Page 54 of Of Heathens & Havoc

“No,” Saint snaps, swiping the bottle. He drinks and then lets the mask fall back into place. My lips tremble around the beads, and I have to swallow past the slimy ache in my throat with effort. I know they can see, can tell I’m choking on my tears even if they haven’t fallen from my eyes yet. I wish they’d let me see their faces, that I could read my brother’s expression, see if he looks at me with disgust or desire, hunger or hatred. I want to see the gentle reassurance in Angel’s eyes again, to know I didn’t imagine it, but he’s too far away now, taking another drink of wine as they stand over me.

The only face I can see is the maniacal, eager face of the heathen among them, who looks feral at the sight of me bound and helpless to stop the corrupting revenge he might seek upon my untouched flesh.

“What do you think the Master will say?” Angel asks after a minute. “Think we did good?”

“We did fine,” Heath says. “But she’s fuckin weird now. The way she talks, those stupid shoes and clothes, the underwear… She looks like a nun. I’m surprised there wasn’t a chastity belt under there.”

“Too bad there wasn’t,” Saint grumbles.

“Look, even her pussy looks uptight,” Heath says, elbowing Angel in the ribs.

“Looks good to me,” Angel says, taking a drink of wine and licking his lips as he looks down between my legs. My thighs clench involuntarily, but I can’t move my knees more than a few inches towards each other.

“Nah, man, it’s like it shrank instead of swelling up all nice and plump the way I like,” Heath says, taking the bottle back.

“It’s cute,” Angel says. “I bet it’s tight too. Look like how small it is.”

“Does she even have lips? Where’s the rest of it? I like those big old meat curtains I can get lost in.”

“Maybe she’s got them tucked in.”

“In what?” Heath asks. “Those tiny baby lips couldn’t hold anything in. I bet it’s just a slit in her skin with a hole inside. Like a frog or a chicken or some shit.”

“It’s a cunt,” Saint says bluntly. “Who cares what it looks like? As long as you can rip a hole in it, you can fuck it.”

Heath rocks back on his heels. “I’m naming it McGonagall.”

“You’re fucking weird,” Saint snaps.

“It is small,” Angel agrees, peering down between my legs. “Do you think there’s even room for a clit in there?”

“I can’t tell,” Heath says, stepping forward and leaning down, resting his hands on his knees to inspect me closer.

“No,” I beg, my voice garbled by the rosary. “Please don’t look at me.” I shake my head back and forth so he’ll know, evenif he can’t understand my words. I don’t want them to look, because then they’ll know. They’ll know that even being here, with them looking and not touching, when I should be shaking with terror, is making a different set of sensations roll through my body that has me squirming to do more than close my legs.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Heath asks with an unhinged grin.

“Don’t be shy,” Angel says, leaning down next to my tormentor. “Everyone likes to be admired. Let us see it get all red and juicy like it was on HAVOC night.”

I squeeze my eyes closed against the hot tears and silently pray.

“Are you sure that was her?” Saint asks. “Maybe the Master switched her out on the way back to the altar. No way that uptight little cunt squirted us in the face.”

Forgive me, Father…

“One way to find out,” Angel says, reaching out. My thighs clench so hard I feel my knee pop, but the beads on my ankles hold fast, digging into my skin.

For I have sinned…

Angel’s fingers make contact, and I gasp so loud the cross in my mouth nearly chokes me. He casually spreads my lips, his clinical observation making my skin prickle with heat and wetness.

Forgive me…

“Damn,” Heath says, palming himself through his black robe.

“Mmm,” Angel says through a groan. “I’m going to suck that pussy until she squirts in my mouth this time.”

Forgive—

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