Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [39]
So if I look through this hole, I see Hell? But when he did it was still just the mangy backyard in view. He paused and narrowed his eyes, to glimpse a raccoon waddling away with what was left of the baby head.
Good Lord . . .
“Come on, I gotta crack it up,” griped the prostitute, scratching at imaginary bugs on her stomach. “When can I go?”
“Be patient,” the deaconess assured; then her eyes returned to Hudson’s. “You’re still under no obligation. You can still leave.”
Hudson churned in place. Haven’t I seen enough? Now he was genuinely beginning to want to get away from all this.
“But why not continue? You can even say no after you’ve taken the tour.”
The tour . . .
She smiled thinly over the exorbitant breasts. “And I can assure you, it’s quite a tour.”
“Let’s continue,” the words clicked in his throat.
“A venturous man, and a wise one . . .”
Really? Hudson wondered. I’m standing naked in a ghetto house with a deaconess and a crack whore for some—some Satanic purpose. What, though? A tour? What could that mean? Foremost, Hudson thought of himself as a Christian. He believed in the power of God, and in his own salvation. So why would he want to go on a tour of Hell?
Maybe . . . seeing Hell will make me a better priest . . . After all, Christ descended into Hell after his Crucifixion, only to reascend on the Third Day, the resurrected Son of God.
The house creaked. The veil of candlelight wavering on the attic walls seemed to darken . . .
“Over here now, my dear,” the deaconess said, positioning the prostitute behind Hudson.
“What the fuck’s this all about?” she protested.
The deaconess touched her shoulder. “It’s about you earning your money, just as Judas earned his.” And then onto Hudson’s bare back she squirted a liberal amount of baby oil from a small bottle. “Rub your hands around, dear, his back, his buttocks, his legs, but in motions like this . . .” The deaconess then put a hand on Hudson’s back, and through the oil made motions that were invariably like sixes.
“Like sixes,” she said. “You do the back, I’ll do the front.”
The prostitute frowned, then proceeded.
More warm oil was applied to Hudson’s chest, and then Deaconess Wilson’s adroit hands began to massage it in. She smiled, rubbing six after six after six over his gleaming skin.
Hudson stood petrified, arms and legs rigid at the luxuriant sensations that seemed to envelop him. Never in his life had he been touched so directly, so intimately by women. This is the ultimate tease, he thought, gritting his teeth. The prostitute’s hands swept slowly about his clenched buttocks, while those of the deaconess smoothed over his nipples, then down across his stomach, then—painstakingly—around his groin and over his inner thighs. The sensations began to crush him, and when he looked down, his arousal was plain.
“He needs to be stimulated till he can’t see straight.” Now the deaconess’s grin looked vulpine, her hands stoking him. “He needs to be titillated till he’s fit to burst. He needs to be bursting with sperm.”
Madness, Hudson thought. Each sixlike motion over his slick skin made Hudson feel as though he were standing on a high wire. Now the deaconess urged herself right up against him. He cringed in place as the large, slippery breasts slid over his skin. The confusion blankened his mind until all he could contemplate was lust even as he strained to resist it. She bowed his head down, placed a nipple in his mouth, and whispered, “Suck . . .”
Hudson did so, uncomprehending. The nipple swelled in his mouth to the size of a bonbon; meanwhile, her hand played over his stomach, then slid to his genitals, which caused him to lurch. Fingers teased him, not overtly, but only traceably.
All right, I can’t let this go on anymore, he determined, but then the woman’s fingers seemed to sense the thought, and began to fondle him more pointedly.
“Harder now,” she told him, and switched nipples.
It seemed the harder he sucked the nipple, the more of his will drifted away. Suddenly, Hudson was lost, lost in unreckonable sensations,