textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/trinit02.txt

                             Chapter Two

     Daddy kept the church off TV because he thought that sort of
thing contaminated the church in America.  He said he didn't want
the church replaced by show business.  Still, he was invited by
churches all over the country to lead revivals, and he travelled a
lot to promote the Jonathan Barrett Bible College.  Since I had the
summer off before starting college, I went with him when he was
invited to lead a crusade in New Orleans.  He had not wanted to go
because the crusade was sponsored by a consortium of churches which
always televised its campaigns for souls.  Since the consortium sent
many young people to our college, though, he had agreed to do it.
     My story would be radically different if he hadn't.  I decided
to skip the services Sunday morning and explore the fabled city
where jazz was born and they still dance on the sidewalks.  Because
I stand out in any crowd, I was soon invited to dance by a little
group jamming and jiving and preaching the gospel on a side street
in front of a row of bars.  Not your standard church service.
     That's where I first saw Darlene Maynard.  Smiling widely,
clapping her hands to the music, a woman in her mid thirties wearing
a nondescript dress that fit her in the right places and whirlpooled
first one way and then the other around her bare legs as she swayed
and twisted to the beat, high heeled open shoes that practically
screamed fuck me, she exuded a sort of dignified lewdness that made
me nervous.
     "You were great," she said when my little show was done.
     "So were you.  There were as many people watching you as were
watching me.  Are you from around here?"
     "I am right now.  I'm from wherever my work takes me."
     We had begun walking together as though we had continued a
stroll started earlier.  People gawked at us, and it occurred to me
she was as used to it as I was.
     "What kind of work do you do?" I asked her.
     "I'm a whore."
     My mouth fell open and I must have looked like somebody had
just jerked a hair out of my nose.  She laughed.  I swallowed and
regained my composure.
     "I'm walking the streets of New Orleans with a prostitute."
     "Don't they have any prostitutes where you're from?"
     "You kidding?  It's legal in some counties.  I'm from Reno."
     Her smile faded and she had an oddly thoughtful look for a
moment.  I figured she was tossing around the prospect of
relocating to a place where she could earn a living without being
arrested for it.
     "Of course it's not legal in the big gambling cities because
it would interfere with the economy," I chattered on like an
expert, "and it's all in houses instead of on the streets."  I
didn't know what I was talking about, but I felt a nervous need to
pretend I wasn't thrown by her frankness.
     "Houses.  I'd rather work for myself."
     "Don't you have a pimp?"
     "I don't need one.  And I don't work the streets, either. 
Right now, for example, I'm working a national convention of judges
at The Fontaine."
     "There's a big Christian crusade in town right now," I blurted
out, feeling stupid as soon as I did.
     Her face got hard.  "I don't fuck preachers."  She spit the
words out bitterly, and I felt like I must have violated some moral
code in her profession.
     But I held my ground.  "I do."
     She needed to change the subject for some private reason I was
to learn later, but I thought her next words were just an attempt
to one-up me.
     "Listen, would you like to watch me work?  I have a trick
meeting me in my room this morning."
     "What's he going to think about my being there -- hey, listen
just a minute!"
     "First of all, it's not a he, and second of all, she will pay
twice as much for the humiliation of it.  You can join in or just
watch."
     She had raised the stakes in the game I thought we were
playing, so I called her.  "Sure, ok," I said as though it were
nothing.  Big time sophisticated street person me.

     Off Bourbon Street in the heart of the French Quarter stands
The Fontaine Hotel, holding its nose in ornate dignity above the
stench of street garbage and gumbo.  It prides itself on its Louis
Quatorze decor and its fine cuisine, if anything that smells like
fish can be properly so called.  Most of its rooms are clean.  Old
clean, not the bright new clean of modern resort hotels.  Slightly
musty.  You know everything is clean, but you feel the history of
other people's feet on the carpet and of their bodies on the beds. 
The covers have memories.
     Darlene Maynard, her lewd body glistening, was making her
contribution to the room's history.  She would be a part of its felt
memories for future guests.  It had been a profitable convention
week for her.  She had averaged half a dozen men a day -- and this
girl, daughter of a big time judge from Minneapolis. Picked her up
at the swimming pool.
     Darlene's room was ten floors above the street, but the
buildings nearby created an amphitheater effect that made raucous
speech sound as though it were in the room with you.  A siren
pierced straight into the brain, and a truck rattled the windows. 
It was a single room.  I wondered why single rooms always had two
beds as I lay on one of them, watching.
     She had moved the small armchair between the beds.  She was
leaning back with her ass on the edge of the chair and one foot on
each bed.  Very comfortable for her and ideal for the college
freshman on her knees sucking between her legs.  The large cabinet
directly in front of her opened its doors to a TV set so she
wouldn't be bored.
     Sunday morning.  Nothing on but preachers.  Some of them were
pretty good.
     Darlene touched the tender place between her leg and her
pussy.  The girl swooned and nuzzled her face under Darlene's hand
and kissed with open mouth.  Darlene took a drag off her cigarette
and tapped it in the ashtray on the bed.  She looked down the
length of her long, lewd body at the young girl sucking between her
legs.  She took a handful of the teenager's hair.
     "Eat it," she snarled.  She knew it turned the girl on.  She
had known what the judge's daughter was all about almost as soon as
she had strolled by her at the pool, she told me.
     "Suck it up.  Hurry it up, Stupid.  I got paying customers
waiting.  Your father, for one.  Hey!  How 'bout your mother?  I bet
she'd go for my tasty juice, wouldn't she?  Wouldn't she?" she
growled as she pulled the girl's face roughly into her hot, wet
cunt.
     "Umph, mumph, umm."
     "Drink.  Swallow it."
     The girl let out a pitiable little whine, feeling Darlene's
legs while she sucked eagerly between them, moving her face in it
and swooning.
     Darlene relaxed and watched her feast on female sex sweat and
cunt slime, getting it in her eyes and all over her face.  She
watched the teenager wipe her face on her slick legs and slide back
down to suck up some more woman fuck.  She was going to cum in the
girl's mouth, and there was no way to hold it back much longer. 
Her breathing became more labored and shortly started coming in
gasps.  I watched her stomach pump the air and knew she could not
control the reflexive fuck movements as old as nature itself.  I
listened to her grunting groans, every breath voicing a moan of
pleasurable agony with the ineluctable approach of her orgasm.
     She screamed.  Her legs gripped the girl's face in a vice of
thighs and her hands clutched the girl's head.  The merciless
violence of her orgasm punished the teenager's face as Darlene's
legs slammed the helpless victim of her temporary insanity.  I
relived my experience with James as I watched.  Her feet slammed
down on the girl's back, and she knew but could not care that she
was brutalizing the unsuspecting source of her throes of ecstasy.
     It lasted forever.  She had jerked herself senseless.  The
girl had become a rag doll and was barely holding on to
consciousness.  Darlene lifted her legs high and swung them down
hard, catapulting her out of the chair to her feet.  The girl hung
on for dear life and fastened her mouth up in Darlene's cummy hole. 
Near collapse, her cunt sore, and her crank case drained, Darlene
could only stand and let the girl suck.  She had to catch her
breath to have the strength to shove her away.
     She brought her hand down hard against the teenager's face and
heard her high-pitched grunt of pain.  Again she hit her.  Again,
and again.  The girl loosened her bear hug from around Darlene's
hips and legs, and her face sagged in Darlene's sex pit.  Darlene
pulled the teenager's head back by her hair, prying her loose, then
kneed her viciously, sending her crashing backwards to the floor. 
I had to remind myself the girl had paid her to treat her this way;
I was there when she told Darlene what she wanted.  I grabbed
myself between my legs and starting pumping myself slowly.
     The girl lay there on the floor stunned, trying to breathe, her
eyes crossing and glazing.  Darlene planted one bare foot on her
hair and the other on her face.  She looked down at her and let
herself return to normal.  "Play with yourself, queer," she ordered
the girl, and stood there with her foot in her face as the girl
obeyed.


     The television preacher was saying, "I feel somebody out there
in pain."
     "Huh!  You ain't said shit, Preacher," Darlene answered back. 
She looked at the TV, refocusing her eyes, adjusting her foot on
the masturbating teenager's face.
     "I feel your pain.  I know your pain," the handsome blond
minister of the gospel said.
     Darlene told me later she thought she was seeing things, that
the unrelenting intensity of her orgasm must have scrambled her
brains.  Take away the age, and the preacher was an exact replica of
the grinning young preacher boy who had burned the symbol of
Christianity into her tender flesh almost two decades ago. History.
Memories.  The brand of the cross.  The laughing monster who had
burned it there while the other boys watched.  Preacher boys.
     A cross exactly like mine in exactly the same place, as I
would soon see, burned there by the same man.
     She ground her foot into the girl's face, and her eyes shot
fire at the televised image.  "It couldn't be," she whispered.  She
watched.  Yes.  Yes, yes, yes!  It was!  Twenty years of hate
seethed within her as she relived the humiliation at the hands of a
boy she thought loved her as she had loved him.
     She watched.
     She watched Jonathan Barrett, knowing my daddy's future.

     I won't take you through our shock and emotions after the girl
left.  Darlene saw it first.  I was still jerking off, and she
started feeling my legs.  I felt her jerk back abruptly, and she
scared the shit right out of me when she screamed "NO!" at the top
of her lungs.
     I got what I thought was the full story that morning and
afternoon.  We sat in silence for a good part of the time, stunned
by the incredible coincidence of our meeting on a street in New
Orleans and the further unlikelihood of our ending up staring at
each others crotches in a hotel room to whose musty smell we had
added the unmistakable scent of girl funk.
     But I didn't know the whole story.  As stunned as I was, I
could not at that moment have been persuaded to do to Daddy what I
was later persuaded to do.  That took another revelation, one that
made it impossible to pass off Daddy's branding young women as a
strange but forgivable fetish.  Besides, although Darlene's
branding had been traumatic for her, I had accepted my own branding
on my eighteenth birthday as an initiation rite upon coming of age
as a woman.  It is truly amazing the twists and turns a girl forces
her mind to take to keep loving her daddy.
     But I did not yet know the whole story, and in my naivete I
could not have fathomed the depth of long-term hatred I would later
discover in Darlene Maynard and what such ingrained loathing can
drive people to do.
     And furthest from my bewildered mind was the possibility that
fewer coincidences exist in this world than can be suspected by an
eighteen-year-old girl.

     And would you believe it?  I had sex with Daddy that same
night.  Ah, youth.  I do miss it so.  Midst all that had happened,
my pussy kept its own agenda, caring not for the silly meandering
of human foibles and concerns.  I had taken a mental picture of
Darlene standing in front of that college girl holding her by the
head and fucking her in the mouth.  It was burned into my visual
cortex as vividly as the brand in my crotch.  I pictured her legs
with their incomparable interplay of sinew and flesh, the creation
and subtle evolution of indentations and feminine mounds of muscle
as she moved.
     I wanted to see myself like that, to watch my own younger and
prettier legs and my beautiful naked body create those magnificent
visual effects.  I wanted to lust on myself, and I needed Daddy as
a sex object.
     I sang in the choir in the evening service, and Daddy gave a
beautiful message on Mary Magdalene.  He is so moving when appealing
to the downtrodden and hated members of society who are people to
him with needs and hopes and wishes just like the rest of us.
     Our hotel was a total contrast from The Fontaine.  Bright and
new with blond furniture, indirect lighting that could be adjusted
to any brightness you wanted, and polished mirrors that covered two
walls.  Our adjacent rooms had a connecting set of doors which we
only shut when we weren't going to be there.
     Daddy was in the shower, and I sat naked on the bed waiting
for him.  When he came out, he was wearing a white cloth robe and
had a white towel over his head with the ends tucked into the robe
at his neck.  It gave me a brilliant idea for role playing.  I
pulled the blanket off the bed and draped it over my hair and slung
it dramatically around my body.
     He stood there with a slight smile on his face watching me.  I
positioned myself so I could see everything I needed to in the
adjoining wall-sized mirrors.
     Jesus Daddy came to his Mary Magdalene daughter.
     "Mary," he whispered.
     "Kneel to me, Jesus."
     He knelt humbly before me with his head bowed.  I opened my
blanket and let it fall behind me and stood magnificently over him
looking down on him haughtily.  I pulled the towel off his head and
tossed it across the room.
     "Divest thyself of thy raiment and bow before me in thy
nakedness."
     He did.  I put my foot on the nape of his neck and beheld the
wondrous sight reflected in full in the mirror.  God, I loved it! 
Power and lust commingled in my womanly majesty, and my loins
stirred with devilish greediness.
     "Kiss my feet, Nazarene."
     He began to giggle.
     "Oh, Daddy!  I was really getting into it."
     "I'm sorry, Sweetheart.  I couldn't help it."
     "I'll show you 'couldn't help it.'"  I reached down and took
his face in both hands and pulled it snugly up into my crotch and
started fucking.  "Eat me, Daddy.  Suck it up.  Drink it.  Swallow
it."
     I looked at us in the mirror, and that did it.  I went off
like a bomb, hunching and fucking Daddy's face and mouth and
watching the whole scene.  In it and watching it at the same time. 
What a fantastic turn on!
     "Suck me off!" I snarled just like Darlene had, and I cum in
Daddy's mouth uninhibitedly at the same time the mirror goddess cum
in her man's mouth.  The mirror goddess and I communed spiritually
as we cum in our mortal slaves' hungry faces.
     Then came the damndest feeling I've ever had.  As the mirror
goddess and I stood in the relative calmness of afterglow, looking
at each other in curious bonding, we began to rise!  Float right up
into the air!  It took deliberate effort on my part to come out of
the near hallucinatory fantasy and realize Daddy was rising to his
feet with me on his face.  I caught my balance and wrapped my legs
around his face and held on to his head as he walked blindly toward
the huge bed.  Running his hands up my back when his knees touched
the bed, he bent over and deposited me gracefully thereon.
     I released him from the head scissors, and he crawled up my
body face first, sliding through the perspiration on my belly and
stomach, pausing at my tits and sucking tenderly, and entering me
gently but firmly as our open mouths joined like perfectly fitting
suction cups of soft, moist flesh.
     I smelled myself on his warm breath and tasted my woman goo in
his mouth, but it was the stuff and smell of the woman in the
mirror.  I wanted her hot, wet sex in my mouth and her legs and
crotch in my face, and I sucked at Daddy's mouth gluttonously for
it as he fucked me.  I cum again, and again I cum, sucking the
woman in the mirror and fucking my daddy in a glorious melange of
images and feelings, veritably transported into a surrealistic
netherworld where delusion copulates with primitive archetype.  My
orgasm pervaded the universe and transcended time, place, and
dimension.
     Daddy exploded inside me, his thick cream of male essence
lapped up and swallowed by my thundering, pulsating, sucking pussy.
I cum again, and lapsed gratefully into unconsciousness at the peak
of my orgasm.  I could not have taken another minute of this
rampant phantasmagoria of all-consuming psychotic lust.

     New Orleans had its spiritual experience, and I had mine. 
Daddy and I fucked every single day and sometimes more for two
spectacular weeks.  In part, I think I was trying to fuck Darlene
Maynard out of my thoughts.  I did not miss another service,
either.  I knew if I wasn't in church or fucking Daddy, I'd run
straight to The Fontaine Hotel, and there would be no predicting
where I'd go from there.
     So I fucked and went to the crusade.  Our role playing was a
riot, and we sometimes ended up rolling on the floor laughing
instead of cumming.  "Can I blow your trumpet, Joshua?"  That
destroyed one skit.  I rode him into Egypt one night, and he rode
me in a triumphal entry into Jerusalem another.  I went psychotic
again in another mind-bender when I played the Virgin Mary fucking
the Holy Ghost.  I was the woman at the well and sucked him off as
payment for telling my fortune.
     I won't tell you how we conducted Communion, but it wasn't
with crackers and grape juice, and our version of the Last Supper
was in the bathtub with biscuits and gravy.
     But mostly we just made wonderful, unforgettable love with
each other.  My Daddy.  My darling, wonderful Daddy.  There would
never be anyone like him.

--end Chapter 2--