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The atmosphere in church Sunday morning was odd. No doubt rumours had circulated. The death of a prominent member of the congregation in circumstances that were, to say the least, unclear; flurries of activity, Peter and Dulcie not at the morning and evening prayer. Then, on arrival, members of the congregation couldn't fail to notice Dulcie sitting in the congregation with two teenage girls, rather than in robes up front. They couldn't miss that Jeanne Stevenson was accompanied by her son, who was holding the hand of another young woman, or that they sat with Dulcie. The Glovers arrived ... with two more young women and went to speak to Dulcie before taking their accustomed place.

Peter conducted the service just as he usually did, except that he was assisted by one of the young men from the congregation instead of Dulcie. He took as his text for his sermon a verse from Joshua chapter 24; "Choose this day who you will serve..." Actually it was from one of the set passages for the day.

"Make no mistake about it," he said, "a Christian cannot sit on the fence. We are in a battle with the powers of darkness and we cannot afford to compromise. I'm not talking about criticising other people's beliefs, or standing in judgement on our neighbours. I'm talking about commitment, standing up for truth and justice, and living a holy life in the power of God's Spirit."

There were some pensive looks on the faces of many of the congregation; others just looked serious.

The girls had not been confirmed, so couldn't participate in the communion, but they were encouraged to go and kneel for a blessing. Carli and Jen, Emma and Rosie all came away from the altar rail with beatific smiles. Sasha, kneeling next to Malcolm, gasped when Peter's hand touched her head, and began to weep quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Peter finished distributing the bread, and his assistant the wine and returned to her. Malcolm was looking embarrassed; unsure whether it was better to return to his pew, try to escort Sasha back to the pew, or stay there with her. He really didn't want to abandon her, or have her feeling abandoned and she was so deeply immersed in emotion he didn't want to try to persuade her to move. He felt rather exposed, though, as the other communicants left to return to their places.

Peter caught Dulcie's eye and she moved as discreetly as she could to kneel next to Sasha as Peter continued with the service; the post-communion prayer, recessional hymn, benediction and dismissal.

The congregation trickled out of the nave to have coffee, accompanied by mutterings. Peter followed as soon as he'd shed his vestments, leaving Dulcie with Sasha and Malcolm.

"I'm sorry," Sasha got out, unevenly, "I don't know why I did that."

"Don't be," Dulcie reassured her, "I think you just ... felt the love of God. It's overwhelming, I know."

"You have a special relationship with Him, don't you?"

"You can, too."

"How?"

"Just ask."

Sasha opened her mouth to speak, but what emerged was a stream of liquid sounds that neither Dulcie nor Malcolm could understand. Malcolm looked at Dulcie with a question in his eyes.

"Sometimes," Dulcie said, "the Spirit prays in and through us in a language we don't know. It usually means something special is going on when it happens for the first time. It's called 'speaking in tongues'."

"Could I do that?"

"Probably, but it's a gift, not something you can just have. I need to go and socialise. We can talk more later, if you like. Right now, I think it would be good if you stayed with your girlfriend. You could try praying, yourself."

Malcolm turned to face down the church and sat on the kneeler, leaning against the altar rail, next to Sasha who seemed to be on a different plane of existence.

After some time, Malcolm was drifting himself, but he became aware that Sasha as kneeling next to him, but facing him, her arms round him and her forehead resting against the side of his head, so he turned to face her, she lifted her head and their eyes met. Her face ... glowed. Then her hands were each side of his head and she was kissing him.

"Thank you," she said, "thank you for being there when I need you."

In the Octagon, Peter, and Dulcie when she arrived, were being pressed about the events of the week.

"We can't talk about it at the moment," they kept saying in various ways without satisfying their questioners.

The Police had no trouble tracing the trustees of the property which included the old chapel. What they couldn't do was prove any connection with the four times a year, pseudo pagan/Satanist orgies. The only connections were Percy Stevenson, who was dead (he had been a trustee, but the others denied all knowledge of any illegal activities), the two men who were catatonic in a secure unit and the woman, who had disappeared into thin air. It seemed likely that she had been the wife of one of the catatonics. If so, she'd definitely altered her appearance when she flagged Dulcie down.

The girls tried. But they couldn't identify the house they'd been taken to from the station, where they'd stayed until they'd been taken to the chapel. Their descriptions of the couples who had picked them up didn't match any of the trustees or their associates...

The trail was cold.

Dulcie and Peter were drained when they returned to the Rectory. Emma and Rosie wanted to know what had happened to Sasha at the altar-rail, but they agreed to wait a couple of days; Dulcie and Peter thought it would be a good idea to get all the girls together, perhaps with some of the congregation who had deepened their relationship with God, like the Glovers.

Priority on Monday morning was sorting out school places for the girls. Not without difficulty they were admitted to the Plume school. The reluctance was understandable; five places to be found, three of the girls with, shall we say, a chequered school history ... Their subsequent school career, well, that's another story. As you might expect, they were very nervous and that is the main element that is relevant to this tale.

Initially, Dulcie's idea was to call them together that Wednesday evening, Two factors changed that. The first was the realisation that the girls had quite enough to think about in their first week at school. The second was a call from Marit Sorenson, asking if they could bring Susan to see, preferably, both Peter and Dulcie, but certainly Dulcie. As a result, the arrangement was made for Saturday.

It was just as well, because Wednesday evening was occupied by a visitor that appeared on the Rectory doorstep during the afternoon.

When Dulcie opened the door, she thought the woman was familiar.

"Mrs. Hanson," the woman said, in a faint but definite Scouse accent, "my name is Delia Cooper. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes of your time?"

Dulcie was speechless for a noticeable length of time.

"I see you have recognised me," the woman said. "Would it help if I promise that I am not here as a part of an abduction plan again?"

Her eyes met Dulcie's steadily.

"Come in, then," Dulcie said, and ushered her into the lounge, before going to the kitchen to put the kettle on and call Peter's mobile. The call went to voicemail.

"Darling, would you come home, please? I have a visitor and may need your support." She cut off the call, pocketed the phone and went to ask her visitor what, if anything, she wanted to drink.

Settled down with a pot of tea, the woman sipped at her mug then spoke.

"I'm sorry about what happened," she said, "I'm sorry I helped. I'm ashamed to say I have no excuse. I was angry ... our games were spoilt. It was only after your abduction went wrong I began to realise how much was wrong about what we were doing. I didn't know the girls were underage and unconsenting until I was hiding out with some of the others. They used that to ... persuade me to keep quiet, since I was implicated in some nasty stuff. But I couldn't live with it. I'd rather go to prison than hell..."

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This introduction story is based on true events. All the characters mentioned are above the age of 18. For personal reasons, the names of the characters have been changed. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The writer does not believe in any kind of discrimination or disrespect towards women. The story has been written for sexual satisfaction and should be held in the same regard. “Aah!” Nandini moaned as my thick member entered her...

Incest

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Armand Wilson sat in his home office/study sighing. From the office, things had looked pretty good; business was on track, and Sharon appeared to be handling her new situation well. But in the car on the way home, Armand began getting bad vibes, and when he arrived at his mansion, things were even worse. Everyone on staff was walking around as if on eggshells. It took Armand about twenty minutes' worth of snooping, but the situation resolved itself -- the Hernandez' quarters were an armed...

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