textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/trinit04.txt

                        Chapter Four

     "There were a lot of good papers I want to follow up on,"
Ricky Alvarez had said to his Intro Sociology class.  He had
gone on to ask several students to make appointments with him. 
He had asked Christina and me to meet with him at the same
time.
     "Your papers were both excellent presentations on the
sociology of women in America.  But you take quite different
points of view, and I think it would be valuable to see them
together.  I really believe it would result in a publication,
maybe in a national journal or even a magazine that would pay
you for it."
     So the three of us had met briefly after class, and
Christina had offered her apartment for an evening planning
session.  I was there, and of course Christina was there.
     But no Alvarez.
     "I wonder what's keeping Ricky," I said as I sipped my
second glass of wine in Christina's comfortable apartment.  I
felt warm and tingly.  The conversation had been surface stuff
up to now, but there was an undercurrent between us on the
sofa.  Maybe it was the wine.  Maybe it was Christina's bare
legs flashing from time to time beneath her flowing fuchsia
skirt.  Maybe it was the hint of honeysuckle that wafted by
when she moved.
     "Oh, he called and said he'd be along later," Christina
said in her boudoir velvet voice.  "Car trouble.  He said we
should get to know each other and share points of view about
women . . . and sex."
     All according to plan, I learned later.  It wouldn't
matter if I saw through the setup.  Christina had read me
correctly, with that bastard Alvarez's help, and they knew we
would be sliding around on each other's luscious bodies before
the evening was too far along.
     Well, I had gotten to where I could read minds pretty
accurately, and her lingering looks at my cleavage announced
her thoughts: I want to suck those beautiful young breasts.
     I knew exactly what I was thinking, too: I want to plant
my lips on that perfect thigh.
     "Trinity, your paper was really fascinating.  The
relationship you describe between women and religion and
between women and sex made them sound like the same thing. 
I've never thought of religion as sexy.  Maybe sex as religion
but not the other way around.  In fact, I've always thought
religion oppresses sex and women."
     "It does.  That's why the sexuality of worship, at least
in Western history, comes out in disguised form.  You can see
it more clearly in less sophisticated churches where ecstacy
is emphasized.  I see it every Sunday.  Women clutching their
breasts, going into orbit, rolling on the floor and jerking in
paroxysm.  They're having a wild orgasm but nobody admits it. 
My daddy's an expert at building them up to that point and
then bringing them all the way home."
     "You mean his sermons are foreplay and their spiritual
ecstacy is an orgasm?  Wow, I need to go to your church!  But
that's hypocrisy, isn't it?"
     "Not really.  They really believe they're possessed by
the Spirit when that happens.  The women don't recognize
they're having orgasms, you see.  Most of them don't know what
an orgasm feels like.  They're being filled with the Holy
Ghost.  God Himself is in them, consuming them.  The physical
entry of God Almighty into a frail human body is powerful. 
The indwelling of the Holy Spirit is all-consuming.  When
Jesus enters you and you surrender to Him, you are taken out
of ordinary realms and lifted up in rapture.  Listen to them
talk as they're going up and coming down: it sounds exactly
like they're making love to Jesus."
     "Making love with Trinity sounds great."  She smiled
slyly.
     There's something in me that compels me to prove I'm
unflappable.  I have to call people's bluff, and I can't be
the first one to back down when something starts.  Besides, it
was time to stop tiptoeing around what I knew both our pussies
wanted.
     But I had been fighting lately to convince myself I was
straight.  Kinky as hell, yes, and uninhibited, no doubt, but
all my experience was heterosexual.  Except for some fantasies
like the mirror goddess and a dream about my unknown mother. 
And some thoughts I'd had this evening about Christina.
     "I didn't mean to throw you, Trinity.  I was just being
cute.  Sorry."  She was still being cute.  She said it in that
phone-sex voice with that luscious mouth, and her whole
presentation was the picture of female sensuality.  That
exposed thigh was a magnet with extraordinary force fields.
     "I've never had sex with a woman, Christina.  Besides,
there aren't enough of us here to make a Trinity to fuck you
with."
     I jumped like I was shot when Alvarez spoke.  He had
slipped in behind me on little Spanish cat feet.
     "God the Father is here," he announced.
     My drink went all over me and the couch and Christina.
"Alvarez, you goddamned son of a bitch!" I screamed.  I turned
around with full intentions of throwing my glass at his head,
but I confronted a sight that stopped me cold.
     He was standing there with his cock out, fully erect.  I
sat frozen in my twisted position with my glass drawn back
like a baseball pitcher, staring at the mighty baton like I'd
never seen one before.  I saw the setup and didn't care, just
as they had known I wouldn't.  Alvarez knew I had never been
with a woman, and they wanted a three-way with me.  Christina
was to soften me up with wine and seduce me, and Ricky was to
join us when she had taken me beyond my ability to resist. 
The horny Latin had been listening and couldn't wait any
longer.  Cocks are not as patient as cunts.
     In truth, I've never been so relieved to see a dork in my
life.  I was about to have sex with a woman, and I was
struggling hard over what that said about me.  Alvarez knew
all about my conflict from our conversations and had come up
with a solution to ease me into what I wanted <20> and ease his
lusty probe into my equally lusty body.
     I felt Christina remove the glass from my hand.  I felt
her hand on the back of my head, pushing lightly as Ricky
moved close.  I opened my mouth gratefully, and she pushed me
down over Ricky's insistent tube of meat.  I engulfed it, and
Christina forced my face clear down to the base of it.  I felt
her straddle my rib cage, and she took my head in both hands
and pumped me slowly up and down over Ricky.  One hand snaked
its way around to my face and enhanced my oral pleasure with
feminine soft fingers on my mouth.  She had me surrounded with
hands and legs, one hand bracing my head and the other holding
Ricky's thick cock in my mouth as he slid it in and out.  I
loved both, her soft hand with its special firmness and his
hard prick with its unique suppleness.  Hard and soft at the
same time, forceful and gentle at once, simultaneously
masculine and feminine, concurrently using me and gratifying
me.  Male and female made He them, and delivered me unto them
for their pleasure and my oral delight.


     The weight of Christina's body on me and the pressure of her
legs against me multiplied my sense of subjugation and surrender to
them, and Ricky's rhythmic male thrusting in and out of my open and
receptively wet mouth completed the strong undertone of abject
submission to man and woman, god and goddess.  I was theirs in body
and soul and would do anything they wanted.  They owned me.  They
could do anything to me they pleased, and I would only love them the
more for it.
     Christina removed her hands, and I whined my objection before I
realized she was pulling her dress over her head. Her hands returned
and griped my head and face and pulled me off Ricky and turned me
around.  I was a thing she could do with as she chose.  She had
already pulled my dress over my hips while I blowing Ricky, so
sliding it over my head was accomplished with such an expert
facility that I barely knew she had it off me.  Ricky had gone
around the couch, and he took me by the feet and pulled me farther
under Christina.  My mouth literally watered as I looked in
amazement upon the beautiful body of the woman straddling my tits.
She sat erect, pridefully, knowing my need to lust on her stomach
and belly and full breasts.
     "Fuck her mouth," Ricky told her.  "Sit full on her beautiful
face and hunch her in the mouth."
     She looked down on me with a lecherous contempt and moved up on
my chest.  She opened my mouth for me as though I would not have
cooperated.  Wider.  She stretched my mouth with her woman hands and
forced her knuckles into my mouth.
     "Suck my fist," she hissed, and I distorted my mouth to take
it.  I could see she was using her other hand to get her hairy pussy
ready, and I was eager to taste her, to imbibe her female essence,
to drink from my goddess.
     Ricky had spread my legs and positioned himself for the great
male thrust.  He shoved into me all the way and held it there
powerfully.  I tried to gasp but I gagged on Christina's fist.  She
slid her knuckles out and pushed on my mouth with her fist.
     "Hit me, Christina," I begged.  "Hurt me, Goddess, hit me,
please.  Punish my face with your woman fists."
     I can't imagine what had come over me.  Fortunately for me,
Christina understood it was the idea and not the reality that is
sexy, so she roughly pushed my face back and forth with her fists.
     "She loves it, Ricky; look at her.  I'm going to fuck your
cuntsucking mouth, queer girl."  She held me by the hair and
actually did hit me with her open hand but not hard enough even to
jar me.  Then she backhanded me the same way.
     "Oh, Christ, I love this idea.  Look at this beauty, Ricky.
She's loving what I'm doing to her."  Then to me, "I'm going to make
you suck up inside of me, slave."  She moved onto my face, settling
comfortably down on it with her soft legs covering my face and her
now drippy cunt full of woman fuck in my wide open mouth.  She may
not have wanted to hit me, but she didn't mind taking my face like
she was riding a fast pony.  I squeezed my dominant goddess's legs
and sucked and sucked and sucked and sucked as hard and as nastily
as I knew how.
     Ricky was fucking me like he'd never get another chance. My
mind dashed back and forth between the woman on my face and the
thorough reaming Ricky was giving my plumbing with his giant
snorkel.  He varied his strokes between whole body movement which
penetrated me deeply and faster pelvic hunch- dancing which
stimulated my insides.  He started taking strokes so long that he
actually withdrew and re-entered me. He gave me the stroke he called
his Latin rhythm stroke, short fast ones interspersed with deep
powerful ones.  He had perfected several varieties, and he was
alternating between them now.  When my mind was down there, I could
match the rhythm perfectly.  The Mexican Hat Dance is easier than
you might think, but Malaguena takes some well-timed vibrating.
     I wanted the soft-hard probing of my insides never to stop and
the firm-mush using of my face to go on forever.  I'm not the type
to adopt it on a permanent basis, but being a submissive woman was
wonderful.  When my mouth got tired and I couldn't hunch, I just lay
there and let them use me until I regained the strength to serve my
master and mistress more actively.
     "Lick around up inside my body," Christina was saying.
     "Unh, unh, hunh, ahh, ohh, unh," Ricky explained.
     "Unh, slurp, mumph, slurp," I pointed out.
     "I'm going to cum all over your pussyloving face."
     "I'm cumming in her already.  Ooooooooo."  He began vibrating
so fast I couldn't keep up.  I just hunched upward once and stayed
there letting his lightning strike me and his flood wash through my
gorge.
     "I want to cum in her eyes," Christina announced and covered me
completely when she released herself in my face. "Here it comes,
baby -- Ahhhhhhh."
     Ricky continued to slide his greased pole in and out of my
hungry pussy with slowly diminishing involuntary jerks ordered by
his spinal cord.  Christina got into sliding around in her own slime
on my well-used and gooey face.
    Ricky collapsed diagonally across me to keep from busting his
nose on Christina's backbone, and I felt that odd sensation of his
shrinking schlong crawling out of me like a tired python.
    Christina was suffering fatigue but couldn't seem to stop.  Her
brain was obviously fried but still trying to function.  "Gooey,
gooey, gooey, nasty woman fuck slime sucky pussy slavery slobber
swallow wallow."  Then a brief moment of near lucidity before she
slumped forward and lay still on my face:  "Drink my woman fuck,
slave."
     When they were done with me, I was done with me, and I drifted
into the deepest, sweetest, most peaceful sleep I had ever known.
Lying submissively under two naked bodies, free of all stress, I was
entirely satisfied in the unpressured peace of my total passivity.

     The setup for this m<>nage <20> trois and introduction to
bisexuality was already obvious before the three of us discussed it
openly afterwards.  They weren't sure which of them had the idea
first, but I figured it was born in the ever-vigilant-to-get-laid
mind of our concupiscent professor of sociology, Dr. Enrique
Dicklust Alvarez.
     Wrong.  The setup was, in fact, Scene Two of a play whose plot
had been hatched and whose first scene was staged not in Reno but in
New Orleans.  Ricky wasn't even supposed to show up.  He thought the
plan was just so Christina could seduce me for her own pleasures,
but he got horny thinking about it and crashed the party.
    Ricky was only an oblivious foil for a much more sophisticated
schemer and planner driven by ugly memories boiling in a cauldron of
resentment and seasoned for eighteen years with profound female
hatred.  No man can be quite so devious and persevering a planner as
a woman whose love and trust is unconscionably violated.  No male
can match the willingness of a woman to use every possible resource
in bringing down an enemy, even if that resource has to be developed
over a twenty-year period.
    That night I was to learn more about the dark side of human
nature than I could ever have conceived possible.  Not the most
vivid of grim preachers who pass through some fundamentalist
churches had ever described in their endless recounting of human
depravity a loathing so intensely held for so long that it would
cause a mother consciously to brainwash her own daughter into
readying herself for enlistment in the service of her mother's
vengeance.


     I came to in a bed, still groggy.  Christina was sitting
across the room smoking a cigarette and watching me.  She was
wearing a shorty black lace nightie, and when she catwalked
slinkily toward me, I thought the role-playing with me as sex
slave was still the only game.  I was still into it, so that
was ok with me.  She stopped at the bed and stood looking down
at me, weight on one foot, cigarette dangling, arms akimbo.
     "Where's Ricky?" I asked sleepily.
     "He had to go home."  She reached for the phone on the
nightstand beside her.
     "What time is it?  Daddy doesn't know where I am."
     She handed me the phone and started dialing.  "I'm
calling him now.  Tell him where you are and that you're
staying over with me tonight.  You don't want your daddy
seeing your face tonight.  It's been used."
     I did as I was told.  A game is a game, and I couldn't
just walk out on it, especially with her taste still in my
mouth and those long shapely legs contrasting with that black
nightie.  It did flash across my awakening brain that I was
getting too deep in my role, enjoying too much the placid lack
of responsibility in slavery and having thought and choice
obviated.  But the joy of slavery was that I didn't have to
care or think about it.  Christina was in charge.
     Daddy was disappointed but said ok.
     Christina took the phone and placed it back in its
cradle.  Her attitude was perfect.
     And I had it all wrong.  Totally, completely wrong.  I
lay there looking up at her, and she stood there looking down
at me.
     "I'm going to show you something, Trinity, and it's going
to shock you.  You were supposed to see it earlier, but you
were too busy."
     She raised her leg and placed her foot on the bed beside
my face.  It took me awhile to see what she was talking about. 
When I saw it, I gasped and held my breath in confused horror. 
The cross!  Burned into the tender flesh between her leg and
her vulva, the cross.  Just like mine.  Just like the woman
Darlene in New Orleans.
     My spirit returned and my fire with it.  "Just who the
gaddamned hell are you and what are you trying to pull?  You
saw it on me and painted one on yourself.  You and that
fucking Alvarez!  Well, let me tell me you, it's not funny."
     From the doorway behind me came another voice: "No, it is
not funny, Trinity."
     I jerked around, ready to fight anything that came my
way, but I wasn't ready for what I met.
     "Darlene Maynard, remember?"  She came over to the bed
and placed her foot up on it, pulling her flowing dress over
her waist as she did.  I stared at the cross.
     "Remember?" she repeated.
     I lay there between two beautiful women showing me their
crotches and crosses.  What I said next was the only rational
analysis I had made all evening.
     "This is bizarre.  Who the fuck are you people and what
do you want?
     "I'm your mother," Darlene said.
     "I'm your sister," Christina said.
     "You're both full of shit, too, if you think you can
extort money from my daddy with a couple of cheap tattoos. 
Oh, I see.  You think you can blackmail him because of what I
did tonight.  You took pictures didn't you, Christina?  A
video camera somewhere, right?  It won't work.  I'll go to the
cops and newspapers myself and blow the lid off your little
racket."
     "You're not going anywhere until you shut up and hear
what we have to say," Christina threatened.
     "Kidnapping?  Is that it?  Are you serious?  I'll kick
both your asses and drag you out of here by your cunts! 
That's after I rip those crosses out of your crotches."  I
leaped forward and bounded stark naked off the foot of the
bed.  There was an umbrella leaning against the wall and the
chest of drawers.  I grabbed it and charged Darlene.
     She covered her head and waited for the blow.  I stood
over her with the umbrella poised to strike, but I couldn't
hit her, cowed down like that as she was.  Besides, I was in
full command of the room then and didn't need to.  Christina
was out of it.  She was standing on the other side of the bed
clasping her mouth with both hands, her eyes filled with
terror.
     I took Darlene by the hair and forced her down, then
knee-walked her around to the foot of the bed where there was
more room.  I pushed her to the floor.
     "Sit," I ordered her.  I pointed to Christina who was
still frozen with fear.  "You.  Sit."  I pointed to the floor
where her mother was.  She obeyed, never taking her hands away
from her mouth or her protective arms away from her breasts.
     "Now tell me who you are," I commanded Darlene, "before
I get a little vexed."
     She looked up at me at smiled!  The damn woman smiled!
     "If I had been like you when I was your age, Jonathan
wouldn't have dared to do what he did.  You are magnificent! 
You're also very naked, which makes it a little hard to
concentrate.  No, we're not here to extort or blackmail or
kidnap.  Won't you please listen to what we have to tell you?"
     "What've I got to lose?  Talk."  I pulled a chair over in
front of them and sat down, crossing my legs and dangling my
foot near Darlene's face.
     "This is very awkward," she said.  "Could we ------"
     "Talk," I said.
     They did, and I listened.
     Within an hour, I was a believer.  We continued over
coffee in the living room, fully dressed, and I joined a quest
to bring down an ogre who preys on young women and spends his
life in a lie by which the three of us had been inexpiably
violated and debased.
     And not we only.  My mother and sister had been
collecting data on the Reverend Jonathan Barrett for the last
two years.  They showed me newspaper articles from around the
country about an unidentified man whom the papers described as
"tall, handsome, and possibly associated with religion in some
way."  They had photographs, not very good ones but still
convincing, taken by a private detective and even a dark and
scratched up video tape showing my Daddy, my one true love and
lover, taking turns on a woman with three other men.  It was
ugly.  They laughed at her and threw money on her when they
were done.  Mother said the woman was a professional and had
played the same scene with Daddy and his friends several
times, but I was revulsed.
     Daddy never knew about Christina.  She was born two years
before I was, and Daddy arranged for an abortion.  But Mother
had the baby and put her up for adoption.  Incredibly, she
went back to Daddy who continued to use her for sex and
pretend he loved her.  He knocked her up again.  This time she
stood her ground and insisted he marry her.  She had me soon
after that.  They had been married about a year when the
cross-burning thing was done to her.  She ran away and spent
years in one jail or another or one whore house or another or
with one pimp or another.
     Christina had tracked her down a little over two years
ago, sobered her up, and gave her a reason to live:  vengeance
on my father.  When they followed him to New Orleans and saw
me for the first time, they decided it was time to stop
planning and preparing and start the process of slowly
reducing Daddy to the sewer he belonged in.
     They did a thorough job, and I hated him.  I hated him so
much, I missed the meaning of their self-satisfying nod to
each other when they didn't realize I could see them in a
mirror in the living room.

--end of Chapter 4--