By a Thread

Chapter One How she hated bedtime– hated The Service. To take her mind away from the fact it was midnight, the girl stood watching cute pink toes: A papa bear, a mama bear, and three little baby bears; two families, one on each foot. She wiggled her toes. The toes looked back at her from beneath the hem of an ankle-length, white cotton nightdress. It was homespun and had been hand-stitched by one of her Sisters. There was no embellishment; no lace, no ribbon, no embroidery. The buttons had been rescued from a thrift shop workshirt and were done up to her chin. The girl wiggled her toes again and tried to forget. All she knew about herself was that she had been raised as one of The Chosen, and as such, she had never received a formal education. She had no idea of her birth-date; had no birth certificate, no driver’s license, no social security number, no official paperwork at all to prove the origin of her birth. She had never seen a television, let alone watch one, and never read a book or flipped through a magazine. She had been kept isolated by her Sisters and never allowed near girls her own age. All she knew for certain was she was being prepared for something. Or someone, she couldn’t be sure which. “Hey? You out there? Come kiss me goodnight.” It was the sound of her Sister’s voice and it sucked all the goodness from the girl’s heart leaving her shaken and empty. But she dare not hesitate; she would be publicly beaten. “Yes. I am here, Sister,” the girl called back, trying desperately to keep her voice from faltering. She took a steadying breath and went to the bedroom door. Inside, her Sister lay spreadeagled on the rickety bed that supported a straw mattress. She was face-down and naked; her buttocks like pudding cups and her dimpled thighs splayed open. The young girl felt sick to her stomach. At the sound of the bare footstep at the side of the bed, the older woman lifted herself on elbows. “I’m such a terrible sinner, you understand that, don’t you, Little One? I try hard, so very hard, but I have such unclean thoughts. I can’t seem to help myself. I see you and the others, and I can’t help myself. All those lovely young bodies. I need to be punished. You can understand that, can’t you? I need The Service. Need to be punished and cleansed. Are you still pure, Little One?” The girl lowered her chin. “Yes,” she whispered. “Let me see,” her Sister asked. “Let me see the pinkness of your purity. Step to the light and show me.” The young girl took a step closer to the oil lamp that flickered on the bedside table and lifted delicate hands to her neck. “I am still pure,” she said and worked the buttons loose, one at a time down the front of her nightdress. The cotton opened to reveal a thin torso. Her etched ribs, carved like a Grecian slave-girl’s lyres harp, supported the tiny mounds adorned with feisty n*****s. Her stomach lay flat between narrow hips. And lower, as she parted her nightdress, she presented her Sister with a surprisingly prominent pubis. She was sparsely covered with honey-colored curls that did nothing to hide the two puckered fillets of flesh that were nestled between her legs. She pulled her nightdress from her shoulders, let it slide down the length of her thin frame and stepped from the confines of the cotton. The girl made another tentative move toward the light. “Show me.” The heat rose in her chest and she struggled with the humiliation. She hated this but bravely squatted, bending on knobby knees and pushing her hips toward her Sister’s upturned face. Then separating her legs, the girl reached down and opened the folds of her s*x for the older woman’s inspection. “I am still pure,” she repeated, reassuringly. “Yes. But I will lose you soon. To marriage. You are of age, and a pretty morsel my Little One. You will be assigned to one of the Tribunal and then your duty will be to him. But you must promise me, always: You will never speak of what you do for me and for the others. Promise me that.” “I promise. I know what would happen to me.” “My, you are a good girl. As long as you are pure, you have the ability to preserve me. The Lord knows my terrible thoughts. He must be so despaired, but he has a divine purpose for me. So instead of lifting me up, he has sent you here, to save me. Do you understand what I am saying, Little One?” “Yes Sister.” The older woman lay her head back on the pillow. “Good. You can continue... continue with my punishment.” There was a nod of acceptance and the girl came around to the side of the bed. She crawled up and positioned herself on her knees between her Sister’s outstretched limbs and leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on each of the woman’s buttocks. She blessed her, making the sign of the cross. “That’s good, so good,” the older woman murmured. “Kiss me again.” And reaching back she opened her cheeks. The tight whorl of muscle compressed when the girl’s lips first touched it. Then, holding her hand like a pistol, she pushed hard, knifing two fingers deep into her Sister’s rectum. The older woman heaved, her breath caught short in spasms. But a moment later she barked, and smothered her giddy laughter into the pillow. The girl curled her fingers inside her Sister’s bowel and, hooking her by the anus, she got her feet under. She balanced precariously on the shaky mattress. “Ready?” “Yes. I gladly receive my punishment.” The girl bolted upright, lifting with both legs. Her fingers slipped and she dug in harder, gripping with fingernails and pulling her Sister’s knees up from the bed sheets. Her Sister felt the tearing inside and howled, “Oh yes! Again. Again. Make it hurt. Make it bleed.” The girl eased off, lowering the older woman back down. She forced deeper inside and redoubled her claw-hold, forcing her nails into the rectal wall. She widened her stance and hauled up again, lifting her Sister from the mattress a second time and shaking her like a cat does a mouse. She held her Sister’s bottom, hooked in the air, until her own muscles cramped, quivering uncontrollably for relief. She pulled hard to the side of the mattress and, straightening her hand, she dumped the older woman to the floorboards and landed down on top of her. “Now finish it,” the older woman gasped, on her knees again and writhing in anticipation. The girl nodded and jammed her hand back into the woman’s bleeding rectum as hard and as fast as she could. With only her wrist showing between her Sister’s buttocks, she knotted her fingers inside. Then leaning back, she wrenched her fist free. The woman’s breath caught and she bit back a strangled cry. As her hand broke free, the girl saw the anus bulge to pass the obstruction; the small opening stretching thin and bloodless to allow for the withdrawal of her gnarled fingers. She hated her Sister for what she made her do and, maddened by the thought of what was to come, the girl thrust forward again, punching into the woman with all the strength her thin arm had left. In a frenzy, she finger-f****d her Sister’s until her hand ached. And, knotting her fingers for a final time, she tore out from between blood-smeared buttocks. To the girl’s disgust, she heard her Sister convulsing in gleeful laughter. And when her Sister had taken a breath, the girl heard her mumble, “Cleanse me now. Cleanse me of all the poison.” In all her short life the girl had been taught to obey and now, nodded wordlessly. It sickened her to place her hands on the outside of the older woman’s thighs and lower her face down. But obedience was mandatory and she licked the anus; licked it clean. She closed her nostrils to the earthy smells and licked and sucked and probed. “Lower,” her Sister finally encouraged. “Do me there as well.” And the girl licked her there, licked and sucked until her Sister heaved over and tuned face up. “The seed,” the woman cried, “is bursting with poison. I can feel it.” And the young girl took up her Sister’s c******s between her lips and sucked until she was grabbed about the head and wildly told to stop. And all the while, as she performed The Service, all that was running through the girl’s mind was how much she hated being used this way. How much she hated bedtime. How much she hated the lesbians. She was desperately alone with no one to protect her; no one to fend for her. Her mother had strayed, bedded another man without first seeking Father Benjamin’s permission. The man was reprimanded and forbidden to attend the communal meals for seven days. Her mother had been Raptured. She would never rid herself of the sound of her mother’s tormented screams piercing the night air. The girl had stood by the wall in the compound, listening, and finding it hard to believe that the bloodless shrieking coming from the Meeting Hall was from her own mother’s mouth. Women, crossing the compound, turned away, eyes downcast. Others ran, hands clasped over ears. Later, she watched the procession wind its way up the hillside like a ghostly serpentine; fiery torches lighting the way. She saw her mother supported between two men, her right leg useless, a foot trailing behind in the dirt. The men dragged her into the pine trees and the girl never saw her mother, ever again.