester, and in fact he only had one brother and a nephew who had emigrated to New Zealand five years earlier, they very rarely spoke these days. He wasn’t tied to a location by family but liked the idea of moving ‘back home’.
It was the way people spoke their minds up North that he missed, not having to dance around a conversation to get where he wanted for fear of offending someone, especially where no offence had been intended. He knew Manchester was somewhere he could call a spade a spade without fear of hurting someone’s feelings; and if he needed to call it a big mother fucking spade then so much the better for doing it in Manchester.
Starting a new school isn’t easy, even when you are surrounded by your friends or at the very least some of the people you’d known from your previous school, some sort of continuation. Lucy would have none of this when she moved to Manchester. David’s decision to apply for and accept the new job had been made in quick succession in order that Lucy could start her new school with the least amount of disruption to her education.
Lucy didn’t see it that way though. John had left home, she’d lost her big brother, or so it felt, the one person whom she felt she really understood and who really understood her. She’d lost all her friends; some would telephone sometimes to talk about their new school and new friends but this didn’t continue for very long. It’s hard to continue a friendship at that age from over two hundred miles away. The move was done with the least amount of disruption to her education, maybe, but what about her life?