Fall from Grace

by Syra Bond

  Suddenly, I screamed in pain. A lashing cut across my buttocks made my body go rigid as a spare piece of rubber hose was brought down stingingly across them. It came down again. I reared back against the bonds that held my wrists and cried out in agony. Spit and semen exploded from my mouth and sprayed up into the multicoloured rain of mist from the hose that enshrouded me.

  Another lashing blow from the hose came down viciously against my taut skin. Again I reared back, again I screeched out, but before I could recover, I felt another cutting blow, and I cried out with another bubbling scream. And it did not stop as the flexing rubber pipe struck the swollen edges of my cunt. The pain pierced my convulsing body. I felt burned from the inside. It was agony. I shrieked.

  Then suddenly, as quickly as the thrashing had started, it stopped. The mist of spray around me subsided, the rainbow cleared, the heat of the sun again burst through.

  Gasping for breath, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was wet and tangled, my face was dripping, my mouth was open, and my lips were trembling. As I watched myself, I saw my face relax; recovering from the beating with the hose, hoping it was all over. Then it all changed. In the mirror I saw my mouth gape stiffly; my eyes open wide, and my whole face tense as a fresh and terrifying scream issued from deep within me.

  I tightened my buttocks as I felt a bursting spray of water between them. It stung my skin sharply as its pressured jet forced the spraying water against it. Then it was placed against my anus - open and exposed. I wriggled to try and get away but it was impossible, my legs were held tightly, my hands bound, my body stretched prone across the metal wing of the pick-up.

  I could not resist it. The brass nozzle of the hose went inside. I felt a bubbling fullness as its spray shot into my rectum. I dropped my jaw and watched my face as the water filled me - cold, penetrating, surging. My watching eyes followed all the movements on my face in the mirror as slowly I was filled to overflowing. When my rectum could take no more, I felt the water bursting out between my anal ring and the tightly crammed brass fitting. I licked my tongue out. I could not stop it. I let go of everything I was. My cunt was seized with heat. A massive wave of joy came over me - it filled me, terrified me and was released in me at the same time. My body went rigid. My face in the mirror horrified me - my staring eyes and wide mouth testifying to the mixture of fear, terror and pleasure that came together in a seizing ecstasy that burst inside me in a massive overwhelming explosion.

  I listened to the bubbling sounds as the brass nozzle was taken away. A fresh mist burst around me and, as it picked up the multicoloured threads of the rainbow, another surging tide of ecstasy ran through my trembling body. Uncontrollably, I shook all over.

  I stared into the spray. I saw the old woman on the other side. She held something bright in one hand and beckoned me with the other.

  The tension at my wrists was released and I felt the grip on my ankles removed. I slid off the bonnet of the pickup and fell to the ground in a shivering heap. I could hardly get my breath. Semen still dripped from my mouth, water from the hose ran down the insides of my thighs.

  I saw something glittering. I squinted my tear-filled eyes. It was a key! It must have been dropped on the ground by one of my tormentors. I slid further down and covered it with my hand. My mind was suddenly filled. Could I take it? Did I dare? Could I run? Yes! Yes, I could!

  The next thing I knew, I dropped, gasping for breath, onto the hot red and cream coloured plastic seat of the pick-up. Suddenly I saw the old woman at the open passenger window. Spit dribbled from her cracked lips. I fumbled trying to get the key into the ignition.

  She reached her bony hand in through the window and dropped open the glove box. It was full of dollar bills.

  ‘Seek the young girl,’ she hissed. ‘She will lead you into the mist. Go with her and your sins will be washed away.’

  I stared at her. I could not move. I was frozen with fear.

  ‘Go! Go, my child!’ she screeched. ‘Your spirit is waiting to be set free. Go!’

  My hands shook as I struggled to twist the key in the ignition. Then I heard the noisy V8 growl. I rammed the shift into ‘drive’, grabbed the huge, dished, plastic steering wheel and the old Ford lurched forward. I held my breath, leant forward and stabbed my foot into the accelerator. The old pick-up tore off in a billowing cloud of dust down the god-forsaken dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. I was in a blind panic. I did not even notice I was naked.

  I glanced only once in the rear view mirror. The old woman stood crouched where I had left her. I saw a figure approach her and press something into her hand. The figure was swathed in a long black robe and the white collar at his neck flashed in the bright light of the glaring desert sun. It was Father Dawson. I did not care. I knew in my heart that I should, but I did not care. I was free!

  NEW MEXICO

  HALL OF MIRRORS

  I just stared through the windscreen and drove as fast as I could. I felt in a dream for hours. Finally, when I looked away from the road ahead, I saw the twinkling key from Father Dawson’s belt lying on the passenger seat. The old woman had left it for me!

  I took the collar from my neck and threw it from the window. Later that night, when I stopped to sleep, I pulled an old blanket over me. I found a pair of jeans and a T shirt beneath it. I couldn’t believe my luck - it was as though everything had been arranged!

  The next day, I crossed the old Butterfield Coach line from Arizona into New Mexico. I began to relax. Yes, it was true! I had escaped the clutches of Father Dawson!

  I drove on into the desert. Huge hoardings advertised any novelty an isolated township held in esteem and thought would cause a passer-by to stop - the amazing ‘ant-baby’, a collection of letters from aliens, the skeleton of a giant mouse. Looking to buy a bottle of water, I called in at the museum in Whites City and went to see the ‘mummified cliff-dwelling baby’. I thought it macabre, placed as it was in its primitive wrapping next to the ‘Win-o-lot’ fruit machine. It sounded exceptional on the notice outside, but it was the same as everything so eagerly vaunted on the road by gaudy signs - not as spectacular as announced. The other exhibits - the world’s only albino rattlesnake, a giant saucepan, a huge ball of string, the remains of a wolf-child - all turned out to be something smaller, simpler or less vicious.

  The bottle of water I bought was caked with dust and the top was loose. When I swigged it, it tasted of sand.

  Desert was followed by more desert, emptiness by increasing isolation. The remoteness made everything stand out as extraordinary - a Honda Gold Wing, an exceptionally tall yucca, a gigantic organ pipe cactus, a crazed road runner - and everything, simple or exceptional, sizzled beneath the relentless sun. In a roadside shack with a torn film of perforated zinc for a door, I bought a pair of white panties incongruously displayed on a dusty counter top with tins of baked beans and dinosaur bones.

  I ate outside a wooden shack with a glowing neon ‘open’ sign above the door. Beside it, an incongruously gaudy car wash flashed its pink and purple message into the searing heat - ‘Big Dog’s 24 Hour Cactus Car Wash’.

  I had hot tea with sour milk which, in the end, I had to make myself at a dirty sink inside the stuffy shack. An Indian headdress and brightly coloured beads hung from the old bent roof trusses. The walls were decked with artefacts for sale - feathers, moccasins, a carved peace pipe, rugs and blankets with brash diagonal designs, bracelets and necklaces, decorated leather belts with silver and turquoise buckles.

  The old Indian who ran the café erected a make-do sun shelter out of string and a blanket above my table - the only one and barely able to support itself on its rickety legs. He pushed his leg against my thighs as he worked and once his arm glanced against my breasts when he dropped the grey tangle of knotted string on the ground. In the end, he pulled the contraption up tight. I welcomed its shade and sat back on the wobbly chair.r />
  Straight away, he drew up a stool and sat forward with his hands clasped between his bony knees.

  ‘You’ve never been here before. I can tell,’ he said. ‘You look pale. Here, drink your tea.’ He motioned towards my cup. ‘Drink it all. It will revitalise you. Help you to see things right. The desert is a mysterious place. It contains strange things. Here, drink your tea.’

  I sipped my tea. It tasted odd - musty and stale - but I was thirsty and needed it.

  The old Indian brought his face close to mine. I imagined I saw figures in his blood shot eyes. I smiled at my silly imagination and immediately realised my lips were numb. I rubbed them with my hand and could not feel them! I could not feel my hand either!

  ‘I’ll tell you about some of the mystifying things that happen here, in the desert,’ he said, now touching my knees with his hands.

  I started to feel dizzy, dreamy - nothing looked quite right. Everything was confused - the wrong colour, jagged at the edges, fragmented. I thought I reached out my hand, but saw that it did not move. I spoke, but there was no sound. I knew I was hot, but I could not feel the heat. I felt detached and fearful. Everything around me looked misshapen and deformed. My stomach filled with nerves.

  In a low, hypnotic voice, the old Indian began to tell me a story. Hoping the sensations I was experiencing would pass off, I listened as well as I could.

  ‘The Navajo used to live in these parts, bordered to the north by the Ute and to the south by the Apache. They were famous as blanket weavers and feared as fierce warriors. Their men were reputed as the bravest of all native Indians in battle. Although they had one leader, there were many small groups, often renegades bent on robbery and killing, and each of these small bands had its own chief. The most famous around here was Aquila - the Great Eagle. His ferocity knew no bounds - he was cruel, vengeful and fearless. They say his cry could be heard for miles. His teeth were capped with gold found in the hills north of Carlsbad, and he had a huge eagle tattooed on his chest which was so complex and exact that, it is said, at night the eagle flew free of its master’s body. Sometimes, they say, the magnificent bird could be seen perched at the top of a great waterfall calling out to the spirits of the mist, asking them to give up the souls of those who had been lost in the waters of the river.’

  I wanted to reach out to touch him. To tell him I felt frightened. I imagined my hand stretching out to him, but it disappeared as I watched it.

  He pushed his hands between my legs, probing forward until his fingers touched the bottom of the zip of my creased up jeans. I thought of myself squirming away from his groping hands but, when I tried, nothing happened - I was helpless.

  ‘Aquila suffered a terrible fate. The gods banished him to wander the earth forever until he put right the wrong that he had done them - until he found a replacement for the woman he had stolen from them. She was a Choktaw named Telulah, which means ‘leaping water’. She was brought from Louisiana by French traders and stolen as booty by Aquila in a raid on the trader’s encampment. The beautiful Telulah was washed from her canoe above the great waterfall. She clung to a branch at its top crying out for help. Aquila took pity on her and, risking his own life, rescued her from the thundering waters. But the gods had already claimed her and were angry that their beautiful prize had been stolen from them.’

  ‘A few days later, a raiding party stole Telulah and she spent the rest of her days as a captive - punished and tortured by cruel young braves who kept her continually bound, on her knees and secured with a collar and lead. She was beaten daily, whipped and thrashed with canes, burned with brands and used for every sexual pleasure they could think of. They say she took the cocks of all the braves in her cunt, her anus and her mouth every day and sometimes, for many days at a time, she fed only on their semen. Once they dangled her over a waterfall on a rope and, for bets, themselves fought amongst the wild waters to penetrate her. It is told that several of them hung onto her at one time as the waters threatened to drown them all. But, throughout her suffering, so it is said, she thought only of Aquila and, because of her faithful devotion to him, she never experienced a moment of pleasure. No matter what delights she was offered, she never again felt her own joy for the rest of her life. The gods came to Aquila and, as a punishment for their loss, they demanded he walk the earth forever until he found them a replacement for the beautiful Telulah - someone who they could punish and who, like Telulah, would never find pleasure in any of the punishments they used on her. Since this time, he has found many and tested them all but, unlike Telulah, they have never resisted the call of pleasure and so Aquila’s terrible wanderings continue.’

  I felt a shiver run through me but I could tell that now there was no reaction in my body at all.

  I saw the old Indian’s hand working its way along the zip of my jeans, feeling all the links - picking at them with his nails one by one. Then he moved his clawing fingers up across my stomach to my breasts. He cupped each of them in his hands before slowly inscribing circles around them with his fingertips. He pinched my nipples, slowly, one by one - I felt the pain but could not pull back. He reached up to my face. I could not turn away. He stroked my cheeks, cocked his head and looked deeply into my unblinking eyes. He grinned knowingly.

  Suddenly, from nowhere, I sensed figures around me -somehow I could feel the heat of their bodies. I smelled their odour - I could tell they were men. I felt myself lifted up. Yes, I was being lifted up - borne on their shoulders. My head dropped to the side. I realised it was night. I saw flares and burning torches. I tried desperately but still I could not move. I felt as if I might fall at any moment. I imagined putting my hands out to save myself but nothing happened. Then, as quickly as I had been picked up, I was lowered down. They laid me on a cold stone platform. It was an altar! I saw them stand back. I stared up at the stars - I could do nothing else.

  Then I sensed hands around my waist, undoing the zip of my jeans. Then I felt the tugging pressure against my hips as they were pulled down. My body arched upwards as they lifted my buttocks off the altar to free my jeans. My thin white panties came down with them, twisting to start with into the crack of my cunt before they were yanked free. I imagined myself crying out as my flesh was pulled roughly by the wound-up material, but I could not open my mouth nor make any sound. I could only imagine my nakedness and humiliating exposure as, finally, my panties were pulled off over my feet. They wrenched my T shirt over my head, lifting it roughly then dropping it down with a bang against the hard surface of the altar top. My eyes went misty for a moment. I thought of myself holding the back of my head in my hands and shouting out in pain and shock, but again nothing happened - my body was limp, I was completely unable to move or make any sound.

  A man in a multi-coloured mask and a feathered headdress leant forward and stared down at me. He probed my mouth with his fingers and pulled the tip of my tongue forward with his thumb and forefinger. I felt the need to choke, to vomit, but I just looked up weakly into his peering eyes as he pulled and pinched my tongue harder.

  He stood back and yelled something - a whooping cry. I could not understand what it might mean, but it was ominous and its shrill sound filled me with terror.

  I sensed movement behind him - something flashing, something bright.

  I lay on my back on the stone altar, naked, unable to move, unable to cry out, unable to react to anything - I was terrified, filled with an uncontrollable but inexpressible anxiety.

  The brightness appeared again. A sudden flash of light engulfed me. I stared helplessly into its glare. Then I saw myself! My body ran with a tide of fear. I saw myself lying on the altar! I felt dizzy with confusion. I couldn’t understand what was happening. I thought I’d lost my mind.

  I saw myself getting closer - tilting, tipping, all the time flashing brightly. The image twisted and gyrated then, as it came to a halt, I saw what it was. It was a huge polished mirror, a m
assive shield of some kind. It was being held above me, showing me an image of my helpless, exposed body. Another wave of fear came over me. Seeing myself like this made me realise afresh the awful situation I had found myself in.

  Hands behind my shoulders made me sit up. I stared down between my legs which had been forced open and drawn up. My knees were splayed wide, and my naked crack was exposed to the reflective mirror, its pink slit glistening wet and slightly parted. The base of the slit ran into the darker centre of my anus. I saw my face staring back - drawn and pale. And I saw my tongue, lying loosely over my bottom lip - limp and lifeless, pink and exposed. My eyes were black - my pupils dilated across their whole width. My hair was wet and straggly and beads of sweat ran down my cheeks and across my naked breasts. My hard nipples glistened with moisture. I looked down again at the pink crack of my cunt and, for a second, was seized with a desire to run my hand down and grasp its moist wet flesh. I imagined its warmth, its softness and the thrills that would run inside me as I probed my fingers into its fragrant darkness.

  Two more ornate shields were brought and held on each side of me. My confusion increased. Now, amidst the clamour and frantic activity, I could see three reflections of myself!

  Spitting torches burned brightly all around. I wanted desperately to blink, to lick my dry lips, to push everything away from me, to jump from the altar and run away to freedom.

  Suddenly, the face of an Indian appeared in front of mine. It grinned broadly - gold teeth flashed in the flickering torchlight. A massive and complex tattooed eagle decorated his chest!

  He screeched out loudly and, with his fists clenched, he held his arms upwards as if defying his gods.