She started to speak but I stopped her with my mouth. I worked my tongue into her and rubbed her child tits with my chest while my hand slipped beneath the band of her panties. She stiffened. “All the glorious light from the throne of Jehovah is flooding our blood, Lou. Can you feel it?” I whispered against her ear. She shuddered pressing her legs together. I caressed her stomach and slim thighs like one strokes a rabbit. “The meadows of paradise fountain perfume where God steps. And that same odor rises in our hearts from where I touch your sacred flesh.” The thighs opened a little. I stroked softly between them as well as I could, coaxing them apart. “Where God looks, flowers are bred from the light. And where my fingers look, a singing of angels is born in our souls.” The thighs opened a little further. She was naked under the dress. She hadn’t had time to put her panties on. “All the trees of Eden grew tongues to taste the presence of Jehovah-and we call them leaves. My spirit prays to you and we call it my hands touching.” The thighs gave up. She spread her legs, giving me her cunt. It was so different from Gunilla! So naked, and small, and firm. There wasn’t all that hair and liquid. This was a baby’s cunt. I stroked it, working my finger into the crack. The flesh was resilient. I found her hole. She was wet. Gunilla had prepared her well. I could get my finger in to the first joint immediately. Louise buried her face against my neck and muttered over and over: “Ave Maria, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Pray for us now in our hour of need…” I got my finger in a little deeper. Her hips were beginning to fuck at it a little.
Lars, your finger is in your baby sister’s little cunt, and she loves it. loves it! She’s wet, she’s completely lost now.
I heard my voice saying: “It is holy, Lou. This is real holiness. Our love, Lou. The way we feel towards each other and-uh-towards God. It is through love that we can truly worship God, like Jesus said. God is in all of us. When we love each other we love God. When we love each other… like this… stroking each other… we do reverence to God who made us and is in us.” My finger was stroking a little harder and faster. I covertly looked down at her lying stretched out with her dress all open and her nakedness bright in the full light. I realized suddenly how beautiful she was. Like the children you see running on the beach, their slim bodies looking like they had come fresh from God’s hands that moment. So lithe and supple and slender and fresh and perfect.
“God approves of us then… of our loving like this?”
“Of course, Lou.” My voice was husky and thick. And inside: Your baby sister’s crack-her cunt-juice, Lars. Your fingers are thick with baby’s cuntjuice!
“I want so much to believe… I love God and Jesus and what is good… but this feels so good! I want it. Oh, I want it… want to have it… want it to be right so I can have it… I want it… want it. Ohhh!”
I moved my finger in her: “Remember how the Virgin Mary was pure, Lou?” I whispered: “Remember that she had a husband, but was pure! She loved her husband in that purity, Lou, and he loved her… loved her like this… as I am loving you! He put his fingers in her and the love grew and she loved it and gave herself up completely to it: to love… and to her husband, she thought, but it was really to God! And she got Jesus for it! For this, Lou! Mary got Jesus for giving herself up to love, to joy, to hands, to mouth… giving everything to love!”
My fingers probed and moved in her cunt. My thumb found the top of the slit and rubbed it gently. My mouth kissed the nape of her neck, her ears, her hair.
“You are finger-fucking your baby sister, Lars! She is yours-will be your slave! You are wantonly finger-fucking your baby sister while you whisper to her of holiness, and your hand is covered with baby sister’s cunt-juice! Now you are licking, eating her little tit-your little baby sister’s tit while your hand dips and revels in her little cunt and her cuntjuice!”
She jerked a little as I sucked at her nipple, and I realized it was far more sensitive than Gunilla’s and more delicate. And rather than the resiliency of Gunilla’s breast, there was an ineffable softness to Louise’s.
I moved my loins against her hand and instinctively she touched it-moved on my cock.
“Soon she will learn to play with your big stiff prick, Lars. soon… soon… “Think of Mary, Lou, and her love with Joseph! We are Mary and Joseph, Lou-the parents of God! And little Jesus, Lou. Think of Mary and Jesus-his loving her like this when he was small-his little fingers in her cunt, like I’m doing to you. And her loving him, Lou. Think of that! Would you like to love me like Mary did Jesus?” I felt the power growing and growing in me, raging against my mind and my caution, writhing to take over… with each word she became more and more helpless and I more and more gripped by uncontrollable excitement.
She couldn’t speak. She gasped and nodded. But I knew I had to stop. Any more and I might lose it. Lose everything with her. Might frighten her. Something told me I had reached just the last point… She’d had all she could take. And, curiously, I felt a great tenderness and concern for her. I wanted to violate her, yes. I was excited by the idea of making love to a child it was true, but I still loved her! I didn’t want to do anything brutal. I wanted to do indecent things to that purity, but I wanted her to enjoy it. I wanted to protect her, somehow, even while I intended to have her. It was strange. She needed time-progression by slower stages. It must be a joy to her.
She seemed in a trance. I lifted her in my arms. She was so light, so small. I carried her to her room and laid her on the bed. I put her teddy bear in her arms. Her eyes opened and she looked at me with her soul. “I must go now, Lou. But always remember that I love you. And that our love is holy.”
She smiled at me with a radiance that stopped my breath. We stared into each others eyes. I could see a great happiness in her. I kissed her and left. I went out hungry for a woman. I was a lion. I wanted meat.
Chapter Thirteen
The appetite was huge in me. I came into the hall looking both ways. For prey. Mother! But her room proved empty. So did Gunilla’s. As I stood at the window panting, I saw Annie cross the back lawn to her apartment over the garage. Annie, then! I remembered what Gunilla had said about how she became helpless if you talked obscenely. I remembered the scene with Father.
I ran down the stairs and across to the garage. The shut door at the bottom of her stairs sobered me. After all, this wasn’t a girl like Gunilla or Louise. This was a woman. I suddenly realized I was still a kid to her. Besides, I’d never even spoken to her. You can’t just go up to a grown woman and say you want to get fucked. Especially if you’re only fourteen.
Bu I had to have it! And I suddenly very much wanted it to be Annie. Every morning at breakfast she was so proper, so prim. Yet the peasant soul of her obviously wanted to be plowed. The peasant in her required being used. As Father has used her. Not asking, telling her. And her loving it. She was born to serve men. To serve me! To serve this lion raging in me.
I considered the bell. If I rang, she’d stick her head out the window and ask what I wanted. What could I say? That I’d come to get laid? Impossible. I tried the door. It was open. I went up the steps and opened the door at the top. I was in her living room. The servant-quarter quality of it drove something in me wild. Here it was my right to forage. Not by asking permission, but because of some privilege my blood knew.
The room was completely bourgeois. The middle-class furniture, the sentimental landscapes on the wall, the pair of cheap plaster Chinese dancers, the tinted photographs of her parents.
Annie was facing away from me, lifting the maid’s cap from her head. I was struck by how she wasn’t the usual peasant. Not big-boned and ruddy. Her arms were slender and her ass was small and trim. No, the provincial quality here was not of the barnyard, but of the village. She was like a merchant’s wife whose respectable black clothes somehow always manage to make you conscious of her body. And the flesh had the whiteness of nudity. Not the aristocratic, healthy whiteness of Mother, but the vaguely erotic white of flesh that never saw the sun. Flesh that showed itself clandestinely in locked rooms at night. It made me think of schoolgirl whores and shopgirl mistresses. I must force that pretense of propriety to confess its hidden lust.