Blood Red

Liz nodded her pretty head, the tears still flowing from her eyes, though she no longer had the strength to actually cry. He walked into the living room for a moment and reached into his very small stash, the one he’d taped to the inside of the closet, far from where people would be able to see it with a casual glance.

When he returned to the kitchen, Liz was back on her hands and knees, and trying to sweep up the crap all over the floor with her hands. She was hyperventilating, her chest hitching at high speed, sucking in air without really getting much relief for her lack of breath. It did lovely things to her perky little tits.

He dropped the nickel bag on top of the rice and watched her pick it up. Liz looked at him with wide, desperate eyes, asking for his permission. He nodded and she attacked. When she was done, she had white along her nostrils that was a slightly different color than the trail left by the confectioner’s sugar.

He could see when the coke hit her system. Her body relaxed and she almost managed a smile.

He was pretty sure she was about to say thanks to him when he tackled her and started tearing the clothes from her body.

She wasn’t even considering the idea of thanking him before he was done. Now and then a girl got uppity and he was forced to put her back in her place. Liz had broken the rules twice in one day. For that reason, he got inventive.

When he was finished and she was pinned under him, he leaned in close and licked her earlobe. Liz twitched, but couldn’t possibly get away from him. Then he withdrew from her, his erection fading as he rolled off of her sweet little body.

Tom leaned over and winked at her crying face. “Bet you didn’t even know you were still a virgin anywhere, did you, Lizzie?”

She shook her head and started crying again.

Tom ran his hand over the side of her face, leaving streaks in her white sugar makeup. “You remember something, Liz. I choose your clients. I’ve been nice with you and kept you away from the rough ones.” She tried to nod her head, but didn’t seem to have the energy. “You mess with me again and I’ll leave you for a couple of really sick fucks. Those boys like to use knives to make their own fuck holes.”

She broke down again and Tom let himself smile. Sometimes life was good.

V

Maggie waited until the other two priests had left before she approached Father Wilson. He was a lean man, with less hair than he’d had the year before and a warm smile for all of his parishioners. He was also a man who was accustomed, if she was reading him the right way, to the finer things in life.

He’d had a sermon once about the wild things he’d done when he was younger, and how he’d almost lost himself in the decadent ways of his youth before God called him home.

That made him a little bit different as challenges went. He’d had sex before and probably on several occasions. His face still held on to some of the looks that had probably made him very popular with the girls in his neighborhood when he was younger. Mostly, he looked at the women in the audience when he gave his sermons, and she had little doubt that part of him still longed for the good old days.

She was wearing her Sunday best today. She wanted to make sure he noticed her. Father Flannery had been easy; he was lonely and he liked younger women. Father Harris had been more challenging, but she’d figured the best way to handle him was to basically assault him in his bedroom. She was fairly confident that she could manage with Father Wilson as well, but he was an intriguing challenge.

He seemed so set in his ways, and even if he looked at the women in the church more than he looked at the men, that was almost to be expected. Also, he didn’t try to look down her blouse nearly as often as the other two did. They were subtle, but she knew how to read them. Father Wilson wasn’t quite as easy to peg.

She couldn’t find him at first and wondered if she had made a mistake. It was possible that he’d left before she got there, or that he was off doing any number of things that she had no desire to learn about. The business of running a church was hardly what she thought of as exciting news.

She found him in the vestibule behind the altar. Donald Wilson had been waiting for a moment alone. He had his eyes closed and was masturbating as quietly as he could, his mouth making motions as if he were speaking, but no sounds came from him.

Maggie watched him for several seconds, taken aback by his actions. Then she cleared her throat and got his attention.

He might have been more horrified if she’d been the Pope, but probably not. Wilson tried to stand and pull his dark slacks up at the same time, his face beet red and his hands trembling. He was close to the point of no return in his ministrations, and she looked where he had been attending to himself with a certain level of amusement, but she also tried to hide it.

“I—”