Sinner's Fire: The Punishing of Rachel by Reese Gabriel
In New Christendom, pleasure is forbidden, chastity is a prime virtue and adultery is punishable by death. The vigilant Morals Police are feared by everyone, and husbands have been trained to dominate their wives, becoming strict disciplinarians to keep them obedient and under control.
Rachel is the wife of Mark Talon ? Deacon of the First Order. Rachel wants to be a chaste and virtuous wife, a circumstance made easier by the chastity belt that her husband requires she wear. And yet, Jake, a dangerous rebel, has designs on her beautiful, submissive body; and he knows how to pick the lock of her chastity belt in order that they might consummate their forbidden love. Though riddled with guilt, the lusty Rachel allows the man to use her for every form of fornication and pollution, turning her into the consummate adulteress. Jake has made Rachel his secret submissive, forcing her to service him at risk to her life and her husband’s both. Just as she is trying to end their torrid affair, she is arrested by the Morals Police who then order her to spy on her lover. When Rachael refuses, she is taught the hard lessons of sexual torture, leaving her no option except to crawl at these depraved despots? feet, licking and kissing in obedience.
While Rachel is incarcerated, husband Mark is taken under the wing of Prophet Zachariah Snow, who introduces him to the sadistic underworld of New Christendom ? a shocking place where females are reduced to mere sexual playthings. Is it possible that Rachel and Mark can hold onto their ideals and their love? Or will they succumb to the darkness of sin? This sometimes chilling narrative contains the interrogation of female prisoners, cruel torture, sex, bondage, ruthless corporal punishment, humiliation, abuse and golden showers.
“Jake…don’t.” Already her resolve was melting. The man was too potent, smelling of musk and sweat and the open road, his cock stiff beneath his breeches in anticipation.
“Don’t what?” He demanded, reaching for her veil, the sign of her female chastity and devotions to the Teachings of the Crusade. “I’ve been going out of my mind. You know how bad I want to fuck you right now?”
She pulled away, the modesty of her face preserved for the moment. Still, her blood was heating…hotter than a summer’s day on the farm where she grew up. “Jake, we can’t do this anymore.”
The muscular five foot ten inch truck driver laughed as he commenced unbuttoning her long, drab, gray coat. “Why the fuck not? You turn lesbian on me or something?”
She tried to slap his hands away. “Don’t say that, Jake. It’s blasphemy.”
Jake snorted. “It’s a little late in the game to go holy roller on me now, don’t you think?”
She flushed red. It was true. She’d done terrible things with him, immoral, sinful things and she’d enjoyed them, ever since that first time they caught each other’s eye outside the supermarket he was delivering to in her neighborhood. That was three months ago and since then she’d been a consummate adulteress, allowing her body to be used for every form of fornication and pollution.
Over and over she’d tried to resist, but she always found herself coming back. If only she could do this with her husband. If only it weren’t against the Teachings.
“But we’ll get caught, Jake. Everyone always does. They watch us, they watch us all.”
“Who? The Prophets and their nut job militias and secret agencies? I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting to get arrested. New Christendom has its hands full right about now. Trust me, I’ve been to the borders. And that doesn’t begin to take the rebels into account.”
Rachel tried to slap the man’s hands from her dress, long and gray and drab as her coat. “The true war is spiritual,” she quoted the latest Prophet’s broadcast she’d seen. “We fight the demons within. The sins of the flesh. The sins of lust and worldliness.”
“I’ve been close enough to the front. New Christendom is battling a lot more than bogeymen. The Free Confederation is pressing them damned hard on the west and the north. Now put your hands down, or I will tear this rag off your cringing body.”
Rachel relented. Part of what made it so hard to stand up to Jake—besides his sexual magnetism and complete disregard for the Sacred Teachings of the Prophets, was the fact that, as a long distance transport driver, he had been to places and seen things she could only dream of. He’d alluded to this before. That New Christendom was losing ground against its liberal, demonist enemy the Free Confederation, and that at the higher levels they were anticipating more defeats.
“Man,” he muttered, working on the fastenings, “talk about sin—making a sexy little thing like you walk around all covered up.”
“You can’t talk about me that way,” she protested weakly. “I’m a deacon’s wife.”
“You’re not anybody’s wife,” he pulled the dress down over her shoulders, pooling it at her feet. “Except maybe mine, because I’m the only one who’s ever made love to you.”
She covered her ears. How could he call such a thing love—the disgusting connection of human bodies with no procreational aim? Two selfish pleasure lovers, slithering together like snakes or demons. What a road to hell that was. Only the pure and the white washed in fresh robes, those who had refrained from any touching save that required to generate new life, would be taken up by the savior upon his return to this wicked, dying earth.
“You really are a darling little hypocrite,” the forty-year old Jake laughed.
Rachel, all of twenty, could do nothing but stand there as he pulled her chemise over her head. She was so much worse than a whore. She was totally unworthy to bear children, to have the sacred sperm of her husband injected into her filthy uterus for conception. She couldn’t help it, though. Her thoughts had been impure since puberty. She’d touched herself, nearly every night since she was thirteen.
Her mother had caught her on several occasions and strong punishments had followed at the hands of her father. For some reason, this only seemed to inflame her all the more. And the harder she focused on being dealt with that way, the more aroused she became.
‘Eucharist’ © R C Horsche www.eroto.com