Regime Change Pt. 12

FOR THE PLEASURE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST

Long past midnight in the deepest depths of blackest darkness an infinitesimal started to grow into a speck, a dot, a smidgen.

After forever will-o'-the-wisps splattered the ebony firmament. They danced the fandango neon electric. The ghostly lights morphed into a constellation of a naked woman somersaulting. And an awareness became aware it had awareness.

Everything was so far away, seen from the wrong end of the telescope. The photograph developed with agonizing slowness. A flickering red glow grew around the border of the blackness.

"I'm lying on something smooth and warm," the awareness thought. "I'm naked."

Red light teased her peripheral vision. She turned her head to the left and saw a distant stone wall with tall, narrow, stained glass arch windows. The stone wall stretched in both directions beyond the horizon.

She turned her head to the right. In the distance there was another wall. It had no windows. It appeared to be made of sheets of iron bolted together. The bolts were huge. It had a mien of frightening antiquity. It too stretched in both directions to the horizon.

She looked up. There was nothing above her but darkness. She looked down. She was lying on a floor of black and white squares, like an immense chess board that disappeared into the eldritch shadows. The floor appeared shiny, brand spanking new.

Her breathing quickened, she curled her toes, she touched her belly with her left hand. Then she sat up, crossed her legs, and got into the lotus position, a hand on each knee, her thumbs and index finger tips curled together.

She meditated on her surroundings, self-less, serene as a clear, smooth, cool mountain lake.

After what seemed forever and a day a thought bubble burst on the smooth surface of the lake: "I'm getting hot cross buns from this floor."

She stood up on to her bare feet and saw a figure on the floor to her left about three feet away. It was a naked, beyond the pale woman, spread eagle on her back, with long, auburn hair, largish breasts and a thick well trimmed deep black inverted pyramid bush between her thighs. The supine woman's dark blue eyes were open, glassy, un-seeing.

The standing woman looked down on the other woman with neither surprise nor curiosity. She was a blank slate. Her eyes gazed at the stained glass windows but she couldn't make neither heads nor tails of the scenes depicted on them.

When the standing woman glanced down again, the spread eagle's dark blue eyes blinked. Then the other woman yawned and rubbed her clenched fists on her dimpled cheeks.

Their eyes locked. They stared at each other with neither curiosity nor surprise for forever and day.

Then the supine woman stood up and the two naked women found themselves standing before a ten foot high and wide mirror. The looking glass had no frame or base. They were suffused with a Mediterranean light from an unknown to them source.

As they looked at their own and each other's nakedness little bubble bursts of memories popped on the smooth surface of the serenity both women unselfconsciously drifted underneath.

They both had the same shade of auburn hair, which was thick, straight and long. Both of them were as white as clotted cream, with no blemishes or tattoos on their skin. No tan lines, no piercings, no freckles. Both had blue eyes, though one had dark, the other bright. Both had well trimmed deep black bushes between their legs. Neither of them knew they didn't remember much.

"I'm forty," said the women with dark blue eyes impassively to her reflection in the big mirror. She felt no insecurities, none of the anxiety fleeting humanity tried constantly to push to the back of their minds. She had a square shaped face, a rounded chin with large dimples either side of her slightly pouty lips under her slightly pointed nose. Like her companion, she wore no jewellery, make-up or nail polish. She radiated good health. Her default expression was a beaming, open book. She rubbed with the tip of her left index finger the smooth skin between her eyebrows as if searching for something missing.

Her arms and smooth legs were athletic. Her big bell shaped breasts drooped and sagged to the left and right, rounded off with large pink areolae and nipples.

She had a small rounded womanly tummy and slim waist. 5 feet, six inches tall, 120 pounds, she looked studiously at the thick black bush between her legs and said matter of factly, "He told me to always keep my pussy smooth."

"Who did?" asked bright eyes, not taking them of her own reflection.

"I can't remember," replied dark eyes, calmly.

"I'm thirty-three," stated bright eyes. She had almond shaped eyes, an oval face with high cheek bones and thin lips. She had fine features with a slight bump near the bridge of her nose. Her breasts were small and round with cute as a button nipples. Her stomach was flat. 5 feet 5 inches, 112 pounds, she put her hands of her hips akimbo and spoke softly, "31, 24, 33 and..." She twisted her pelvis around and saw a firm, full, round bottom. "You could bounce a quarterback of that ass...if they could only invent rapid growth clones...I'd definitely fuck me."

The two naked women turned towards each other. They contemplated each other for a long time. Then some creatures disturbed the surface of the lake.

"You're my...boss's...wife." The large-breasted red head reeled the words up from the depths.

"And you're...one...of my husband's...cumsluts," replied the bright eyed red head, her gaze lingering on the other woman's dark inverted triangle. "I never forget a pussy...we've...turn around."

The other woman complied, showing her ass. Her auburn locks reached mid-way down her sexy back.

"Sweet tush," stated the bright eyed red head.

The other naked woman turned her head to the left and asked, "Do you hear that?"

Both women turned to face the darkness betwixt the two walls, which were 60 feet apart.

At first bright eyes thought she heard a theremin in the shadows. But as the sound moved toward the naked women she was baffled by the strange acoustics of the...corridor?

"What's that sound?" asked the bright eyed woman.

"Horses."

"What are horses?"

In silence the naked redheads tried to discern a form that embodied the clattering moving towards them in the shadows. Discordant echoes rattled the stained glass windows. Something big was coming.

The clomping sound stopped as an echelon of six men emerged from the haze in smooth, synchronized lock step. They stopped as one in a perfectly straight line six feet in front of the women. All the men were buck naked except for pieces of rope loosely tied around their slim waists.

Each man was six feet, six inches tall, with broad shoulders, killer abs, muscular swimmers' bodies. They were identical in every way: caramel skin, their hair an aureole of jet black ringlets with the impossibly, painfully handsome face of the Bollywood male lead, accentuated by rakish mustaches and goatees. And swaying between their hairy legs, in front of big black balls, were long, thick, uncircumcised fire engine red dicks.

The men and women pondered each other in a long, still silence.

Then from right to left, in a cascade, each man broke out in a rakish grin of perfect pearly white teeth.

The Bollywood matinee idol on the women's far left announced in a rich, warm baritone: "My name is Legion, for we are many." He had an Arabic accent.

The naked man who towered on the far right first eye balled dark eyes and announced, "Sahara Service..." and then caught her companion's eye, "Darkling Fontaine, it is my honor and distinct pleasure to inform you that your cunts are now the private property of his Infernal Majesty."

The passing of this sentence was a blast of volcanic wind that evaporated the clear, cool mountain lake into hissing steam. Memories erupted up into the consciousness of the naked red headed women. Some important facts were still beyond them. And facts are stubborn things as John Adams said.

Darkling shuddered, her stomach churned, her mind reeled. "Fontaine? What the absolute fuck? Is this a dungeon under Master Layman's palace? Why would I be here?" she questioned herself inside.

Sahara's pulse raced as memories boiled up of Sunday school lessons, Bible studies and sermons about bad girls, sluts and whores: what they were, what they did, where they went. First these lessons pique her curiosity and then as she grew up the studies excited her and finally the sermons aroused her.

On her eighteenth birthday, the day before she left her father's house forever, her parents drove Sahara and her sister for an hour to a mega church in Auburn, Washington to hear a testimonial entitled "I was a whore of the Hell's Angels." It was given by a plump, cutesy, matronly blonde lady named Carmen Ponzi. In front of hushed thousands, she confessed to a gang bang initiation, bisexual orgies and other unspecified unnatural acts until she was born again, escaped the clutches of the gang, married a good Christian man (a Marine), and had three girls with him and adopted a baby girl from China.

This testimonial aroused Sahara so much that after it was over she slipped away from her parents and raced down to the huge church's basement. After a frantic search she found an unlocked storage room and in one of the dimly lit back corners of it lay back on a stack of ESV Holy Bibles still vacuum sealed in cellophane, pulled up her modest beige cotton dress, slid the first two fingers of her left hand inside her modest white cotton panties, inside her soaking wet burning bush and precipitously made the joyous discovery that she was orgasmic.

The third sextuplet from the shocked naked redheads' left assumed a demeanor of mock seriousness and announced: "We are rigid traditionalists here and tradition dictates that all helots, without exceptions, are branded."

The third sextuplet from the right of the confused naked women held up a coin between the thumb and index finger of his huge left hand. He showed the obverse side of an 1899 Morgan silver dollar in mint condition, the All Seeing Eye shining over Urizen.

"We'll flip to decide which one of you strumpets goes first," he declared in a sonic booming voice and flicked the coin into the humid air.

"I need to buy time," thought Darkling, calculating her options, "and a bit of luck."

"I call heads!" the red head with the bright blue eyes frantically yelled out.

The coin landed on the beefy forearm of the second sextuplet from the right of the agitated naked redheads. It was the reverse side of the silver, a spread eagle clutching arrows in its talons, under the inscription In God We Trust.

"Do tails," intoned the second sextuplet from the left of the flummoxed women.

Six pair of dark eyes focused on Sahara Service's bell shaped tits.

"If they start gang banging the slut I'll make a run for it," thought Darkling, looking for exits.

"Branded?" Sahara asked aloud, her tits heaving from the turmoil in her chest provoked by the strange turn of events on top of the sudden onrush of the restoration of much of her memories. It seemed just a moment ago that after enjoying her birthday present she was trying on the red stiletto shoes left in her steamy bathroom by parties unknown. "And now I'm in the shadow of a Himalayas of cocks, about to be--branded!" Sahara exclaimed inside, choking on panic, as her eyes darted from one end to the other of the men, each of who was 12 inches taller than her.

Sahara frequently giggle at the flaccid members of the men in her life. And uncircumcised cocks made her giggle because they reminded her of Shar Pei dogs. But these six swaying red hot pokers were no laughing matter.

The sextuplets stared intently at Sahara's nakedness, unsparingly assessing, examining...judging her tits, her tummy, her cunt. Their big, red dicks stiffened, and grew hard into erections that curved wickedly to the left.

Sahara flashed her beaming smile, her dimples like parentheses, as a fizzy tingling sensation roiled her clit. "I want these monsters to come on my face," Sahara said to herself, her large pink nipples making pointed remarks.

Slowly, smoothly, four of the sextuplets surrounded the smiling Sahara, each on the cardinal points of the compass centered on the naked redhead. The men's body heat was torrid. They smelt good to Sahara, the scent of cedar smoke.

Naked, tits heaving, Sahara looked up into the dark eyes of the Bollywood matinee idol look alike standing erect in front of her and reached out with her left hand and put her fingers on his killer abs.

Two huge hard hot hands reached from behind Sahara's back and cupped her saggy tits as if offering them to his smiling brother front and center. He took the offerings in each hot hard hand and gently squeezed them as he bent down and kissed Sahara's slightly pouty lips. His mustache tickled. She opened her lips eagerly and he tongue tied her up in naughty knots. He tasted like kaffir lime leaves.

Eight huge hot hard hands realmanhandled Sahara's body: running thick fingers through her long auburn hair; fondling her tits; caressing her shoulders belly and tush; squeezing her grape hard pink nipples; stroking the back front inside of her athletic thighs; rubbing the side of her neck; massaging her sexy back. Four huge hard red dicks prodded Sahara's hips, her belly, her left ass cheek. The sex police had her surrounded.

Sahara's cunt was now wetter than a hot tub.

The quartet gripped Sahara's arms and legs and in unison chanted, "Heave! Ho!" and lifted her up in the air and propped her limbs on their shoulders upside down spread eagle. Her udders shuddering the naked squirming Sahara squealed in disorientation.

When four of the sextuplets had surrounded Sahara the remaining two moved to either side of Darkling, who tried to stop glancing down at her handsome handlers' huge crimson hard-ons.

"That bench wasn't there before," Darkling wondered to herself after seeing it when she looked up from the rod to her immediately right.

The high ironwood work bench mounted on four dark metal legs had four brass rings bolted near the far edge of it. The rectangular bench was six feet from the middle of the mirror.

The bad boy band lowered Sahara face down on to the hard dark smooth warm wood. It put her hard nipples under pressure. The top of her red head was even with edge of the bench closet to the mirror. The sextuplets holding her athletic legs spread them apart until the panting women was doing the splits. The brass rings were in front of her legs, parallel with her ankles and thighs. Her slightly parted cloven sex was parallel with the far edge of the work bench.

The sextuplets behind Sahara loosened their rope belts and used them to tie her ankles to the nearest brass rings. The sextuplets in front of Sahara held down her arms down on the bench stretched out from her shoulders with one hand each and with the other flung their rope belts to their closest brothers. The ropes were looped around mid-thigh and tied tightly to the remaining brass rings.

Sahara's forehead had been pressed down on the ironwood when she suddenly felt cold metal around her wrists. She twisted her head, whimpering, to her left and saw the sextuplet lock a thick black manacle on her wrist. The manacle was attached to a rusty chain that disappeared in to the darkness above the naked woman. Whimpering Sahara awkwardly turned her head to the right and saw a grinning sextuplet smirk in her face as he sealed the lock of the manacle around her other first.

A loud, slow clank-clank-clanking started above Sahara's red head, startling the bound woman. The clanking made ominous echoes resonant through the corridor. The chains grew taut and pulled Sahara's arms up in the air by her wrists until her big tits were fully on display. Her eyes and tits were covered with her disheveled auburn mane.

A sextuplet stood before the naked tied and bound woman and gently brushed her hair out of eyes and off her heaving breasts. He gave her a long, lingering tender kiss on the lips and then stepped aside for one of his brother. He kissed Sahara. And then another brother smacked her lips. And another. Each kiss got progressively Frencher, red hot passionate, gymnastic. The last kisser pulled away from Sahara's ravenous mouth, looked deep into her dark blue eyes, cradled her face and in a baritone that made swollen clit hum, "Farewell my lovely."

When he stepped aside to join four of his brothers stand guard of Darkling, Sahara saw herself in the mirror on full frontal display, her tits jutting out, her legs pinioned to the work bench, her flushed face contorted in an inextricable melange of fear and arousal.

A sextuplet stood directly behind Sahara's bare behind, directly erectly in front of her slightly dearly parted overexposed sex. He stretched forth his long, strong brown arms and started running his big fingers through swooning Sahara's auburn hair.

"Let me suck It," Sahara moaned, "let suck all of your cocks...ooooh...I want to swallow your cum."

The five sextuplets moved the protesting Darkling just beyond the right side of the mirror and they stood as a chorus at acute angle to the workbench.

The giant massaged Sahara's shoulders expertly, reached around and rubbed her large pink pert nipples betwixt his thumbs and index fingers, then stroked her upwardly curled sexy back from nape to coccyx with his hot fingers spread wide. He touched her soft skin slowly, savoring it.

Her stroked her spread thighs. He grabbed each of her spread wide open ass cheeks with one of his rough hands and squeezed.

"My ass is grass," murmured Sahara to herself, her heart hammering in her chest.

Sahara quivered when fingertips gently started to unfold her creamy cunt.

"Miss Service, do you use protection?" solemnly asked the huge man slowly opening her cunt.

"I don't use the Pill, because I'm barren--same as Darkling."

"Why did she tell them that?" Darkling asked herself, still looking for escape.

"Why did I say that?" Sahara asked herself.

All the sextuplets simultaneously smiled like a pack of wolves.

Sahara let out a low apprehensive moan from her slightly pouty lips when the hard tip of the sextuplet's glans touched her edge of her wetness. He put his left hand on her left shoulder.

Overwhelmed by the gyrating recent events and intoxicated with lust, Sahara thought she saw disembodied transparent eyes floating across the tableau reflected in the mirror. They were gone in a blink of her hooded eyes.

"Who's watching us?" asked a scared Sahara.

No one answered the whore's question.

The chorus was entranced by the scene unfolding before their eyes.

Gripping her shoulder tightly, the sextuplet T-boned the whore, wrecking her cunt. She was a total write off. Sahara's ass jiggled like coconut jelly; her tits flew away and the slammed together; her eyes clamped shut; her face trembled from the sextuplet's big red one forcing the auburn whore to take all her hard fate.

She screamed: "My God! My God! It's so big! It's so hard!"

Darkling's cunt got wet from the memory of how much she got off on watching her husband degrade whores. And she was a devoted fan of, and took no small pride in being a content provider to, Whore-stoppers, the world's most popular web-site.

The plowing sextuplet laughed joyously, grinned wickedly, grabbed two hand holds of Sahara's flinging mane, yanked on it and shouted in baritone: "You're nothing but a born whore and I'm going to fuck you like a whore deserves to be fucked!"

The air six feet behind the workbench got wavy like heat devils shimmering up from a desert and congealed into a ten feet by ten feet mirror. The bare facing mirrors launched Sahara's epic fucking ordeal into eternity.