by Poppet
Pressing the mic on, I tell them, “Assemble at your doors. Take your bible with you.”
3, 9, 14, 19, 66, and 67 get up, standing at their doors.
“I'm opening your doors, all of you take the stairs up.”
Buzzing their doors, disengaging lockdown, I rush to my door, snagging the SIG, locking up behind me.
Putting my phone to my ear, I call Luke.
“John, my man, whazzup?”
Strolling down the stairs to meet them, I say, “Luke, you have that pizzeria. I can't order through normal channels because then the public will know what I've got going here. I want to reward my flock, can you send through seven large pizzas with all the trimmings? And a dozen cokes?”
“Shoowah thing. I'll get the girls to make them now. I'll send my son over with them soon as they're ready.”
“Thanks Luke. And get him to call my cell when he's here. I don't answer the door to anyone who doesn't announce it through the right channels.”
“Gotcha. See you brother John. May Alpha bless your endeavors.”
“And yours,” I smile, seeing my motley crew straggling toward me.
Disconnecting, my SIG ready in my hand, I wave them forward with it, “Walk ahead of me.”
It doesn't have a safety, and that suits me just fine.
Four men and three women follow my order, walking ahead of me to the survivors suites.
“Halt,” I order.
They stop, turning to face me the way a school of fish moves in unison.
“66, take the end door. 67, the next one, 19, 14, 9 and 3, take the remaining rooms.”
They mill to hover in front of the safe doors, which stand ajar.
Smiling, almost cheerful with today's achievements, I tell them, “The lord your God has decided to reward you for your allegiance to him. He only rewards the faithful and true. Open your doors.”
Nine struggles to open her door and Evan moves out of line to assist her.
He truly is meant to be an Omega. He exhibits the leadership qualities I need in a number two. A wing man will be a blessing.
The redhead is impressive, she doesn't make eye contact with him, she just mumbles thank you to the floor.
“Look inside,” I urge, smiling because they are going to be delighted with the futon mattresses, the fleece blankets, and the en-suite shower and toilet. This time they even have towels. God truly has been generous to them. If he hadn't prepared this they'd have stayed in the state of humble I prefer them to embrace.
Andrew and Jerry come back to their doors, both smiling, saying praise the lord.
Evan whoops a loud hallelujah, but the women remain silent.
Good, God doesn't give a shit what they think anyhow.
“Come back to your doors,” I command.
Six redeemed sinners face me instantly.
“I have ordered pizza and cokes to reward you for making the right decision today. I am the Angel of Death, and I will no longer permit sinners to live in my house. If the satans in them have taken root too deeply, then I must do my duty. You, however, have renounced Satan, ya'll make me exceptionally proud. Go into your rooms, shut and lock the door behind you, enjoy your hot showers, and I'll bring your dinner when it gets here.”
“Hot water!” whoops Jeremiah, and I stare at the short man, pleased with his ability to renounce sin. I did not like his satan one bit.
“Lock your doors,” I snap, getting impatient, needing to get back to the swine who requires curing.
They vanish inside, closing their doors.
Evan moves out of his doorway, shoving the door closed for number 9, moving back to his, giving me a nod of acknowledgement, and slamming his shut.
Moving down the line I spin their dials, then sprint back up the stairs to my suite above them. I'm getting a boner just thinking about that petite whore aching to receive the holy spirit.
~ Chapter 20 ~
Sprinkle me with the cleansing blood and I shall be
clean again. Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
And after You have punished me, give me back my joy again.
~ Psalm 51:7
Brandi:
I'm waiting, poised on the couch in all my glory, clammy from the shower, and pink like he said. The door flings wide and mister tall and divine walks in, filling the threshold with that V of wide shoulder to narrow waist like some kinda god.
He pauses, giving me a broody stare, his eyes screwing up, his lips compressing, then he adjusts the denim around his groin, and I just know he's about ta come over here and introduce me ta his hard cock.
Yay!
Slamming the door, dropping a gun in the top drawer of the desk at the door, he pulls his t-shirt off, discarding it, rotating his head and shoulders like he's tense.
Well dayam, that's some fine man candy right there.
He doesn't say anything, he just stalks over to me, snatches my wrist in strong hard fingers, and yanks me up. Dragging me behind him, he bends me over a half barrel, tying my hands to the posts in front, then my ankles to the posts behind.
“I thought cha was gonna make me dress up?” I ask, gettin' real turned on by this kinky hanky-panky.
“Are you flirting with me?” he snaps, all business, mister hawt and unimpressed.
I mean come on, I'm buck naked and he isn't even fingerin' me. Nudda.
“Uh, yeah. I guess you could say that. If waitin' for you in nothin' but my birthday suit is flirtin', then I sure am sugar,” I smile up at him, hating the way the blood is rushing to my head.
“They are always flirting ... But I will punish them - I will shave their heads and leave them bald - Isaiah 3:16,” he says, giving me one dang evil smile.
He's like an angel when he smiles. He could be famous, or a movie star or some such. He's not what I'm used ta at all.
Then his riddle kinda sinks in.
“Uh? What?”
Am I hearin' right? Did he just say he was gonna shave my hair off? Is he fucking insane?
Staring at the red lines across a muscular back when he steps around the couch, grabbing one of those buzz shavers off the floor, he comes back ta me, plugging it in the socket right by mah head.
“What the hell are you doin'!?” I squeal, wishing I hadn't let him tie me down.
“I'm teaching you not to flirt. It's immoral.”
I lose the rest of his words when the shaver switches on and vibrations buzz against my head, and my only view with his firm hand on my head are his boots and my hair fallin' ta the floor.
“Fuck! Preacher!!”
He stops the buzz, saying through a laugh, “Do you have a safe word?”
“No! I ain't nevah done this before.”
“Your safe word will be, repent.”
“No!” I squeal, not likin' that one bit.
The buzz continues until my head feels cold and I have tears at the sight of all my hair on the floor.
He moves away, unplugging it and takin' it with him, answering his phone and leavin' me tied up while he goes through the door and away.
“Doncha just leave me here! Untie me!”
There's no answer, just silence.
It's a long time before he comes back, sitting down on his couch, kickin' his boots off and leaning back with a beer and a pizza, liftin' a remote and filling the room with music.
“Hey!” I call ta him. “Didja forget about me?”
He turns the music up, ignoring me, eating his pizza and drinkin'.
What a prick!
I'm getting' cold. And I ain't horny no more.
Every so often I look his way, but it's like he's forgotten about me. Eventually I glance his way to see him staring at me.
“What?” I snap, getting mighty annoyed with this fella.
“Are you a God fearing girl?”
“Yes sir, I sure am,” I say, my voice sounding all funny with my ears ringing from my head being down so long.
“Then why do you dress like a hooker, flirt, and de
secrate the temple?”
“What?” I mumble, wonderin' just what's chewin' his ass a new one.
“Do you want me to purify you? Would you like that, little swine?”
“Huh?” I don't know what he's sayin'.
Standing, he unzips his jeans, posing with his arms out, flaring his lats and rippling that insane stomach, “Do you want this?”
“That's like askin' do I like air.”
Is this boy just plain stupid? Why else would I fuckin' be here?
He laughs, strolling closer until he's right at my face with his crotch.
“Open your mouth and swallow life.”
So he gets foreplay and I don't? Do all subs go through this shit?
He yanks on my ears, shoving a rigid cock at my mouth, hissing, “If you resist in any way, I'll cut your mouth and clamp it open permanently. You will do as you're told.”
I can't answer, I can't fuckin' breathe!
How the hell am I supposed to use my safeword like this?
•
66: Evan:
I haven't seen a toilet in forever. I never thought I'd be so grateful to have porcelain to shit in. I've had a damn hole in the floor for an eternity.
Euphoric with the thermal insulation of the wool stuffed mattress and a fluffy covering, I play my role, and I fucking mean it this time.
I ain't praying to that fucked up dipshit, I'm praying to the real god. If there ever was one.
“Father, thank you for these blessings. Thank you!”
Getting off my knees, my belly full, my heart lighter than it's been in months, a glimmer of hope flicks to life inside the darkness of my soul.
Hope is a precious thing. Who knows, I might just get to stare out a window again one day.
Curling up, laying my head, I snuggle, relishing the soft pile cradling my skin.
•
The Watcher Watches:
Sitting back, staring at the screens from every sin-agogue , I watch the false prophet. He is a different man. Perhaps John was right. We only needed to ordain him with a virgin and he found redemption.
I am pleased with him. I am pleased with John. And I am exceptionally pleased with James.
•
Preacher John:
My phone ringing wakes me, and I roll, snatching it off the nightstand, “Yes?”
Palming my head, rubbing it sleepily, I snap up when God says, “Anoki John. There is a gathering. You must come.”
“Yes father. Where, why?”
“Go to Mark's barn, out on the ranch. It is time for the Angel of Death to do my work.”
“Yes father.”
“Now, John. Get up, and walk.”
I hang up when he disconnects, flicking the light-switch and staring at the time. It's 6 a.m. I took manna with the flock last night, after Evan had a divine revelation without the wafer of communion.
He's truly filled with the holy spirit now, and it excites me.
Sighing, I swing my legs, planting my feet on the carpet. Standing I move to the closet, selecting a new set of disciple leathers. We have many, we need them. Suiting up, I move into the lounge, staring at the bleeding whore on her throne of shame.
I have a few minutes to spare. I'll forego the coffee and bless her with my morning glory. God naturally wakes men bursting with the holy spirit, pumped up and erect, forcing us to start our day in holy communion by worshipping inside the temple created for us. It is good, it is right. Unzipping, hooking my dick out, I give it a few strokes, staring at that hole. She tore last night. I like it when they tear.
Strolling to her head which sags down, purple from the angle, I pump harder, laughing when jizz splats her eye and cheek, oozing down her face, snapping her awake.
“Rise and shine little sinner, your angel has come to deliver you with morning mass.”
She gurgles behind the gag, her eyes wide and terrified.
It always fills sinners with fear when they're faced with the repercussions of their actions. I am always reminded of God's words in Ezekiel 20:33: I warn you that in my anger I will rule over you with a strong hand, with all my power. Isaiah 48:22 There is no safety for sinners.
“Repent, and I'll spare your life,” I smile, slapping her ass so hard her spine flexes, deepening the dimples in her lower back.
There is something exceptionally captivating about the female form. It's not just the curves, the softness, or the expanse of smooth supple skin... it's addictive, it awakens the urge in men to sanctify their temples. God made them alluring so men would always redeem them, without it being a sufferance.
He's so perfect. I think I love him more than Julie.
Moving to the perfect tush, I spit on the savaged channel of sin, lubricating it, sliding into silky heat. I am the key which fits every lock, sent by God to purify, filling her with the holy spirit when I release fertile blessings. It's a baptism of sorts, one reserved for the devout because it is meaningless when committed without faith.
It takes it out of me. All this blessing gets exhausting. But then no one said doing God's bidding was an easy road. No, it is the one with the most trials and endless tests of devotion.
Happy with my work, I pull out, my heart racing and a heat pocketing inside my leathers, inhaling the redolence of my duty.
Zipping up, ready to go, I shove my hood in my pocket, when I spy the pliers. Snatching them up, I return to the swine, whispering into her swollen ear, “God does not permit the defacing of his temple with vanity. You are a temple, and yet you have painted your nails without his blessing or permission.”
Her fingers are blue from the zip-ties around her wrists, securing her. Chuckling, I lift her pinkie, clamping the flat edge of the pliers on the long nail, ripping it off the nail-bed.
She shrieks hysterically, probably unable to hear me say, “When I get back, you'd best be ready to atone for your sins, or I'll rip them all out.”
Slamming and locking my door, I stare at the lower level, at the doors, wondering if I have to feed them before I go.
I have no clue how long I'll be gone.
“Now John!” bellows through my own intercom system.
“Yes Alpha,” I nod, turning away from my flock and speeding down the stairs to my truck.
Hopping in after securing every door, setting the alarm and fail-safes, and sending twice the voltage to the outside fence and razor-wire, I start the engine, humming happily that I am one of the few people walking this earth who will spend an eternity in heaven.
There are so many sinners, but I have time on my side.
~ Chapter 21 ~
When the day came for the heavenly beings to appear before
the Lord, Satan was there among them
~ Job 1:6
Preacher John:
Pulling up at the barn, unsure of what awaits me inside, I yank my hood on, check the clip on the SIG, have the small Chinese version of a Tazer in my jacket pocket, and a body built to destroy sinners.
Inhaling crisp and dewy air I glance surveillance left and right, counting the parked vehicles, then head toward the side entrance.
What the hell is going on?
It's Sunday morning, before dawn, something big is going down. Stepping into the vestibule, God is waiting for me in his leathers, sans hood.
Frowning, I drop to a kneel, bending right over and kissing his right foot. “Father.”
“Arise, anoki.”
Standing swiftly, my muscles are already aching with stress, pumping out, ready for war.
“Follow me,” he says in a lethal tone, taking me down the side passage and into the underground chamber. Striding to the throne, he sits on it, relaxing his body but his face remains severe. “John, I have a revelation.”
Standing akimbo, I fold my arms, staying silent, listening to my commander. Showing him the utmost respect.
“You know my son Seth, that he's a doctor and worked to find sinners of vanity with Victor, through cosmetic surgery?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“When Seth came home with Shauna, as was my command, he started a new practice, and I simply assumed he continued where he left off.”
“Yes father,” I mumble, watching his fingers clamp into a fist, and release, and clench, and release.
He's almightily pissed off.
“He has been taking my children. Every life belongs to me, and the little infidel has an abortion clinic right under my fucking nose! While living in my compound!”
I'm speechless. I don't even know what to say to that.
“John, you are the angel of death. Seth is on trial here today. I will test him, I will test his allegiance, and if I do not approve of his logic as being sound and with my best interests at heart, then it will be your duty to destroy him.”
Bowing my head respectfully, I mutter, “Yes Alpha.”
He can't do this to me! Have me murder both his sons? Doesn't he know what it's like to murder your childhood brethren? We share blood, tears, tribulations, and chicks. He's telling me to smite a man I love as much as I love myself.
He stands, striding to me, his tension palpable, clamping a heavy hand on my shoulder and patting it once, “You are a good son.”
He strides out and I have no choice but to follow him.
My heart is heavier than a meteorite, cold sweat already running down my arms.
Why Seth? Why!
Walking into the assembly hall in the converted barn, the guise has served us well. No one comes out this far looking for hick farmers. Fields of wheat surround it, this is the place where the dead come to wail their final screams. We only come here when the slaughter will last hours, the screaming and suffering will be enough to slice our minds. We'll leave here feeling sick and broken, but the sinner will know the meaning of the word retribution, and be damned to Sheol.
My brethren block escape, with Shauna sitting in the chair at the front, next to God's. My fellow disciples, the angels of the Lord, stand in a half circle, the lost sheep is in the middle, looking pale and worried.
I hope he had a chance to heal Julie before being sentenced this morning.
