by Ed Bemand
Afterwards, when she checked the clock in the kitchen she realised that he had spent at least two hours with her. In the moments it had seemed a fleeting eternity.
She serviced one more client that night. The moment lacked the fire of her first encounter and her later recollections of it were much more scattered but she finished her shift richer and eager to return to the house for more.
He had insisted that she kneel down before him and told her to suck his cock, which he presented large but flaccid too her. She had little prior experience of the method of this finest of feminine arts and perhaps it is because of the irritation that her hesitance caused him that he placed his hands on the back of her head and guided her closer, so that his member was engulfed by her mouth.
She knew little enough of normal practises to be unaware that many in her position of exercising this skill for money would have insisted that his cock be enclosed in latex, and was eager enough to please that she did not protest as he proceeded to force himself deeper into her mouth, even as the motion of his hips and the grip on the back of her head reduced her to but a mere orifice, a receptacle for his motions and in turn, the consumption of his seed. She couldn't help but gag on him as he took her, but he didn't seem to mind and she was past having any ability or intention to protest what he was doing to her. If an orifice was what he wanted of her then it was what she was happy to provide for him.
Juliette found that she was able to derive great pleasure from the adaption of herself to best reflect the cravings of her partner of the moment. Letting herself be whoever they needed her to be allowed her to assume the desires of that identity. She could gain more pleasure from the fulfilment of urges that originate outside of herself than she had ever been able to before with those who expected her to be who she really was.
As she became more experienced and comfortable, she found the ability to service more diverse needs. She even learned to appreciate the sensations of being the one in control, at least to a limited extent, but she needed a man that could express himself clearly. If a man wanted her to be a stern dominatrix that would torture and violate him, he had to ask her to do it. The idea of penetrating a man’s anus with a dildo simply never occurred to her, but when bade to do so it became natural and even erotic to her.
She worked at least a couple of shifts a week for the next three years. She was never the most popular girl there, but nor was she the prettiest and those that sought someone who could be vocal and assertive in their debauches were better looking elsewhere. She remained reluctant to adopt the robe and lingerie uniform of the other girls, instead continuing to dress much as she had on her first meeting with Melinda and her first shift there. She became very popular with a few of the clients and was often requested by those who understood her demeanour and proclivities. Most of the other girls only talked about their work in veiled terms, and took offence at the direct description of what they did. Juliette found it immensely pleasing when her clients called her a whore when she was with them. Somehow it made her feel powerful and charged with sexual potency.
She never offered her clients affection, it never even occurred to her that some might seek it. She placed herself at their disposal and allowed them to use her as they wanted. What more could they desire? She gathered from the other girls that some of them were much more clear and specific with their clients about what they required, but she never was. Eventually she learned that Melinda spoke discretely to those clients who expressed an interest in her, explaining what was on offer and clarifying the rates. Apparently it added to her allure in some peculiar way.
Later, when she had moved on from such work and had settled into a duller, less satisfying career and then found herself progressively enveloped by the surroundings of a husband and family, she couldn't help but look back on those times with something approaching wistfulness. She never told her husband about the pleasure she had taken in being fucked and used by men that were paying her, of how eagerly she had been able to embrace their desires and accept them as her own, but she kept wishing that he would show some of that same sense of assertion, that confidence when they made love, that he had been able to project some of that strength that she could feed on and gain pleasure from. Sexually he was relaxed and tender and his caresses were pleasurable, but she never felt the confidence and aggression that aroused her most.
By the time her desires grew strong enough that she couldn't resist them, she was much older and found herself looking for men that would want to use her with such arrogance and vigour. It didn't take her long to find some, even though many men that she approached and made herself available to, proved to possess but a shadow of the self-possession that they showed towards her in bars and clubs when they were alone in a bedroom. She found it hard to tell them what she wanted. She wanted to be taken and used, roughly, even cruelly sometimes. The pain and pleasure combined could elevate her more than simple love, but she couldn't ask for what she wanted. In doing so she would have been granting her partner the license to do what she wanted him to insist and demand for himself without seeking permission. If he wanted to fuck her, he could. If he wanted to spank her or beat her, she wouldn't resist. Her every inch was offered to those that would demand it. On those rare occasions that she found a man capable of giving her what she needed, her orgasms were long and loud, driven by screams and moans and consuming her whole being with lust.
We can but hope that Juliette found enough pleasure in the moments that she had to last her lifetime. Should she be ashamed of the manner in which she found she could gain most joy? I think not. Whatever repercussions were her's alone. I see nothing to judge, as long as she was happy with herself. By all accounts, many women find it difficult to achieve orgasm. I suppose by that reckoning, Juliette can count herself lucky that she allowed herself to make the call that day and allowed herself to discover the path to her joy.
Three: The sinful confessions of Luke
I’m sure there are many who believe that Juliette should never have allowed herself to realise how she could gain pleasure and that the actions she took were sinful and something she should be ashamed of. To me there are only really two sins that can be committed. The first is acting in such a way that you prevent other people from having the freedom to live as they want, the second is not being true to yourself and living to your potential.
Asinine nit-pickers may claim that it is impossible for people to be free, and that the merest act of freedom impinges upon other people. Freedom does not mean that you should act wilfully to hurt other people. Freedom means that you should be able to live as you must. I have doubts as to whether there are that many people whose true expression must really require them to hurt those who do not want it. Of course it’s a balancing act that requires a great deal of responsibility from all to work. That’s why it doesn’t. The massed population is not safe in charge of themselves and will invariably have a negative impact on those around them.
What are we to do with these people who are incapable of being true to themselves, or accepting the responsibility to live freely? I don’t know. Maybe that’s why those that do have to keep their guns close in order to be ready to fight for what matters to them.
Most matters of apparent morality are nothing of the kind. Expediency will suffice. You shouldn’t seek to have children carelessly, because if you are not prepared to look after them, you are causing hurt to them. You shouldn’t hurt people without good reason. A little restraint and regard for yourself should prevent most breaches of morality that are actually of significance.
Obsession with sin ferments it in the psyche. Constantly telling people that they mustn’t do or think things only makes them think about them and want to do them. Desires that are allowed to be explored openly fade naturally for the most part. The more we accept our natures, the less they will be inclined to corrupt us.
Sometimes I wonder if the present age is a transition, a time when evils become all too necessary to allow our world to develop into someth
ing better. Violence and bloodshed and lies and pain are unfortunate, but perhaps they must happen to us to give the space that is required for rebirth. Maybe that is a delusion to lessen the pain that I see in the world, to try and ascribe some kind of meaning and purpose to it, something that allows it to transcend an seem less cruel. Perhaps it can be okay to lie to yourself, if that’s what you need to get through another day. Just as in a war against evil men when good men must do bad things in the name of their cause, in our age they must do what they would not for the sake of a greater ideal. Of course, there are precious few who would count themselves as evil. Everyone thinks that they are the one that knows best, that they have the gods on their side, that it is their foe who is blinded by zealotry and must be taught the error of their ways, or, if needs must, slain. I don’t know how you’re supposed to tell which you are. Probably both, simultaneously. I can’t imagine that there is an easy way to tell the difference in the moment between an incredible intelligence bravely fighting to go against the popular consensus and a crazy person. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Until the person is getting in your way, why should you want to get in theirs?
Is the prevalence of perversions in the clergy a surprise? Of necessity, they are trained to understand and disapprove of sin and in the case of religions that require celibacy, they must repress all the reactions that it causes in themselves, only resorting to prayer and flagellation to satisfy them. Would it not make more sense to require that they have both understood and controlled their urges? It makes no sense to have those that are alleged to be the moral guardians of a society be the most naive and pure, but nor does it make sense for them to be the most repressed. In an age of maturity and responsibility, these guardians would rise meritocratically from the masses, but people would be able to understand and control themselves.
Luke really did love God. Of that much he was sure. He had always felt a close connection to the God that he was raised with and had listened with rapt attention to the stories that had been told to him throughout his childhood. He sympathised with the plights and ordeals that Jesus had suffered for him and felt genuinely grateful for the redemption of his sins. As an adolescent, he listened to the stories and sermons that his priest, Father Williams gave about the dangers of weakness and sin and took as law the depiction of right and wrong. He voluntarily went regularly to confession and felt somehow like he was a disappointment to God because of the trivial nature of the sins that he had to confess to. He didn’t want to lie to his priest about what he had done. That was tantamount to lying to God himself, but surely if Jesus died for our sins that act would have been a waste were there not sins to redeem? The church must expect people to sin in spite of its condemnations, otherwise they would not need to keep talking about it and there would be no need for the confessional in the first place.
The combination of normal pubescent confusion and urges with strong but shallowly researched religious conviction left him feeling conflicted. He was aware that it was possible to sin in thought as well as deed and he took great pains over confessing as many of his lustful, sinful thoughts as he could remember. He felt safe and comfortable within the small wooden confines of the confessional. He could talk about anything there, knowing that it was just him, with God and the priest waiting patiently on the other side of the screen to listen to his sins and tell him how he could earn his forgiveness.
Was it unnatural that Luke found himself enjoying those moments, recounting his dirty little thoughts and deeds behind a veil of anonymity? Of course the priest knew exactly who he was, but he was sworn to secrecy, wasn’t he? When he first started to talk about his new found habit of masturbation the priest, a kindly enough soul and aware of the fallibilities of youth, spoke to him gently but firmly about the sinfulness of such behaviour, but did not judge him harshly. Luke kept telling him about these thoughts during his regular confessions, and rapidly confessional became what he thought about when he felt the stirrings. It seemed to him the place where sins could be freely expressed without fear of condemnation. He felt reluctant to admit this fact to Father Williams, but increasingly he found himself feeling those sinful but delightful sensations as he was recounting his infractions, and it seemed such a little step from talking about sin to committing another one. Did Father Williams know that on that occasion while he was hearing young Luke’s confessions he was a party to the conducting of another sin? It seems unlikely. Perhaps he heard the soft gasping sound that Luke made as he climaxed, but he could easily have assumed that this was an involuntary sign that the boy had been emotionally overcome by the weight of his sins. Once the sensations had subsided, Luke felt guilty. He was desperate to return to the confessional and admit what he had just done, but he was too ashamed to do so. He fled the church and didn’t return for a week.
Father Williams admitted to feeling disappointed on the Lord’s behalf that Luke had not learned to control his urges, but when Luke told him that he had succumbed to them in his confessional he was dumb-struck. Though a kind man and uncommonly even-tempered, he found himself rising to anger at the thought of such depravity, and even more at the fact that he had unwittingly been involved in it. When he heard a slight repetitive sound he did not ignore it as he had the week before. Newly attentive, he realised that even now his warnings about the danger that Luke was exposing his soul to were having an entirely undesirable effect on the boy.
Should the Father be blamed for succumbing to wrath on this occasion? He flung aside the curtain and dragged the youth out of the confessional by his arm, to see that his trousers had been pushed down and he was hastily manipulating himself towards greater corruption. However thorough his training at the seminary had been they had never suggested that such an eventuality might happen in his church, nor had the decades he had spent since preaching to and counselling his parishioners. Still holding the boy by the arm, he dragged him through the church and cast him, still exposed and engorged, into the limited mercies of the street outside the church.
Father Williams slammed the heavy wooden door of the church shut and stood, alone but for the presence of God in his many representations, shaking with rage at the defilement that he had just been a party to. He was aware that there were many in the clergy who would have reacted differently in the circumstances, perhaps even taken advantage of Luke's state, but he was neither that kind of man, nor priest.
Fortunately for them both no-one witnessed Luke’s sudden ejection from the church. He was able to pull his trousers up and walk away unquestioned. He was left scared and frustrated by the experience, and wasn’t able to achieve satisfaction until he said his prayers that night.
The next time Luke entered the confessional, Father Williams explained to him coldly that he would be better discussing his sins directly with God without him as an intermediary. Luke was shocked and more than a little embarrassed but the Father’s expression made it clear that no discussion of this would be permitted. Father Williams was all too aware of the unpleasant suggestions that were made about what some members of the clergy got up to with the younger members of their congregation and he had no wish whatsoever to become one of those about whom the suggestions were accurate. He had prayed for Luke since casting him out of his church and now he was just hoping that God would sort it out without him having to do anything else.
So, Luke was forced to spend more time in solitary prayer and contemplation, admitting his sins to God as part of his increasingly lengthy nightly prayers. He would kneel by his bed each night before retiring and direct his prayers to the wooden crucifix hung on the wall. It no longer felt like his prayers were complete unless he brought them to sinful conclusion. When during the day his gaze happened upon the small carved representation of his saviour in torment, he couldn’t suppress the reaction it sparked in him.
Luke continued to attend mass at least once a week, but the effect of the symbolism on him was ever more potent. The talk of sin and redemption no longer stirred anything in him but arousal. When sat in the pew
s, listening to Father Williams or whichever worthy servant of God was giving the sermon each time, he would find himself staring at the huge crucifix hung behind the altar, consumed by the sensations. Only his vestigial sense of decorum stopped him from pleasuring himself to the point of eruption there amongst the congregation, but he couldn’t stop himself from needing to sneak off to the loo as rapidly as was discretely possible. He wished that the church hall was of the same impressive neo-gothic architecture as the church itself, and that its spartan tiles and the hint of cleaning products in the air were the smell of incense and the presence of the iconography of his faith that by now excited him so.
Of course, in time Luke’s ardour faded and was replaced by more conventional outlets. Rapidly the grasp of sweaty thighs and the pungency of female arousal replaced the smell of incense and depictions of the agonised saviour in the repertoire of his fantasies. Eventually he stopped going to church altogether. For some reason, once the lust had gone from it for him it was hard to find a reason to go back. As the years went on, the whole experience faded into the background of his life and could be easily forgotten. Perhaps on occasion his wife wondered why it was that he was so drawn to the idea of her wearing a wimple for their love-making, but she had been intimate with men with much stranger kinks in her time and didn’t let it bother her. She did suggest that he might like to wear a dog-collar and join her in the fantasy, but for some reason it never appealed to him.
However unfortunate Luke’s story may at first seem and however alien and unpleasant the manifestation of his youthful urges might appear to many, is it his fault that he was raised with such a close association between pleasure and wrathful judgement? Anyway, as happens far less often than we might hope, it all sorted itself out in the end.
