The Cursed Cunt: Chapter Three free porn video

It was three in the morning before Detective Inspector Jane McCann crawled into her bed. Exhausted though she was, she could not sleep, for now, there were two dead bodies haunting her: one a brown-haired phone-sex-purveying jilted Catholic wife on a church altar in Surrey, another a bleached-blond Sheffield prostitute lying on her filthy cot surrounded by soiled condoms and used syringes; both of them with their legs wide open, a Catholic priest’s semen seeping from their cunts.

Jane had dropped Phil back at his flat on the way home, apologising for the umpteenth time for ruining his evening with Bob. Realising that her sexual desire remained unsated after the interruption of the previous evening, she had brought herself off at home swiftly and unceremoniously with her fingers – no call for the rabbit tonight: that demanded time and attention, and she was not in the right mood for that.

Actually, she was not even in the mood for fingers either this morning. But orgasm helped her work off her mental frustration – and there was plenty of that. What the fuck is going on? she kept asking herself. And how? And why? And where is the priest? And how come he is still at large, despite the fact that every fucking police force in the country is looking for him?

Jane dozed fitfully, but was awoken shortly after eight o’clock by the phone. Blearily, she answered, “Yes…?”

“Detective Inspector?” The voice was female, with a foreign accent – perhaps Spanish or Latin American of some description – and sounded slightly nervous, though vaguely familiar. If Jane had been more awake, she would have recognised who it was. “Inspector, this is Sister Mariana – from the Church of the Immaculate Conception. I need to speak to you. But somewhere where we won’t be seen.”

“Do you have information about Father Wright’s whereabouts?” asked the Inspector urgently.

“Not exactly – but I know what’s going on – and I can help,” replied the nun.

“What do you mean, you ‘know what’s going on’?”

“Has there been someone else?”

“Someone else?”

“Another victim – another body?”

“How the hell do you know that?” asked the Inspector.

“I know this curse; I know how it works. And I know Father Jim’s history.”

“This ‘curse’ again – what on earth?” Jane rolled her eyes in disbelief. “OK, OK, let’s meet. How about at the police station, in an hour or so?”

“No, I might be seen. There are people who mustn’t know. Meet me on the corner opposite the Town Hall. I’ll be in civvies. Pick me up in your car; we can drive into the countryside. Then I can speak freely.”

~

An hour later, Jane was driving a small olive-skinned woman through the forests of East Berkshire in her unmarked police car. Without her habit – particularly without the wimple – Sister Mariana appeared less severe than she had the previous day. Her long brown hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, but clearly had a bit of natural curl to it, gracefully framing a soft face with penetrating green eyes. Though dressed in nothing more than a calf-length blue skirt, high-buttoned white blouse and light blue cardigan, Jane couldn’t help noticing her broad hips, and the outline of a pair of full breasts.

Despite the air of naïveté and vulnerability that her appearance gave her, Sister Mariana was clearly determined not to seem a pushover. “You don’t believe in curses, do you?” she asked, in what Jane thought sounded like a slightly accusatory tone of voice.

“Of course not, Sister. I’m a detective. I look for evidence, for causality. In this case, I haven’t found any yet.”

“Nor will you, if that is your attitude,” replied the nun, in a tone of voice which she presumably thought meaningful, but which Jane found infuriatingly self-righteous.

“How do you mean?” retorted Jane.

“Father Jim is a weak-willed man. He has been so ever since I met him, when he first came to the parish. You found his pornography, I notice. And presumably, you know about the phone calls?”

“With the deceased? Yes. How did you –?”

“In the Catholic Church, we look out for each other. Bishop Kieran knows what it’s like to be weak-willed. He asked me to keep an eye out. And Vicky told me about the curse.”

“This ‘curse’ again!” Jane cried out in frustration. “Such things don't exist, Sister Mariana. I don't hold with all this mumbo-jumbo, it’s –”

“You don’t have to ‘hold with’ it, Detective Inspector, any more than a flea has to ‘hold with’ the elephant whose backside he finds himself sitting on. It’s just the reality. Bernadette called the curse down on herself. Jim, poor fool, tried to lift it – but he had no idea what he was doing, so it just transferred itself to him. And there it will linger, killing one girl after another, until you find him and stop him.”

“So where’s he gone, dammit? If you’re ‘looking out for him’ all the time, you must know where he’s hiding. Is the Bishop hiding him somewhere?”

“No, he’s not clever enough for that. Neither of them is. This is the Catholic Church we’re talking about: only the women know what’s really –”

Jane’s mobile phone rang, and she pulled over into a layby to answer it. “Hello? ... Oh, Denise, for God’s sake tell me you’ve got some good news... WHAT?! WHERE? ... Oh God… Okay, I’ll go and pick up Phil, and we can go together.”

Jane threw her phone into the glove compartment and slammed it shut, swearing, “SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!” before remembering that she was in the presence of a nun, and apologising.

“Another dead girl?” asked Sister Mariana blandly, making the sign of the cross.

“Yes, found in Father Wright’s car this time. Same MO, same DNA in the semen.”

“Where?”

“Eden Valley. Cumbria. Seemingly a hiker: there was a backpack.”

“Ah!” replied the nun knowingly.

“What? Do you know where he's headed?”

“Possibly. There’s a place he often speaks about.”

“What sort of place?”

“Well, a sort of chapel, I suppose: I know where it is.”

“Take me there, Sister. We’ll go and pick up Detective Sergeant Nyman first.”

“And Vicky.”

“Vicky? Victoria Berry? Why?”

“I will need her, to lift the curse.”

“What? You can lift this ‘curse’?”

“Well, not as such. But I know the only way this devastation can be ended.”

Jane shook her head in disbelief. “Nutters. Fucking nutters, the whole lot of you.”

“Complained the flea,” replied Sister Mariana.

~

Father Jim Wright was running. “Oh God,” he trembled, “help me. What have I done now?” Three miles behind him, in a layby off the A6, sat his abandoned car. And in the back seat lay a girl called – he thought – Melissa, her lower half naked, his semen slowly leaking from her pussy.

She was beautiful, thought Jim. Her wide face, framed by a burst of golden curls, had shone with glory and light. Her breasts had pressed bounteously against Jim’s chest. Her cunt had been tight and pink and neatly-shaven, squeezing his cock with happy delight as she giggled on the back seat of his car in the morning sunlight.

He had thought that this one would be different. Surely, someone this beautiful, this lovely, such a tribute to God's creation (so different from the one last night!) – surely, the curse will not touch her, he had surmised. But now he thought: What a damned fool am I…

There was only one thing for it now, only one place he knew he could go, where perhaps there might be some hope, where maybe all this could be brought to an end. It surely was no coincidence that his journey had already taken him this far. He knew the place lay over the next range of hills, westwards towards the Lakes. And so Father Jim Wright kept running. And running. And he would not stop till he found his place of salvation.

~

Now there were four people in Detective Inspector McCann’s car, speeding northwest up the motorway. Phil Nyman rode shotgun, his eyes red and bleary, fitfully dozing: Jane McCann smiled inwardly, wondering if he had in fact spent the remainder of last night cavorting with Bob – but, out of respect for the nun in the back seat, she did not ask. Jane kept herself awake with several cups of strong coffee bought from successive service stations, all of them periodically announcing their titles like ancient ceremonial milestones: Cherwell Valley, Sandbach, Lymm, Charnock Richard – but none of them (certainly not the coffee) living up to the atmospheric promise of the name.

In the backseat, Vicky and Mariana chatted quietly. Jane was at first worried about how the nun and the adulterous slut would get on: but they seemed to know each other well, and slipped comfortably into parish small-talk. And when Sister Mariana announced that it was time for her to say her morning Office, followed by her Rosary, Vicky gladly joined in with her. Weird, these Catholics, thought Jane. They pray together, go to church together – and then fuck around behind each other’s backs without batting an eye... She would have liked to share her ruminations with Phil, but thought that would be a bit indelicate in present company; besides, Phil looked completely exhausted, or hungover. Or maybe fucked-out?

Once Mariana and Vicky had settled into Lauds, the wall-to-wall monotony of their orisons allowed Jane to feel it was safe to ask Phil, sotto voce, how his night had been.

Phil hesitated, before muttering in a deadpan voice, “Bob’s left me,” as he looked straight ahead at the tarmac pounding beneath them.

“What?” whispered Jane in shock.

“Said last night was the last straw. He’s been complaining for some time how my work is getting in the way of us. Last night was kind of our anniversary – well, depending on how you count it: first kiss, I guess. It’s never meant a lot to me – call me callous if you like – but well, anyway, last night he’d bought me flowers, and chocolate, and booked a surprise meal at our favourite restaurant – and then I just didn’t turn up... I mean, it wasn’t just that, of course – we’ve been struggling for a while and... well, when I eventually got home this morning, he’d left me a ‘Dear John’.”

“Oh shit,” whispered Jane, trying not to disturb the domestic liturgy which continued to drone on in the back seat. She paused a while, before venturing to ask, “How are you feeling?”

There was no answer. Jane glanced quickly sideways, only to see Phil staring doggedly forwards at the road, his jaw locked in a vain attempt to prevent it trembling, tears leaking unstaunched down his smooth cheeks. “Oh God, Phil, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

In the back seat, Vicky and Mariana were praying:

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath visited and redeemed his people, and hath raised up a mighty salvation for us in the house of his servant David; that we should be saved from our enemies and from the hands of all that hate us…

That Vicky and Mariana were so fully occupied in the back seat gave Phil some courage to say more to Jane, as he gradually regained his composure. “Hey, it’s not as if he was a saint or anything,” he complained. “I mean, he cheated on me, you know. I never betrayed him.”

“Er... unless you count eating my pussy on a couple of occasions,” quipped Jane.

“Yeah, OK, but I don’t count that as cheating. That’s just me being friendly, isn’t it? Saving your batteries on the old rabbit,” giggled Phil, his demeanour relaxing.

“Positively philanthropic,” laughed Jane. “You want me to return the favour?”

“Er... what do you mean?” Phil looked slightly alarmed.

“Well, above and beyond the call of duty, of course,” Jane grinned as she reached out her left arm and gave Phil’s crotch a squeeze. “But that’s what friends are for...”

“Jane!” whispered Phil. “There’s a nun in the back.”

And indeed there was, and she was now reciting:

… to perform the oath which he swore to our forefather Abraham that he would give us: that we being delivered out of the hands of our enemies might serve him without fear in holiness and righteousness before him all the days of our life…

“Shh!” replied the Detective Inspector, keeping her eyes on the road and her right hand on the steering wheel, as she deftly unzipped her Sergeant’s fly and removed his flaccid penis.

“But, Jane, you’re driving!” remonstrated Phil.

“I’ve done this before,” replied Jane off-handedly, as she began to gently massage Phil’s cock into an erection. “Dave hates driving long-distance. But he loves sitting in the front passenger seat whilst I drive. See why?” She flicked the right indicator, pulling out into the middle lane to overtake a large reticulated lorry.

“Jane, I’m gay...” pleaded Phil, somewhat half-heartedly.

“Yeah, and you ate my cunt last night, gay boy,” grinned Jane. “If you’re so gay, tell me to stop, go on, I dare you!” she challenged, as she felt his cock stiffen further to her touch. But Phil just moaned and rolled his eyes upwards in pleasure.

Sister Mariana’s Benedictus was still in full swing, providing an unobtrusive soundtrack to Phil’s burgeoning ecstasy:

… to give knowledge of salvation unto his people for the remission of their sins, through the tender mercy of our God; to give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death…

Smirking, Jane reached forward, flicked on the police siren and flashing blue lights on her unmarked car, pulled into the fast lane, and accelerated to ninety. “See, Phil,” she said, her voice masked from the rear passengers by the siren now wailing furiously, “I like stroking dick. And I bet you like having your dick stroked, don’t you, Sergeant?” Phil nodded, groaning incoherently.

Jane went on, “I bet you like it when Bob strokes your dick, don’t you, Phil? Is that what you’re missing? Well, close your eyes and pretend it’s Bob wrapping his palm around your cock now.” She spat surreptitiously into her hand. “Here he is now, Phil, starting off nice and slow, peeling back that foreskin, feeling your pre-cum begin to leak from your cockhead – ooh, that’s good, Phil, yeah, like that!” Jane grinned, even as she kept her eyes on the road, watching the other cars scurry out of her way as her siren continued to wail.

Phil’s cock was beginning to twitch with pleasure, as Jane picked up the pace of her stroking. “I bet Bob doesn’t stop there, though, Phil, does he? I bet he likes it when you slide this stiff cock into his arse, doesn’t he? Go on, Detective Sergeant, make like you’re fucking that tight manhole now, grab his hips, pound that fucking shithole hard with that stiff cock of yours. Are you going to squirt all your hot cum now, Phil? Go on, spurt it deep inside his arsehole, fill up your dirty faithless fucking ex-lover with all your hot cum, go on, go on – oh yessss!”

Phil roared with pleasure, the sound of his voice barely masked by the wailing of the siren, as his cock jerked and exploded, his cum spurting like a geyser, some flying across Jane’s dashboard onto the windscreen, some landing back into his crotch and over his boss’s left hand. “Fuuuuckkkk…” he moaned, as quietly as he could under the circumstances, as happy sweat poured off his forehead and he revelled in the feeling of blessed release.

Jane lifted her hand to Phil’s face so he could lick off the residual semen which dangled from her fingers. Her eyes still on the road, she grinned, as Phil laughed with mingled relief and embarrassment. Then she turned off the siren, slowed down, signalled carefully, and returned to the inside lane.

Mariana and Vicky seemed by now to be mid-Magnificat:

… He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts; he hath put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with good things…

“Better, my friend?” asked Jane.

Phil just laughed.

And in her rear-view mirror Jane spied Sister Mariana chuckling and rolling her eyes knowingly.

~

At last! thought Father Jim, as he crested a ridge and saw his destination waiting for him in the distance. And how beautiful it was, how much – if this were normal circumstances – he would have loved to sit there a while and drink in the view: a broad stone circle, about thirty or forty yards wide, built on a flat hilltop at the confluence of three ridges, surrounded by heather-clad mountains. There was a sudden drop beyond it, between two of the ridges; but Jim knew he could make his way safely along his current watershed to reach his destination.

This is where it must be done, thought Father Jim. Here must all tears be wiped away. There must be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, nor pain; for the former things must pass away. Here must all be made new.

The sun shone bright and warm today, even as dark grey clouds scudded across the sky, giving the impression of a constantly shifting landscape, a kaleidoscope created by the Almighty to show off the glory of His creation. As if to emphasise this fact, Jim could just descry a large rough-hewn stone cross erected at the near end of the broad, low, flat stone altar at the centre of the stone circle. Briefly, he knelt in homage, whispering:

O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, your will be done.

Then Father Jim got up and continued on the last leg of his journey. He was not running anymore, for he knew that the hour was at hand.

~

It was not until lunch – Marks and Spencer’s sandwiches eaten on a grubby grass bank at the edge of the car park at one of many indistinguishable motorway services – that Jane was able to speak to Mariana privately again. Phil had gone to the toilet, and Vicky had moved some thirty yards downwind to have a cigarette. “So, where are you taking me, Mariana?” asked Jane with, admittedly, a touch of aggression in her voice.

“The Secgan Ring,” she replied, smiling enigmatically.

“Is that where Father James is hiding?”

“I don’t think he’ll be hiding, as such. But he’ll be there. I think he’s expecting us.”

Jane sighed. “Why there? If he’s not in hiding, why doesn’t he just give himself up? There’s no evidence he actually killed these women; all we need to do is bring him in for questioning, to find out how they died.”

“He will tell you the same thing I have been telling you, Inspector. And you still won’t believe it.”

“This damned ‘curse’ again!” spat Jane in frustration. “All right, if you’re so clever, you tell me how it works.”

“When was the last time you read the Ten Commandments, Inspector?” Sister Mariana’s tone of voice, Jane thought, was sounding distinctly more accusatory than before.

“Er… probably never,” fumbled Jane, “but – dammit, there you go again, with your supercilious holier-than-thou attitude – what’s the Ten Commandments got to do with anything?”

The nun chuckled, took a deep breath, and recited, “Thou shalt not commit adultery. Neither shalt thou go up by steps unto mine altar, that thy nakedness be not discovered thereon. I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers unto the third and fourth generation.”

“OK, so what are you saying?” retorted Jane. “That Father Wright has been a bad boy, and that God is punishing him? Fine, whatever – but for God’s sake, why are all these girls dying?!”

“There is no punishment at work here, Inspector. Neither Bernadette nor Jim understood the implications of her curse, just as Vicky and Giles had no idea of the implications of their adultery. Their iniquity is being visited upon generation after generation of the curse’s victims – until it ends.”

Jane scoffed loudly. “And just how does it end, then?”

“This curse has altered reality. It ends only when the curse-bearer willingly accepts his or her eternal destiny, in expiation.”

Jane looked at Mariana in bewilderment. “Meaning?”

“Whenever the actions of any curse-bearer impinge upon the curse, in this instance through sexual intercourse, then either party may suffer the consequence, but the curse will subsist in the survivor. Only if both are in a state of grace, and ready to embrace eternal life, will the chain end… That is why Vicky is here.”

Jane stared aghast at the nun, so placid and soft-faced, yet apparently so clinical in her dissection of life and death. “So you mean that…?” She gestured surreptitiously toward Vicky, who was still sitting some distance away, looking out over the car park, chain-lighting a new cigarette with the butt of her previous one.

“Yes,” said the nun, without emotion. “She knows this is necessary. And she wants this – to expiate her guilt in bringing about the death of her best friend.”

Jane had had quite enough: she stood up in frustration, as her contempt boiled over. “This is insane, Mariana. Whatever you say, this is utter bullshit. You’re setting up these two damaged, confused individuals to… to what exactly? Fuck each other at some stone circle in the middle of nowhere, because of some crackpot notion you have about a non-existent ‘curse’. Surely even for a Catholic, this is beyond the pale – what the hell?!”

“Sometimes, the elephant’s bottom is so big,” smiled Sister Mariana, “that not just the flea, but the entire world, can’t see around it. Wait and see, Inspector.”

Jane wanted to respond, but did not have time to before Vicky, having finished her cigarette, returned, quietly taking the nun’s hand and squeezing it. “Don’t worry, Inspector,” said the blonde. “I told you, none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for me. Mariana has explained it all. I am ready to be set free, and to be reconciled to Bernie, and to Father Jim: it’s the right thing to do.”

Jane McCann shook her head in dismay and disbelief.

~

Seventeen-year-old Miss Jennifer Boldacre giggled as she reclined naked on the king-sized bed, her back propped up on pillows, her long black hair draped around her full breasts. Her legs were splayed wide to expose her pink cunt, hairless apart from a thick but neatly trimmed bush poised on its north face. Beneath her blindfold, she blushed as she heard a man’s voice saying, “Play with yourself for me, Jenny.”

Jenny hesitated, pouted her lips sheepishly, then curled one finger into her pussy. She withdrew it and licked it, savouring the pungent sweetness, and giggled again. “Is that how you like it, baby?” she mewed, holding out her arms awhile as if to beckon the man to join her on the bed. But there was no answer, and she could see nothing. Uncertainly, she began to slide two fingers in and out of her cunt, pausing every now and then to rub her clit. She asked again, “You like that, babe?”

“Good, Jenny. But I like it dirty. Really dirty. You want me, you’d better prove how fucking filthy can you be.”

Jenny wasn’t entirely sure what kind of “filthy” was required, but she decided to collect some of her warm fuck-slime, reach further around her perineum, and paint some of the juice on the pucker of her own arsehole. She gently pushed her middle finger inwards, gasping as her sphincter clenched in surprise.

This time, she heard a chuckle of approval. “Good, Jenny, good. Go on, play with your arsehole and cunt for me.”

Jenny felt relieved to receive the vote of approval. She used two fingers of one hand to stretch her cunt wide open, displaying the full glory of her glistening pink fuck-flesh, even as the middle finger of the other hand continued to probe deeper into her arse.

“Good, Jenny. Keep doing that. But talk to me. I want to hear some filthy shit coming from your mouth.”

Filthy perv, groaned Jenny inwardly. What is it about men? But she was a trooper, and knew the prize she was after, so she girded her loins (metaphorically speaking), and spat out, “Oh yeah, I’m gonna frig both my holes for you, baby. You like watching that, don’t you, you fucking perv?”

The man laughed. “I like watching a filthy slut play with herself,” he replied breathlessly. “Especially dirty fucking church sluts like you.”

Success, thought Jenny: she was clearly on the right track here. She giggled again, as she continued to slide one finger in and out of her arsehole, while the other hand frigged her cunt, and the thumb of that same hand rubbed her swelling clit. “I like frigging both my slut holes, baby. ‘Cause I’m a dirty blindfold fuck-bitch, ooh yeah –” A shiver spread through her body, as she felt her pleasure build.

“Good, Jenny, I knew a well-brought-up church-going whore like you would be good at this,” replied the voice. “Rub yourself off for me, show me what you’re like when you come all over your fucking fingers. Show me what you do when you jerk off in the back row at mass.”

“Oh yeah, you want to watch me fucking come, babe?” Jenny squealed, picking up the pace of both her cunt-frigging and her dirty talk. “Watch this filthy fucking Catholic Alpha slut come for you then. Watch me Nicky Gumbel my fucking cunt, till I come all over my fucking fingers, baby! Watch me come with my finger stuck up my holy fucking Christian arsehole, fuck yeaaahhh!” Soon her cunt spasmed and squirted, and she felt her bottom-hole pulsate around her finger as she screeched in pleasure, “Oh yeah, oh fucking Jesus, watch me fucking cummmm…!”

As her ecstasy subsided, Jenny licked her fingers, tasting the fragrance of both her holes, before giggling, “Was that good, bad boy? You gonna fuck my nice Catholic throat with that big dick now?”

She heard her interlocutor approach the bed, felt his cock nudging gently at her face, pre-cum smearing onto her cheek. Jenny stuck her tongue out to taste the pungent shaft, then licked her lips before asking, “We won’t be interrupted though, will we, babe? Vicky not coming back today then?”

Giles Byard-Jones gently pulled off Jenny’s blindfold, before replying, “No, I don’t think Vicky’s ever coming back, Jenny. Now suck my cock like a good whore.”

~

Evening was approaching at the Secgan Ring, as Father James Wright knelt in prayer before the low stone altar, facing the rough-hewn stone cross, approximately six feet tall, which stood at its head. His heart was stilled now, his brow unfurrowed, for he knew what must be. And as he knelt, he caught sight of a party of four cresting the hill and approaching along the ridge. He knew who they were. And he closed his eyes and prayed with joy:

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.

It did not seem long before he heard a voice saying softly, “Are you ready, Jim?” Jim recognised who it was by the accent.

“So good of you to come, Mari. God bless you,” said the priest, lifting his head to see the nun smiling at him, with a man and woman he didn’t recognise standing back by one of the menhirs, watching.

“I’ve brought a couple of police officers, I’m afraid,” said the nun. “But I don’t think they’ll interfere.”

“No… it’s not as if I’ve committed a crime as such, is it?” chuckled the priest sheepishly. “Oh, Mari, you must think so ill of me; I am so sorry to put you through this.”

“Friends, Jim. That’s what we’re for, no? But… I’ve also brought Vicky.”

Jim started. “Vicky?!” He frowned, thought, and then realised. “Oh no, is that necessary? Surely she can be spared!” He stood up swiftly.

“I think we have no choice, Jim,” said Mariana, as she waved to Vicky and beckoned her forward. “Someone has to, or the curse cannot end.”

“I am so sorry, Vicky,” said Jim, once the blonde girl had joined them. “I have been such a fool.”

“Us both, Father. But the important thing is that we can end this. Mariana, will you hear our confessions?”

Phil and Jane stood in the background watching as fallen priest and fallen woman knelt before the nun. “What the fuck is going on, Jane?” asked Phil impatiently. “Aren’t you going to arrest him – or at least question him?”

“Wait, Phil, wait. I don’t understand what’s happening either. But Mariana thinks she can bring this to a close. Let her speak with them. If all else fails, we can pull him in afterwards.”

“After what? What are they going to do?”

“Sh – just wait…” said Jane, watching as both Jim and Vicky continued to kneel side by side on the rough ground facing the cross, the setting sun casting their shadows lengthwise up the altar. Mariana stood facing them, her arms stretched out, almost cruciform, and began to recite:

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery. “Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?” But Jesus said unto them, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

“This is ridiculous!” grumbled Phil. What are they going to do – have a whole fucking religious service whilst we stand here watching?”

“If only, Phil,” replied Jane quietly. “But I think even we are about to be shocked,” she added, as Mariana continued:

And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, “Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee?” She said, “No man, Lord.” And Jesus said unto her, “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”

Mariana lowered her arms, clasped her hands over her abdomen, and began to walk back along the east ridge, the route by which they had originally approached the stone circle, beckoning to Jane and Phil to go with her. Puzzled but compliant, they followed, as Mariana continued to recite:

Remember, I have formed thee; thou art my servant. O Israel, thou shalt not be forgotten of me. I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions, and, as a cloud, thy sins. Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee.

When they reached the crest of the east ridge, Mariana turned – and so did Jane and Phil. Straining their eyes against the setting sun, Phil and Jane gasped – for Jim and Vicky were now naked, lying together atop the stone altar. The setting sun had burst through the dark Cumbrian clouds, so that only their two silhouettes could be described in the distance – but now joined as one flesh. “My God, they’re fucking!” exclaimed Phil, as they watched Jim and Vicky embracing, the outline of their bodies turned by the setting sun into a twisting, curling, rolling, writhing black cut-out, overseen by the rough silhouette of the cross. Mariana’s arms were outstretched again, but now lifted up towards the sky, as she called out across the hilltop:

Sing, O ye heavens, for the Lord hath done it: shout, ye lower parts of the earth; break forth into singing, ye mountains, for the Lord hath redeemed you, and glorified himself in you.

“Jane, what the fuck?!” whispered Phil. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

“No, but… just let it go, Phil, let it go,” she said. “See, it’s like you and me are fleas on the backside of an elephant. The universe is moving around us in ways which are beyond the reach of our vision. I think Mariana can see just a teensy bit further than we can; let her get on with it.”

The nun was doing just that, as she continued to call:

“I am the Lord that maketh all things; that stretcheth forth the heavens alone; that spreadeth abroad the earth by myself; that frustrateth the tokens of the liars, and maketh diviners mad; that turneth wise men backward, and maketh their knowledge foolish.”

The sun was touching the horizon now, its broad red glow spreading horizontally, making the writhing, wriggling, curling silhouette on the altar stand out with black-and-white clarity. Intermittently, Jane could make out the curvaceous buxom form of Vicky, her full round breasts and buttocks bouncing and jiggling; Jim’s shape, older, straighter, but, divested of his clerical garb, lithe and energetic, his stiff penis forming a bridge between their two bodies; and then, best of all, the two of them joined, multiform, flexible, stretching, lunging, combining and recombining, as if their ecstasy were straining to touch eternity.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people…

The sun was beginning to disappear beneath the horizon. “Wait,” said Phil to Jane, “you can’t just leave them out there in the dark. He might escape again. And we need to take Vicky home, don’t we?”

Jane paused and sighed. “I don’t think they’ll be coming home, Phil,” she said, shaking her head. “Will they, Mariana?”

Barely noticeably, and still praying out loud, the nun shook her head. The flexiform black silhouette on the altar was more animated than ever now – writhing, stretching, rising and falling, one flesh seemingly undivided. From the setting sun beyond came a shaft of light which passed through a cleft in one of the standing stones, creating the effect of a pillar of fire which appeared to hover above the altar and envelop the outline of the two penitents joined. Mariana lowered her hands, put her palms together, and knelt, as she said, more quietly now:

Into your hands, Father of mercies, we commend our brother and sister, in the sure and certain hope that, together with all who have died in Christ, they will rise with Him on the last day.

Phil gasped, and clasped his hand over his mouth in belated horror-filled realisation, as Mariana continued to pray:

Merciful Lord, turn toward us and listen to our prayers: open the gates of paradise to your servants and help us who remain to comfort one another with assurances of faith, until we all meet in Christ and are with you and with our brother and sister for ever.

Jim and Vicky, still copulating, rose as one, the full length of their bodies pressed against each other’s, arms stretched wide. Their joint silhouette found that same cruciform outline, and now they appeared to be subsumed into it, so that nothing was visible but the cross, yet seemingly writhing, twisting and pulsating, enveloped by its pillar of fire.

Sound an alarm in my holy mountain. Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for behind them a flame burneth. I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood. And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be delivered.

A new dark cloud scudded across the corner of that small part of the sun which remained visible over the horizon. There was a deep rumble of thunder which seemed to envelop the whole mountain, and in an instant, the pillar of fire became a pillar of cloud, darkness fell, and stone circle, altar, cross and Jim and Vicky’s writhing silhouette disappeared from sight. High above there shone a dark red moon, across which flew momentarily the outline of a large white dove. Then that too disappeared behind the black cloud – and there was darkness over the land.

Out of that darkness could be heard Mariana’s voice:

May the Angels lead them into paradise; may the martyrs receive them at their coming, and lead them into the holy city, Jerusalem. May the choir of angels receive them, and with Lazarus, who once was poor, may they have everlasting rest.

Amen.

“Amen,” muttered Jane.

“Fuck,” said Phil.

~

Meanwhile, some three hundred miles south-southeast, Miss Jennifer Boldacre screeched in triumph, as Giles Byard-Jones emptied his balls deep into her hot gaping rectum. Not far away, Bishop Kieran Conway chuckled, as he kissed Mrs Amanda Hutchinson full on the lips and slid his penis into her vagina.

None of them noticed that the very weft and warp of the Universe had changed. But then – as Sister Mariana might have said – fleas don’t notice things like that.

THE END