He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart thundering in the cavity of his sunken chest.  Turning, he took a step toward the window, to peek inside.  He nearly jumped out of his skin as a human hand grasped his shoulder.

“You’ve no business there,” said the black uniformed guard who came as if out of nowhere.  “Move along.”

Mark caught up with the group, taking large, loping steps across the concrete floor.  He hadn’t noticed up to now that the floor was painted red.  Blood red.

The mysterious General, bereft of either a uniform or any sense of natural fear for the mighty Prophet Snow, stopped in front of cell 19-B.  He had keys in his pocket.  The door opened with a heavy creak.  The General flipped a switch, igniting one of the omnipresent bulbs.  One by one they filed inside.  The last guard in closed the door behind them, locking it from the inside.

“Behold, my young friend,” Snow announced to Mark.  “Your first advanced lesson as a deacon.”

Mark took one look at the cell’s occupant and felt the ground give way beneath him.  His eyes went cloudy.  He was fainting, crumpling to the feet of the others.

The next thing he remembered was cold water being splashed on his face.

“Get him up,” Snow was saying, none too sympathetically.

The two morals policemen scooped him up, one under each arm.  He was having difficulty focusing.  His eyes were lying—they could not be showing him this blasphemous sight.

“You say she hasn’t been touched?”  He heard Snow asking.

“She hasn’t so much as seen a cock or a whip,” the General confirmed.  “Though she’s certainly been begging for it…what with a body like that.”

Mark blinked.  The vision of naked flesh was coming all too clearly into view…the vision of sin he had not been able to accept a moment ago.  It really was a woman they had in here.  A stripped, suffering woman.  Why, he could scarcely imagine demonists doing a worse thing to a female’s honor.

One thing was true, though, the girl was stunning.  The General was hardly exaggerating.  The young woman bound in the center of the cell was indeed beautiful.  The first thing Mark noticed was her face.  She wore no veil.  Mark had not seen the face of a woman, except his own wife.  Rachel’s face was certainly not unpleasant to look at, and neither was this girl’s.  In fact, with her dark features and exotic eyes, so different than a man’s, her sculpted cheeks, so refined and…inviting…he could feel himself wanting to do things…to touch her even.

His eyes could not help but fall upon further sin.  Merciful Savior.  Her whole body was actually naked.  And she was in confinement, too, held in some kind of apparatus.

It was a cruel imprisonment, not easily described.  First, her hands were bound behind her back, and her upper arms, too.  The straps must have been exceedingly tight from the red marks on her brown skin.  Her wrists were held close to her behind, with the aid of another pair of cords that ran between her legs.  The very lips of her sex were divided by them.  The cords, once through her legs, ran up her taut stomach, one to each nipple.  Each nipple was clamped, attached and pulled sharply downward by the cords.

This alone would have been quite painful, but there was much more.  A bar had been inserted across her back, under her armpits.  The bar was attached to chains on both ends, such that it swung freely like a trapeze.  The girl was forced to stand on her tiptoes due to the height of it.

Finally, there was the rope tying her long black hair, pulling it directly over her head toward the ceiling, and the gag thrust into her mouth, thick red plastic strapped behind her head.  There were dried tears on her face.  Her eyes were wide open with fear.

“Rise and shine, princess,” growled the Sergeant.

She cringed visibly at his approach.  He might not have touched her, but he’d made it clear he had ideas in that direction.  Nasty ones.  And from the look of the windowless walls, the hopelessly thick blocks, no one would hear her if he did.

“How long has she been here?”  Asked Snow.

“Long enough.” The General inclined his head to the puddle between her legs, indicating she’d been forced to relieve herself in her bonds.

“Filthy animal,” hissed the Sergeant, his face lighting malevolently.  “Then again, what do you expect from a demonist slut?”

“What have you learned so far, General?”

The General advised the red suited Reverend of the particulars as the Sergeant filled a bucket of water from a tap on the wall.  “Not very much.  She was captured near the main weapons depot south of the city.  We can only assume from the uniform and weapons that she was parachuted in.  Maybe part of a strike team.”

Mark struggled to absorb the reality.  He was saying a thousand prayers in his mind, begging for deliverance from this…impossibility.

“Definitely from the Confederation, though,” he continued.  “The skin color alone tells you that.”

Mark noted that indeed she was a tiny bit darker than his own people.  Her eyes were vaguely slanted, too.  It was said in the Confederation random reproduction led to all sorts of mixes, all kinds of unplanned births.  The very thought of such a thing made him nauseous.

“Damned half breed bitch,” Snow muttered, shocking Mark with his use of profanity.  “I’ll say one thing, though, she’s got guts coming here.  We have to acknowledge that much.”

The others were silent.  Only a man of the Prophet’s rank could risk saying anything even remotely positive about a woman who served the devil.

“She tried to kill herself,” the sergeant explained, dousing her body with a bucket of water, cleaning away the urine.  “So we trussed her up.  First we had her in a regular cell, like a man.  We thought it was time to remind her she wasn’t.”

The wet prisoner shivered, miserable.

Mark swooned.  How could all of this be possible?  Was he dreaming?  Just his seeing a woman like this, in such a…compromised position was itself a sin.  And the way they were talking—he was becoming more and more convinced they intended to torture her, sexually.

“Take off her gag,” ordered Snow.  “I want to ask her some questions.”

The sergeant unbuckled the leather.  It wasn’t just a regular gag he pulled out, but a long, curved, bulbous piece of plastic in the shape of a male member.

Mark bent forward, clutching his stomach.

“Get him the empty bucket,” Snow instructed.

Mark finished throwing up in time for the interrogation.

“What was your purpose in coming here?”  Snow inquired.

The woman stared with hateful brown eyes.

“The High Prophet asked you a question, bitch.”  The short muscular sergeant was growling at her, an inch from her face.

She spat at him, right between the eyes.

The General laughed.  The Sergeant did not find it so funny.  “Fucking cunt.”  He took both of her nipple clamps in his hands, and squeezed them hard.

The dark haired girl screamed. 

“Before we’re done,” he predicted, “you’re gonna beg to lick my ass, my dick and my boots.”

Snow changed his line of questioning.  “Are you a virgin?”

She shook her head.

The Sergeant slapped her face, pulling at the roots of her hair.  “You answer, yes, Sir and no, Sir.”

“No,” the girl said.  “Sir.”

A murmur went around the room. It was true. The Confederationists really were godless animals.

“Confirm this fact, Sergeant.”

“My pleasure,” the sadistic bastard grinned.

The prisoner whimpered at the invasion, the man’s fingers digging under the cruel ropes to probe her exposed, swollen pussy.

“She’s been rutted all right.  Creams just like a bitch, too.”  The man wiped her juices off on her belly.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Maria Teresa, Sir.  Maria Teresa Running Wolf, Daughter of—”

The Sergeant hit her across the mouth, cutting her off.  “Those aren’t names, cunt.  They’re blasphemies.” 

“In the Confederation they worship all sorts of idols,” Snow mused.  “Stars, wolves, their own assholes, even.”

Several of the men snickered.

“I’m going to call you Maria,” said Snow.  “That will be the name by which I and the other saved men here shall know you for now.  Should you yourself be saved, we will choose you a new name, one more pleasing to the Savior.”

“I know my salvation,” she snarled, “and it has nothing to do with you pigs.”

Snow shook his head.  “It is the demons within you speaking, child.  I hear them not, nor do I yield to them.  I approach as I must, as do my brothers…” His hands went into the air.  “The Savior be upon us…His Will be done, may He come quickly.  In the mean time, let us win this war by any means necessary.  Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated the others.

“Amen,” whispered Mark through wooden lips.  It was like a treacherous, prickling dream, a nightmare from which he could not seem to wake no matter how hard he tried.

“Say ‘amen’,” the Sergeant ordered Maria.

“Amen,” she cried, her nipples once again doubly pincered.

“We may reach her yet,” the General said sardonically.

“You want me to whip her, Sir?”  The Sergeant asked.

“No, I want Mark to do it.”

Mark felt his knees buckle.  Surely he wasn’t serious. 

“Mark, come here and take the whip from General Lazarus.”

The black braided leather was in the bony hand of the morals policeman.  He was holding it out, offering it.

“But, Sir, I…I can’t possibly…”

“Can’t possibly what?”  Snow wheeled on him, his nostrils flaring.  “Do your duty for the republic like everyone else, you mean?  Do you think we relish this sort of task?”  He thundered.  “Do you think we wouldn’t rather be in our quarters praying or listening to devotional tapes?”

Mark took a look around at the twisted faces, so plainly eager to get their hands on the poor girl.  As far as he was concerned, they all looked happy as could be, right where they were.

“Sir, I meant no disrespect…”

“It’s more that disrespect, Deacon. It is treason. And blasphemy. You want to be a Prophet? You want to be privy to the truth of what this Holy Crusade is all about?  Well this is it. We are fighting Satan, boy, and prayers alone don’t do it.  This pretty young thing you see here came into our land to kill.  You and me, your wife, and anyone else she could get her hands on.  It’s our job to stop creatures like her and until the Savior’s return, we must use the only means at our disposal, the only means beasts like this are capable of understanding.  So I will have no more whining from you, cub.  Today you grow your teeth.  Today you become a man.”

Mark swallowed.

“Pick up the whip, Deacon Talon, and approach the prisoner.”

Mark’s steps were heavy as lead.  The seconds dragged for hours.  It felt like his cell, his sentence, the tiny walls collapsing in on him, smaller than the elevator, his every sense alive with the offensiveness of his surroundings.

The men stank, of perspiration, even Snow, and the girl was exuding the odor of sexual stimulation.  Once in a training class, he’d been exposed to a simulated version, so that he’d be able to recognize and identify sex offenders.  Sinners and perverts, and the pre-verts, too, the ones teetering on the edge, still contemplating their evil betrayal of the good.

Once he caught the odor off his wife.  He’d had to lock her in the belt that time.  He was well aware that if she continued to stray, he would have to beat her.  Just as he beat his own penis when it became hard.  Rachel never knew about this, his late night trips to the bathroom, the dowel in his mouth, well worn with chew marks.  Back and forth with his hand, until the tears streamed down and his cock begged for mercy.

He loved the Savior so much, and at times like this he thought of how it was all worthwhile, because of the reward they’d receive, a gift that could only come to those who stayed the course amidst the evil.

Narrow is the gate to salvation and wide the path to destruction.

Was this the gate, narrowing for him even further?  If so, why did the general’s gaunt face look to him like death and why did the sounds of the men breathing sound like the very pigs Maria had designated them to be?

Her breathing was different, even from here. He could feel it.  She was anxious, afraid, but there was more to it, more to her.  Whatever it was, he would soon find out.

General Lazarus snatched the whip back the first time he reached for it.  Mark just stood there, his own hand out, numb.

Lazarus laughed.  It was not like any human laugh he’d ever heard.  Mark thought of the angels in heaven, the terrifying rustle of wings.  Demon fighters could not be soft, pasty cherubs.  His mind told him that.  Logic dictated, these men were right, Snow was right.

The whip was offered again and he snatched it.  A jolt of exhilaration passed through him.

“Atta boy,” said the Sergeant.  “Give the little cunt hell.”

Mark looked at the whip.  It was long and thin, with a tapered end.  The handle was nice to hold.  He slashed it through the air, just for practice.

“Go to her, boy,” said Snow.  “We aren’t getting any younger.”

“Or softer.”  This from the Colonel, briefly touching the thick swell beneath his war-faded fatigues.

“Ya gotta love virgins,” chuckled the Sergeant.

Mark ignored the man’s ridicule.  He was on a mission.  Though he hadn’t a clue what to do.

The Sergeant grabbed him by the arm when he got in range.  “Stop being so fucking shy.  She’s not gonna bite—at least if you don’t get too near her mouth.”

Mark let the man position him right in front of Maria, eye to eye.  By the Savior, this was going to be harder than it looked.  She was so young.  And it wasn’t just hate he saw, but fear.  Her eyes were pleading with him.  She didn’t want to have to be so strong and defiant…she just wanted to go home.  She wasn’t a horrible killer, a terrorist.  She was a soldier, fighting for her people the way Crusader soldiers fought for theirs.

How could the Savior want him to hurt her?  More importantly, why would the Lord need such a thing done?  The Apocalypse was a spiritual war, not one of flesh.  The victory was already sealed, regardless of events on the human battlefield.  Wasn’t it?

“She wants it,” commented the Sergeant.  “Feel her pussy.  See for yourself.”

Mark stiffened.  He had to hold to the Teachings.

“Do it, Deacon.”

Mark could not deny Snow’s stern, fatherly command, as assuring as it was frightening.  Tentatively, he reached out.  Maria bit her lip.

“P – please…” She whimpered.

“Here, let me make it easier.”  The Sergeant cut the cords running from her nipples, thereby allowing her pussy some breathing room.

“Open your legs, slut.”  The Sergeant slapped her left breast, making it whip violently back and forth.  It was more than hard enough to make her struggle to comply.  Painfully, she eased her tiptoes apart.

Mark glared at her pink lips, the glistening channel just out of view.  He could feel the stirrings in his trousers.  By The Savior’s Blood, he was becoming hard…as hard as any wicked demon.  What if he should not be able to control himself?  What if he should lose his essence…he would die on the spot…bleed to death or implode into a sickening mass of bones and flesh.

Still, there was no resisting Snow.  Even now the man was bearing down on him with those eyes, those eyes that could be refused nothing.  “Forgive me,” he croaked.  With trembling fingers, now he brushed the dark, curly, feminine hairs.  His flesh quivered.  It was like an itch in his spine…he wanted more.  Of it.  Of her.

“Don’t be shy, put them greedy little fingers in, School boy.”

Mark penetrated her at the Sergeant’s taunt, all the way to the first knuckle.  To his surprise, he found Maria wet and warm and very open, too.  Were not females supposed to be tight, their lower mouths like the sucking maw or a snake?

“Not bad, right, School boy?  Get a good feel around.  That right there is a genuine slice of heaven.  And as soon as we are done pumping the cunt for information, I’m gonna give her a pumping of my own.”

“Does her response surprise you, Mark?” Queried Snow as though they were discussing some arcane matter of prayer.