Demon Lust

 

Excerpt from The Devil’s Doorbell

All bible quotes are from the King James Version.
Until they aren’t.

Chapter 1

Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?

Genesis 3:1

Ruth took off her bonnet and hung it on its hook as the echoes of the evening Recessional faded in the distance. She didn’t have time to bother with her shoes and hurried to the wooden chair placed in front of the television, her chest heaving from her mad dash across her neighborhood.

She lived too far from the Seventh Street Holy House, but this small apartment was all she could afford with the wages from her job at the small market down the street. If Layman Mark ended the service when he was supposed to, she wouldn’t have to run to make it home in time.

Sometimes she wondered if he gave long sermons on purpose.

Her bottom hit the hard seat a split second before the screen flickered to life and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Joyous and blessed evening, good women of Newmerica.”

Judith Martin’s voice was as modulated and soothing as it had been when Ruth first bore the woman’s mark of sin almost five years ago, and it didn’t look like she’d aged a day.

“Blessed evening, Mother Judith,” Ruth replied, the rote response coming without thought.

“Thank you for joining me for our nightly devotions. It is a true pleasure to see your righteous faces every day and share the Lord’s word with you.”

Trying not to let her gaze flicker to the red light above the television, Ruth nodded and said, “The Lord’s word is good and we long to hear it.”

“The Lord’s word is indeed good,” Judith said, a wide smile on her face. “But first, let’s repeat the Women’s Commandments.”

Ruth clenched her jaw, but tried to keep her expression placid. She hated the Commandments. Six laws designed to highlight a woman’s sin, but never give her a chance for redemption.

In Newmerica, you could kill a man, and be washed clean of sin after doing penance. Well, a man could kill someone and be cleansed. A woman would be crucified after a public flogging in Punishment Square.

Mother Judith’s voice pulled her from her wicked thoughts. She straightened her spine and repeated the words.

“Cleanliness is godliness. My thoughts are as pure as my body.”

“The blood of my womb is my penance for Eve’s sin.”

“Unquestioning obedience is the Lord’s will.”

“I must be steadfast in my piety.”

“My body is temptation and must be covered.”

“I will never self-rape or touch the Devil’s Doorbell.”

Mother Judith clapped her hands and beamed. “That was lovely, my sisters in the Lord. Please join me, and let us lift our voices in song.”

Organ music started and Ruth sang along with the hymn, just as she was supposed to. But the words on the screen were different than she remembered.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost, but now am found

T’was blind but now I see

Not grace that taught the word of God

T’was the might of Reverend Gabriel

How precious did that man appear

The hour I first believed

Reverend Gabriel’s face appeared on the screen. He wore a black cassock, and his kind brown eyes made Ruth squirm in her seat, guilt suffusing her for questioning the change in lyrics. Of course, it was perfect that the words to the tired old song be changed. Reverend Gabriel was the absolute authority on the Lord’s word.

When the song finished, she waited until the screen went dark before taking off her shoes. The bare floor was cold against her feet as she went into her tiny kitchen and poured instant soup into a pot, mixing it with water from the tap. She set it on the hot plate and filled a glass with reconstituted milk while she waited for it to warm.

Steam soon rose from her meager meal and she poured it into a bowl. She ate standing over the sink, unwilling to return to that single wooden chair.

Ruth didn’t mind the lack of privacy in the main room. She felt closer to the Lord there, especially during dawn prayer. But sometimes, she just wanted to be alone and slurp rehydrated noodles without an audience.

Her apartment was tiny, but it was hers, paid for with her own wages from her grocery store job. She loved her parents and family, as the Lord’s word said she should, but she had four sisters. They’d all been crammed into an apartment barely bigger than this one; now Ruth enjoyed the peace of her solitary existence. Strangely enough, she’d grown closer to her sisters than ever before. A little distance made them cherish each other.

She had to remind herself that Reverend Gabriel, Mother Judith, and Newmerica itself wanted her to remain pious. The constant intrusion into her life was meant to be helpful guidance to keep her on the righteous path.

When she finished her soup, she washed her dishes and crossed the main room, flipping the lights off as she went. A small lamp flickered in her tiny cell of a bedroom, giving off just enough light that she could see to hang her white dress and grab a nightgown and underwear off the dwindling pile of clean laundry.

The lamp in the tiny bathroom was bright, burning fluorescent so she could see every speck of dirt on her body and wash it away. The shower ran tepid. Truly hot water never reached her fifth-floor walkup. Carefully tucking her hair under a shower cap, she stepped under the spray and grabbed the bar of plain soap and a washcloth.

It was sinful to touch one’s bare body, even when bathing. The rag was a barrier between righteousness and damnation. Grimly, she swiped it between her legs, praying she wouldn’t feel that uncomfortable itch in her core that always seemed to happen when she washed down there.

It had never made sense to her that the Lord would give a woman that little bundle of nerves if He hadn’t intended it to be used. She’d asked once, many years before, and the memory of the result made her shudder.

She still had raised scars from that caning, the narrow lines a constant reminder that women shouldn’t question the Lord’s will.

Drying off quickly, she got dressed in a clean nightgown and underwear. She made sure the split in the back of the baggy garment was closed and knelt next to her bed for nightly prayers. By the time she finished, her knees ached and she was stiff with cold.

The thin blankets didn’t offer much protection from the persistent chill of her apartment, but they would warm eventually. She turned on her side and closed her eyes. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins and tried to sleep.

Yet the pulsing twitch between her legs never abated. She changed position, relaxing her legs to keep the pressure off that sinful place. The chilly air, her thin blanket, and even her heavy cotton underwear all conspired to tempt her into rubbing the irritation away.

She could assuage the maddening sensation. All she had to do was rub her sin cavern against the bedding. She would feel very good for a moment or two, and it would let her sleep.

Somehow, Layman Mark always knew when women had sinned. At least once a week his watery gray gaze would pierce one woman or another, and he would ask in that soft voice if she had anything to confess.

The woman would announce her sin to Layman Mark in front of the whole congregation, and he would bend her over the altar. He would lift her dress and open the back of her underwear, then give her twenty lashes with his heavy leather strap.

Yet Layman Mark had never singled her out for penance. Maybe it was because Ruth didn’t feel all that guilty. As long as she wasn’t touching her bare flesh with her fingers, she wasn’t really sinning, was she?

Biting back a gasp at the sensation, Ruth spread her thighs and shifted her hips side to side, letting her weight press her sin cavern against the bedding. As she rubbed her wet center against the rough cotton of her underwear, she promised herself she’d stop when she was finally able to marry.

 

Chapter 2

The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be punished.

2 Peter 2:9

The crash of wood woke Ruth from a sound sleep and she leaped from her bed, fear rising to choke her. She tried to shake it away. Crime was in the past; Reverend Gabriel had made Leviticus City into a peaceful oasis of the righteous.

She thought for a moment that something must have fallen in the hallway, but heavy footsteps sounded from the main room of her apartment. Ruth cowered against the wall, her lips moving as she prayed for rescue.

“Ruth Tyler!” a man’s voice yelled. “By order of the Sentinels of the Word, present yourself for judgment.”

Her knees buckled and she caught herself on the bed frame before she fell. Why would the Sentinels be arresting her? She wasn’t a criminal.

But you are a sinner, aren’t you?

Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes as she forced her feet to move. She grabbed a robe from the foot of her bed, wrapping it tightly around her body before she did the buttons up to her chin. Her face heated with mortification, knowing her hair would be visible, and the Sentinels wouldn’t wait for her to cover it.

She paused at the door, her eyes widening. They’d broken the door to her apartment off its hinges, and her single wooden chair was shattered into bits. Aside from her bed, she had nothing else for them to destroy.

They hadn’t touched the television. It was provided by the government of Leviticus City, and was required in every home. The red light of the righteous shone in the dim room.

Three men faced her, dwarfing the small space as they blocked the exit. They wore black robes, belted with leather, and heavy black boots. Hoods covered their heads, obscuring their faces.

Ruth had seen Sentinels before. Everyone had. But she’d never seen one so close. They were terrifying, and even the most pious of Leviticus City’s residents avoided them.

The tallest took a step forward. “Ruth Tyler,” he said softly, “you are under arrest for the crime of self-rape. Reverend Gabriel is prepared to pass your sentence himself to ensure that you receive sufficient penance for your unwholesome sin.”

She shook her head mutely and took a step backward, but was caught by one of the other Sentinels. His hands bit into her shoulders and she let out a sharp cry. Jerking away, she tried to run.

Before she reached the door, one of the Sentinels swept her feet out from under her, making her land heavily on her face. Choking on her sobs, she tried to evade their grasping hands.

They caught her easily. Grabbing her braid, the tallest Sentinel jerked her up, her scalp stinging at the tug on her hair.

“Another sin, Ruth Tyler?” He pushed her into the waiting arms of another Sentinel. “You must be in dire need of penance. I’ll be sure to add disobedience to the list.”

Ruth sobbed silently as fabric tore. Why had she tried to run? There was no escaping the Sentinels. Her dreams of a godly husband and children turned to nothing as quickly as her nightgown turned to threads and tatters.

They stripped her bare in full sight of the winking red eye over the television. That which no living thing had ever seen was now revealed.

And would be further revealed. Ruth knew what came next.

The Sentinels buckled leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. They chained her feet together, forcing her to take small steps, then they linked her wrists behind her back.

The tall one stroked her head, tickling the short hair that had escaped her braid. Filled with shame, Ruth looked down and squeezed her eyes shut against fresh tears.

“Unsurprising,” he said, “that you have harlot’s hair.” He gathered it in his fist, tugging her head back and forcing her to lift her chin. “But you’re not going to hide behind it. Walk proudly with your head up, whore.”

Ruth tried to obey, keeping her eyes averted from her neighbors as the Sentinels walked her down the stairs and outside into the street. Her teeth chattered as the cold January wind buffeted her naked body.

The tears wouldn’t stop, and when she watched her best friend Sarah sneer and turn away, she broke down and fell to her knees.

“Stand up, harlot!” a Sentinel barked. A whip snapped, sending a tendril of agony across her shoulders. Again and again, the leather goad cut her skin until she staggered to her feet.

But she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head and watch her friends and neighbors turn their backs on her. It was too much. Maybe it would be easier once she started walking to the Holy House.

The whip cracked against her bottom, making her scream. She took a step forward, hobbled by the chain between her feet, but a hand on her braid jerked her to a stop.

“I told you to keep your head up,” the tall one hissed. “If you won’t do it on your own, we’ll fix it so you don’t have a choice.”

He jerked her hands up, forcing her to bend forward to relieve the sudden strain on her shoulders, then tugged hard on her braid.

“Please, I’ll be good,” Ruth whispered, her voice broken with shame and pain from the whip.

“Too late for that now. You should have obeyed when you were told,” he snapped. Latching on to her braid, he pulled until she saw nothing but the sky. Another Sentinel moved behind her, and she felt her hair sweep across her hands. A moment later they let her go and she sent a prayer of thanks to the Lord.

Yet when she tried to lower her hands, she realized what they’d done. They’d tied her hair to the chain connecting her wrists together, forcing her to keep her head high. Letting out a soft whine of despair, she tried to lift her hands, but couldn’t get enough slack to allow her to lower her face.

Ruth heard a snap and the whip connected with her bottom, driving her forward. Her bare feet crunched in the snow, the sharp bits of ice cutting into the tender soles.

People lined the sidewalks, silent as they watched her march of shame down the center of the street. When she closed her eyes, the whip cracked again, biting into her thighs. She forced her lids to part and focused on a crow watching her from its perch on a signpost.

It called out, the harsh croak loud in the silent air as it announced her sin.

Two blocks later, there were more strangers and fewer friends, but their expressions didn’t change. They wore the face of judgment.

In Leviticus City, accusation was equal to guilt for a woman. One step away from mortal sin, any deviation from perfection would be punished harshly.

Although it was part of her penance, the Sentinels walked her down the center of the street as a lesson. She was to be pitied and scorned now, and the sight of her naked and bound would inspire piety in everyone who saw her.

Instead of stopping at the Seventh Street Holy House, they goaded her further. And the crowd of people never diminished. The whole city had turned out to watch her penance. The neighborhood was closed to traffic, freeing the streets for her parade of shame.

Thankfully, she never saw her family. She didn’t think she could bear watching their expressions as they watched her disgrace.

Ruth’s feet grew numb and she stumbled with almost every step. Her shivers had stopped three blocks past, and she felt almost warm now. Drowsy and languid, she kept moving forward. The goad continued to fall, yet the sting didn’t register on her frozen skin. The crowds filling the sidewalks turned into a blur of black and white, their faces pale blobs floating above the concrete.

A spoiled tomato hit her in the chest, the rancid flesh warm as it split and dripped down her belly. She didn’t see where the missile had come from. One of the Sentinels strode forward, his low growl of displeasure making the milling crowd waver and disappear like mist, scouring the empty sidewalk clean. Without a word, he wiped the glistening red pulp from her skin before driving her forward yet again.

He stopped her when she reached white marble steps leading upwards farther than she could see. Producing a piece of red fabric, he let it fall open and laid it over her head.

The sheer cloth covered her to her ankles, hiding nothing. It was the dress of a harlot, used only to protect the righteous from her sins.

Sentinels took her arms, one on each side, and bore her up the stairs. She thought it must be leading her to heaven for a moment, then recognized the iconic statues lining the steps of the Basilica of the Lord.

Ruth had walked by the most famous Holy House in the world many times, but had never been inside. Hot tears welled in her eyes. One day she might have come here as a worshipper. Today, she was a penitent.