Work in Progress / Draft
Warnings: This work contains graphic violence, non-consensual sex, child abuse, and sacrilege.
Chapter 1 – Revelations
Tilda sat at the old kitchen table, staring down at its scarred, wooden surface, desperately blinking back the tears that once again threatened to spill from her pale-blue eyes. The table—along with the old house and land—had been in her family for generations. Both her mother and grandmother had been born in the house. They’d also died here. Her own birth had carried on the tradition, and she planned on serving The Lord and passing into the Kingdom of The Heavenly Father from here as well.
Tradition. She derived great comfort in following tradition and adhering to sacred rituals. The unknown wasn’t something she would ever be able to embrace. Pinching between her watering eyes while shifting them out the grimy window, she watched her five boys playing in the dirt patch that passed as the back yard. Sure, her brothers and sisters in faith were important in her life, but the boys, Jason, Joram, Joziah, Justus, and Joses, along with their father, Levar, were her world.
The keywound alarm clock, sitting atop the long-since faded formica counter, sounded 11:45am. She reached over and rapped her knuckles against the thin glass alerting the boys. As they made their way to the back door, she was once again filled with emotion and gratitude at Joses’ care of Joziah. The younger boy, by three years, always made sure his older, slower brother made it into the house on time.
Tilda listened as five pairs of feet climbed toward the upstairs bathroom, and pulled her grandmother’s bible toward her. She needed a scripture on repentance for the noon prayer.
Moments later, the kitchen screen door squeaked open and softly closed announcing Levar’s arrival. His quiet footfalls immediately followed as he headed toward the basement shower.
Less than ten minutes later she’d located a scripture.
Luke 17:3
So watch yourselves. “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.”
The click of the basement door closing had her unconsciously checking the tight dishwater-blond bun at the back of her head and smoothing her ankle-length skirt of any wrinkles. When he stepped up to her side and placed a kiss to her temple, she was confident the boys were already in place in the living room, and the sign of affection would be unseen by young, impressionable eyes.
She felt the small smile on his lips, still pressed to the side of her head, as he muttered, “Wife.”
“Husband,” she replied quietly.
His eyebrows quirked when she slid the open bible, with the marked scripture, toward him.
Each night, after the boys had gone to bed, she and Levar would map out the next day’s three prayer sessions. Although the message and scriptures naturally changed, the overall theme remained the same; the 9am prayer offered hope, the 12pm provided lesson, and the 3pm was reflective. A deviation in selection was rare, but not unheard of. And, with Levar being the community’s Spiritual Leader, she knew a last minute change was of little challenge to him.
Of course the 12pm prayer would likely focus on a single point moving forward, considering the unholy events of this morning, but she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to inform him of what she’d happened upon. Whatever the outcome, she knew she would rely heavily on both The Lord, and the quietly strong man next to her for much needed guidance in the tumultuous days ahead.
Tilda’s eyes swelled again with tears, but she only offered a brief nod in way of answer to Levar’s unasked question.
She glanced at the clock once again and squeezed their work-calloused hands together. “It’s 11:58.”
Swiveling his head, he looked over his broad shoulder. “Yes.”
In the short hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room, she followed behind him, careful to avoid the weak spot they’d discovered a few days ago in a floor joist. And although she tried, she couldn’t keep her straying eyes off his firm backside. Heavenly Father, she muttered to herself, please assist me. Keep immoral thoughts from my sinner’s mind. Please remind me physical pleasure is only holy when doing your work, or creating offspring in Your name.
With each step toward the living room, Tilda watched the quiet, soft-spoken husband and father transform into the highly respected and forceful conduit of God’s sublime word.
She paused at the chair just outside the entryway to the living room and took a moment to glory at the pious site before she sat. The room held none of the evils commonly found in secular homes. There were no sofas, no chairs, no television, or radio. This was a room with one purpose: to deliver the Heavenly Father’s truth.
On the far wall, prominently displayed, was a nearly life-size crucifix. The corpus so detailed it was undoubtedly the work of The Lord himself. Tilda had sat in this very chair, transfixed for countless hours, as she witnessed the sacrosanct incarnation of God’s only son unveiled by Brother Rodin’s woodworking tools.
Now, simply gazing upon it, when combined with her small glass of yagé—which they consumed only during the noon prayer—resulted in an overall feeling of warmth, well being, and more frequently than not, a distinct moistness between her thighs.
Before the crucifix stood a low railing. It ran nearly the width of the small room, and all five of her kneeling boys’ elbows rested upon it. Their palms held together, fingers twined and pressed to their lips in silent prayer. Each boy, like their father, was freshly showered, cleansed, nude, and ready to receive The Lord’s gift.
Standing to one side of the crucifix, so as never to obstruct the boy’s view of The Father’s son, was their spiritual patriarch. His own, much larger, glass of yagé in one hand, while the cherished bible was held in the other.
Frequently, the effects of Tilda’s drink kept her from fully hearing the lesson. She didn’t mind though as she knew God’s words permeated her soul regardless of whether her ears actually heard them or not. During such times, she was often overcome with the tongue and quietly spoke in her Lord’s language. Today was one of those days.
Awareness seeped back as Joziah, her middle son, was being cleansed with The Lord’s paddle. That meant Leader had already delivered God’s word to her eldest and second eldest sons, and they had been blessed by The Father’s rod. The boy stood bent at the waist, with his hands firmly planted on the rail while Leader delivered one kiss of God’s love and forgiveness for each of Joziah’s sinning mortal years.
After the final bestowment, Joziah stood, made no attempt to dry his wet face, and addressed the holy crucifixion. “Proverbs 13:24. ‘He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.’ In thy name, O’merciful Father.”
Although Tilda’s gaze would forever be limited to the backsides of her sons, she had a clear view of Leader’s profile. He stood proud, tall, and brandished a magnificent erection.
The long paddle he wielded was new and had never been used before this afternoon’s prayer. In fact, Jason and Joram, the eldest boys, had only finished it this morning. As of yesterday, the only thing that had remained was to complete the carving. Now, beautifully etched into the hard wood was God’s Love. She knew it was that trip to the barn this morning, to check on their progress, which would irreversibly alter the path of each of their lives.
As her youngest, Joses, received his tenth and final kiss, and addressed the crucifix, he re-knelt alongside his brothers.
Leader spoke, “In thy name, O’merciful Father.”
In unison, the boys proclaimed, “Amen!” and began to rise to their feet.
Tilda also rose, putting turned her back to the room as her sons exited behind her, placing their yagé glasses on the side table, and made their way upstairs to reflect.
She stood and waited; if God spoke to Leader, and if he needed her, she would be made aware.
When Leader pressed his firm chest up against her back, she uttered a small cry of joy. She would be allowed to serve Him.
She whispered, “Your virility is intoxicating, Levar.”
He unceremoniously lifted her skirt and dragged her undergarments down. “Tis not me your eyes gaze upon, but rather it is The Lord working through me. His is the divine beauty. Anything less would be an abomination.”
She nodded, but before she could reply, he shoved into her and wrapped a hand around front to finger her wet and ready bud. “The Lord’s work affected you this afternoon as well.”
His other hand found the back of her neck and she was firmly pushed into the front door. It took under a minute for his thick cock to fill her and then pull out. Despite her body’s desire to gain a climax of its own, she straightened her garments, thankful she’d been able to serve Leader, and, if the Good Lord saw fit, perhaps his seed would be married with her egg and they would be blessed with another child.