Fall from Grace Page 4

  There was a few seconds of silence. I could feel my heart pounding. I was filled with anxiety. I stared as the eagle on his chest seemed to move. A wave of fear spread through me. Then, as he stretched over me, the massive bird twitched. I wanted to close my eyes, shut it out, but I could not. The Indian pulled back, and I thought I saw the eagle flap its massive white-tipped wings. I wanted to shake my head, to clear it, to bring some sense back into my confused world, but still I could do nothing but stare.

  The eagle flapped again, preparing itself for flight. I heard it screech. My head was filled with its terrible rasping cry. I watched its white head shaking from side it side, then it gave another ear-piercing shriek as it opened it vicious hooked beak and exposed its heavy hard tongue. It fixed me with its devilish eye - yellow with a black dot at its centre for a pupil. I saw its wings again, now opening wide, stretching the separated feathers at their tips. They both beat down powerfully at the same time. The heavy flaps echoed in my head like thunder. Slowly, the huge bird rose up, flying off the old Indian’s chest, lifting its sharp yellow talons, holding them threateningly above my hard throbbing nipples.

  I wanted so much to close my eyes, to blot out the terrible monster before me, but it was all I could see - I was powerless in a living, waking nightmare.

  The massive bird shrieked again as it dropped down onto my breasts. It took each of my nipples in its clawing talons. Their sharp points dug in agonisingly. I wanted to shriek, to cry out, to beg, to plead for help, but my anguish was silent. Every scream I had was locked inside my unresponsive body. The razor sharp talons clawed at my nipples - digging into them, pulling at them, penetrating me with fiery tongues of piercing pain.

  I began again to see the images of myself in the shields. It was as if I was someone else who was watching; as if I was detached from myself, observing myself. A face in a headdress was between my legs. I could see a long wet tongue licking at my cunt. My legs were being held wide by the knees. And I was powerless to resist. When the face lifted away it was replaced by another. This time the tongue delved into my anus. I watched its tip penetrating me, pushing into the dark ring, opening it up with its pressure then driving in as far as its length would allow.

  I just stared - racked with the pain in my nipples as the eagle’s talons dug in ever deeper, violated by the delving tongue in my anus, fearful of my complete inability to move, terrified of what would happen next.

  I heard another shriek from the massive bird. I watched my breasts stretched by the tension on my nipples. Suddenly it released its grip and flew above me.

  An Indian came forward with a tomahawk in his hand - coloured feathers dangled from the beaded handle. He offered the bulbous butt end to the slit of my cunt. I watched the soft flesh open at its touch. I saw the glistening of my own moisture on the yielding folds. He twisted it several times, opening me, exposing me, then, in one movement, he drove it in. I felt it inside me - its hardness, the ornate beadwork against my tender flesh which lined my cunt, the massive bulbous end which had looked too big to enter. I thought I felt my eyes widen but, when I looked at myself in the shields, all I could see was a passive naked victim - unresponsive, silent, violated and tortured.

  He tightened his grip on the handle and thrust it as deep as it would go. I felt the bulbous end filling me, stuffing me full. I could not imagine how he had got it in and, as I felt the tugging pressure of its withdrawal, how it would come out. Another wave of fear passed through me. In the reflective shields, I watched the soft petals of flesh at the entrance to my cunt stretching around the massive end as he took it out. He held it up like a prize. Moisture ran down the glistening shaft as it glistened in the flickering torchlight. The shields were shaken in approval and the images of myself vibrated around me while, all the time, my body remained impassive and motionless. Suddenly, he dropped the wet bulbous end against my anus and held it there. His gold teeth flashed behind his wide grinning lips.

  I could do nothing but watch as he pressed it against the tight muscular ring. I saw it dilate under the pressure. He pushed the massive wet head in, held it there for a moment, and then, with a sudden thrust, drove it in deeply. I felt myself gasping, tightening, crying out, but still nothing happened - my body was totally motionless, silent, limp. I felt the carved swollen head of the handle inside - stuffing me - I felt its heavily beaded shaft against the lining of my rectum. I felt the fullness of it, but still I did not - still I could not - move.

  The tip of a hot stiff cock was held across my mouth and I watched in the shields as it sprayed its semen over my face. I tasted it on my lips, smelled it in my nostrils, and saw my vision blur as it ran into my eyes, but still I lay, completely motionless, unable to respond in any way.

  But, even in my enforced stillness, I felt the brewing heat inside me. My anxieties, my fear, my terror, were not enough to hold it back. He pulled the handle back. The tugging tension against the walls of my rectum and behind the distended anal ring set off a drawing sensation which ran through my whole body. My distended nipples ached, my eyes filled with tears, my cunt ran with moisture, and my clitoris pounded.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, and in a frightening flurry of beating wings, the eagle came back down on top of me. I wanted to gasp with fear but, at the same time, I wanted to welcome it, to grasp its talons and draw it down against my aching breasts. I wanted to feel its thumping wings pounding me. I wanted to rise up against it - to welcome its energy, its power.

  Again it dug its sharp claws into my nipples. I yearned to cry out - to release my pain and scream out my pleasure. I wanted it to enfold me in its hammering wings. I wanted to bury myself in its muscular domination. I wanted to be engulfed by its power.

  It lifted me by my nipples and, in the shimmering reflections in the shields, I saw my limp body rising up from the hard stone altar. The tomahawk was pulled from my anus and, as the last drips of semen ran down my cheeks, I was carried up into the inky sky by the terrifying bird.

  I went giddy. My body, suspended by my stretched nipples, spun in the air as the eagle flew away with me as its prey.

  I don’t know what happened - time became stretched and then compressed. The scene changed. It was light. I was being carried above a forest. Then, far below, I saw the rushing waters of a river and the massive torrent of boiling water that flooded over a great cliff in its path.

  The huge eagle held me in its yellow claws above the pounding waters of the waterfall. Its heavy flapping wings strained to keep us both in the air. Suddenly, I was falling, dropping giddily through the air, speeding dizzily towards the rushing waters of the thunderous cascade below.

  The roaring water engulfed me - filling my head with noise, pounding in my ears, buffeting me from side to side. I felt I was drowning, being suffocated by the overpowering and deafening waterfall as, quickly, I was sucked down into its spiralling currents. The vortex overcame me. My eyes remained open but all I could see was the silver downpour of water in a confused turmoil around me. My limp body was tossed about by the furious storm of water. My head filled with its clamour. My mind was overcome with uncontrollable fear. I tried to swim amongst the water but it was all bubbles, there was no resistance, nothing to pull myself against. I could think only of my stuffed anus, my agonised nipples, and the flapping wings of the monstrous eagle. The crashing water tossed me about - my body was bent and twisted in the violent uproar. I realised that my attempts at swimming were imagination. Still I could not move, but it did not matter. My head was filled with desire, my body was overcome with the heat of pleasure, and the crashing waves pummelling me drove my helpless form into a sudden paroxysm of pleasure, the jerks of which were caused, not my own muscles, but by the thrashing waves and the beating foam which surrounded me.

  My lips still felt numb and swollen but, as I tried to talk, I felt them quiver. My senses were coming back. Yes, I could move again! I licked my lips and felt my tongue ru
nning across them. I tasted soap. I heaved and sat forward. Yes, I could move!

  ‘You must go. You are too wanton, too evil to take the place of the pure Telulah. Yours is surely a terrible fate. Surely you will be consumed by the thundering waters of hell. There you will fall from grace into the boiling sea of eternal sin. Turn your back on the pleasures of suffering now, or you will drown in the waters that fall from the high rocks into the boiling cauldron below.’

  I could not tell where the voice was coming from.

  Suddenly, I was shivering, shaking all over. Still I could not speak, but I could move. I turned my head and looked at my arms and legs.

  I was saturated - foamy water ran all over me. I did not understand where I was at first, then I realised - I was in the car wash, in the back of my pick-up!

  The old Indian reached out to me. His bony hand clutched mine. I pushed him off and sat upright. He reached towards me again and, still shaking, I squirmed across the drenched corrugated floor of the pick-up and slid over the wet tailgate. I shook my head, stumbled to my feet and started to make my way unsteadily around to the driver’s door.

  The old Indian remained sitting - silent, enigmatic, as though he had been suddenly taken by a trance. The wide brim of his hat cast a dark shade over his heavy eyes, cutting even deeper the already profound lines that laced his leathery face like the very chasms of hell. Behind him, in the sopping corner of the back of the pick-up lay a massive Indian headdress and a bead encrusted tomahawk.

  Slowly he grinned - his mouth opened wide and his shining golden teeth flashed brightly. I gasped. He started taking off his shirt. I reeled back. The tattoo on his chest seemed alive. The massive bird that was emblazoned on it looked as if it could leap from his chest and carry me away in its yellow hooked talons. Yes, I was seeing it again - the great eagle. And suddenly, I realised, this old Indian must truly be the wandering Aquila, still trying to fulfil his obligation to his gods!

  As I drove away, water still dripping from my hair, the taste of semen still on my lips, I realised that I had not only escaped with my life but with my soul as well.

  FAIRIES IN THE DESERT I

  BRACKEN’S STORY

  I parked in the desert for most of the day - my wits were in tatters. I lay across the wide, plastic covered bench seat of the old pick-up. The sweet scent of the hot plastic filled my nostrils. I lifted my feet up and rested my heels in the open passenger window.

  I had managed to grab my T shirt and jeans when I had staggered away from the old Indian, but I had lost my panties. I wriggled down lower on the seat and pushed my feet out completely through the open window. I stretched my legs, unbuttoned my jeans and slowly pulled down the zip.

  It was hot and stuffy in the cab and I was sweating. I pushed my hand down the front of my stomach. Father Dawson had kept my pubic hair shaved and I felt a tingle of excitement as my fingertips glanced the smooth soft skin above my slit. I stretched them further down until my fingers reached the top of my crack. The soft flesh opened instantly, swelling and splitting into a delightful valley of silky wetness. I ran my finger into the warm slit. My clitoris was already swelling - I could feel its pulsating throb. I pressed my fingertip against it, dropped my head back and closed my eyes. I breathed in deeply as I squeezed my fingers around its throbbing base.

  I licked my lips and was refreshed by their coolness as my saliva dried. Images of my captivity in Dawson’s Rise came back into my mind. I saw myself again, held on the leash, the collar tight around my neck, with Father Dawson leading me from my kennel to the post for daily punishment. I felt again the slap of his flattened hand and the cut of his belt as he brought it down across my upturned buttocks. I saw myself cowering before him and I was filled again with the delightful feeling of humiliation and shame.

  I felt a trickle of spit running from the corner of my mouth. I lifted my head and ran my other hand down past the first until my finger tip pressed against my anus. I felt its involuntary dilation. I allowed it to open enough to take my fingertip and, as soon as it entered, I drove it in deeply. I squeezed my fingers around my clitoris and my whole body was filled immediately with a burning and irresistible heat of desire.

  I lifted my hips and looked down at my naked crack. Wetness surrounded it, my fingers glistened. I lifted it higher - I wanted to see it clearly. I wanted to reach forward and lick it. I wanted to slip my tongue into it. I wanted to feel the probing warmth of its soft wetness. I squeezed my buttocks tightly together and pressed my finger even deeper into my pulsating anus. I gasped. It was suddenly upon me. I had no time to revel in it, no time to enjoy the build-up of excitement. I could not hold back the overpowering tide of joy - it surged through me in an abrupt and unstoppable gush.

  My head spun giddily. My body shook. A sudden jolt made me twist. A torrent of noise ran through my ears. I was filled with a tension so powerful I felt I would explode. I took another sharp intake of breath. There was a momentary pause, everything went silent - a moment of expectation - then, from nowhere there was a bang, a heavy loud bang deep inside my head. It echoed down into my fingertips, overpowered me and sent me into an unexpected yelping seizure. My body contorted with an uncontrollable paroxysm. I drove my fingers tightly inside my cunt. I felt its quivering sloppiness. I held onto my flesh - gripping it, hanging onto it, as if releasing my hold on it would release me from my grip on life itself. I buried my finger deeply into my anus and forced myself down onto it as hard as I could. My mouth fell wide open and I heard my own unnatural scream - it was as though my fractured soul was releasing itself from my body.

  I lifted my head forward, dropped my mouth wide and started choking as my throat tightened and spit flowed uncontrollably over my tongue. Spit splattered from my mouth and I yelled out loud, not words - nothing that was coherent - just a long yell, something to use my bursting breath on, something to let out the life-seizing tension which threatened to overtake me completely from within.

  Suddenly, I heard something. I held my breath and did not move. I listened. There it was again - a child-like giggle. I looked up and froze.

  A girl was peering in through the window. When she caught my eye, she held her hand to her mouth to disguise her giggling. Her eyes were bright and wide, her dark hair was cut short, and, on her shoulders she wore a pair of delicate pink fairy wings.

  I drew my feet back into the pick-up and, trembling all over, looked around to find my jeans - I did not even remember taking them off.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said the fairy girl. ‘I like to look. I have been watching ever since you started. You were very noisy. Very noisy! But it’s okay, most people are.’

  I felt embarrassed by her openness and ashamed that she had seen what I had been doing without my knowing.

  She smiled broadly, her white teeth flashed in the sunlight.

  ‘I do that all the time. If it wasn’t for that, I’d go crazy in this place. Can I get in with you? We can do it together if you like.’

  I was taken aback by her forthrightness.

  She opened the door. I pulled my legs up and she sat on the edge of the seat. Her delicate wings pressed against the door pillar. She was the picture of beauty. Her pink wings were fixed tightly to her delightful bare shoulders with a delicately made shoulder harness. Around their edges dark mauve lines were traced in lacy scribbles. Attached somehow to the base of the wings were two curled antennae which sprang up and down as she moved. A powdery gathering of fluffy white feathers were placed where the two wings joined together. Around her neck she had a fluffy heart shaped necklace and on each wrist a matching fluffy band.

  ‘My name’s Bracken Rainbowflower. I’m so happy to meet you.’

  She reached in, shook my hand and kept hold of it. Her hand was not too warm, nor too cold - it was the perfect temperature.

  She was a fantastic apparition - a fairy in the desert! I could hardly believe wh
at I was seeing.

  ‘Come with me. Meet the others.’

  She smiled broadly and tugged at my hand.

  She wore a filmy lilac and purple skirt with a lightly embroidered low cut bodice to match. Her breasts were small but her nipples were hard and prominent. As she pulled at me she opened her legs for purchase against the pick-up seat and, for a moment, I saw her pink panties pulled tightly against the flesh of her slit. I wanted to press the insides of her knees and open her legs. I wanted to pull her satiny panties down so that I could lick her naked crack, taste it, and inhale its mouth-watering fragrance. I wanted to lap at it, drink from its delectable spring of sweetness.

  ‘Come on!’ she insisted. ‘Come on!’

  She dragged me out of the pick-up. She was irresistible.

  Suddenly, outside the pick-up I felt the blistering heat of the sun. I held my spare hand up to my forehead to shade my eyes.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ she kept shouting excitedly.

  She pulled me through a barely open panel in a security fence.

  The first thing I saw was the tower - a metal framework perhaps fifty feet high rising from the scrubby desert which surrounded it.

  ‘That’s the tower. Oh, I do love flying!’ she shouted. ‘And look! There’s everyone waiting to meet you. What’s your name? Tell me your name so that I can introduce you properly.’

  ‘Syra,’ I said as she pulled me in amongst a group clustered around a loose tangle of old motorhomes and caravans decorated with graffiti and psychedelia.

  Chattering young women gathered around me. Like Bracken they were dressed in diaphanous skirts, bodices and wings. One was green, one blue, one was made up like a butterfly with antennae in her hair, one had wings of feathers, one had silver hair and wings, and one was painted all over in gold with curling antennae sprouting from her hair. They buzzed around me, repeating my name, touching my hair, my face, and my breasts.