Chapter 12: And Behold, There Ran Out Piss From Under the Right Side of the Temple

The quickest way from North London to Cunting Town is by tube, changing at Bonk for the Dicklands Light Railway. And so that is the way Harriet and Janey took – though by the time they climbed the pee-streaked outside staircase to Michael’s flat and knocked on the peeling green door, the sun had already set, and Harriet had smoked at least five cigarettes en route. Harriet could hear that Michael’s mum was in from the muffled soundtrack blaring from the living room: Oh yeah, piss in me fuckin’ arsehole, ya filthy motherfucker! Look at that shithole all gapin’ wide for ya!

“Ooh, is that Michael’s mum?” asked Janey, suddenly intrigued.

“No,” Harriet laughed, “that’s her TV...”

“Shame: I was going to say she doesn’t sound too bad after all.”

But the door remained unopened – and so Harriet knocked again, more loudly.

“FUCK OFF!” came the sound of Mrs Didcock’s voice from within. The soundtrack continued: Yeah, fill me fuckin’ arse wiv yer golden shower, ya fuckin’ perv. See all yer piss swillin’ round in me gapin’ shitter?

Harriet knocked again, louder. “Mrs Didcock, it’s me, Harriet. Is Michael there, please?”

At last Harriet heard the television muted, followed by Mrs Didcock’s approaching lumbering footsteps. The door opened, and Michael’s mother stood naked before them leaning on a Zimmer frame, her vast flanks jiggling as she panted from her exertion, her drooping dugs smeared with the same unrecognisable foodstuffs which dribbled from her chin. “What do you want, cunt?” she barked. Behind her, her television screen was just visible, frozen on a closeup of a large black cock pissing copiously into a gaping asshole; Janey gasped with delight and rubbernecked slightly to get a better view.

“Hello, Mrs Didcock, how are you?” asked Harriet, as pleasantly as she could.

“I said: what do you want, cunt?” Mrs Didcock insisted. Janey was now on tiptoe, trying to get a better view of the pee-filled rectum on the television screen in the living room.

“Is Michael here, Mrs Didcock?” asked Harriet. “May I come in?”

“No, he isn’t here, cunt – and no, you fucking can’t.” Flecks of spit and half-chewed junk food spattered from her mouth as she spoke.

“Oh ... do you know where he is?”

“No – and I don’t give a shit where he is. He hasn’t been here since last week – when he came to pick up a painting or something. I thought he was living with you now...?”

Harriet went suddenly pale. “So he wasn’t here last night then?”

Mrs Didcock saw Harriet’s flustered expression, realised – and laughed: a long howling guffaw of derision and contempt. “Ha ha! Has he dumped you already, cunt? I thought it’d be the other way round! Found another hot piece of arse to fuck instead, has he? Just like his dad!”

“No, it’s not like that, Mrs Didcock, really it’s not – it’s just ... oh, do you have any idea where he might be?”

“Not a clue, bitch. The only place he goes, apart from yours and the gallery, is the church. But I wouldn’t bother if I were you, slut: you’re well rid of him. Find a real man to fuck: with your big tits and tight arse, you shouldn’t have too much trouble.” She laughed uproariously to herself as she slammed the door in Harriet’s face to lumber back to her sofa. Now open yer gob wide, perv, while I fart your fuckin’ piss in yer face! the soundtrack resumed. Then you can lick me arsehole clean!

Harriet could feel her heart pounding with dread, and she clung desperately to Janey to steady herself. “Oh God, Janey, where’s he gone? I thought he’d just run home. Where could he be?”

“Uh what...?” muttered Janey vaguely, slightly despondent that she couldn’t stay to watch the advertised pee enema facial. “Oh yeah, sorry yeah, Michael, yeah, well ... Will there be anyone at the church at this time?”

“We could see if Reverend Dicky knows anything.” Harriet set her jaw and led the way.

By the time the two girls had made their laborious way back to central London, Harriet had smoked three more cigarettes and was already on her fourth, and All Cunts Langham Place was dark and silent. But Harriet knew the way round the back to the presbytery door, which she knocked on timidly at first, then louder – and then louder again.

Reverend Dicky Fumbel answered, naked, his cock stiff, slime coated, and smelling of cunt. Deaconess Rahab lurked in the background, clad in nothing more than her trademark see-through white surplice, clearly nonplussed at having been interrupted mid-fuck: her blond hair was dishevelled, and she was whimpering as three slimy fingers of her right hand rubbed her bald clit. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Reverend Fumbel,” stammered Harriet through a mouthful of smoke, “did I interrupt your evenfuck?”

It took merely a second for the preacher to assess the sight presenting itself on his doorstep. “No such thing as an interruption, Harriet,” he beamed, “merely an enhancement!” His cock twitched in imagined anticipation. “Would you like to join us? We normally have a foursome on Saturday nights – but Deaconesses Salome and Jezebel are away leading this weekend’s fuck-mission, so Rahab and I were left alone. She might appreciate some company! And who is your pretty friend?” the preacher added with a glint in his eye, spying diminutive dark-haired Janey standing off to the side.

“Oh, er...” Harriet hardly knew where to start. Under normal circumstances she would have liked nothing more than to have a foursome with the church ministers, but she was flustered and anxious and had only one thought in mind: “It’s just ... I’m looking for Mikey – you know, my fiancé, the one with the big dick?” She took another deep but nervous drag to calm her nerves.

To her surprise, Reverend Fumbel’s face turned suddenly sombre, and his glistening cock began to droop. “Ah ... yes, of course – well, you’d better come in for a chat then, Harriet. I ... I wasn’t going to mention it, but ... seeing as you have coming looking for him, I ... come in, come in: it’s cold outside, we can talk more easily in the church...”

“Oh God, Reverend Dicky, is he all right?” Through her words, Harriet’s exhale was thick and rich in the cold January night – but she had never seen her preacher in such a sombre and uncertain mood before, and she felt herself overtaken by an inchoate jumble of panic and fear: Was Michael missing? ill? hurt?... dead?

“He’s fine, Harriet,” Reverend Fumbel reassured her as, his now flaccid cock dangling before him, he led the way through the hallway of the presbytery, down a side passage, and into the nave of the church, followed by Deaconess Rahab who, still whimpering with lust, had grabbed Janey by the hand and was dragging her along behind.

“Michael came to see me, and he was a bit, shall we say, upset by what you said to him,” continued Reverend Fumbel as he gestured to a couple of front row chairs. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

Harriet sat, taking rapid, nervous drags and exhaling noisily through pursed lips, while Rahab led Janey urgently towards a small alcove at the opposite side of the church, where there stood a small stone baptismal font. “I’m horny, bitch,” she announced to the brunette waif, “see?” She held her three sticky fingers up to Janey’s face. “Eat me.”

Janey said nothing, but extended her tongue to taste Rahab’s slimy fingers. “Ohhhh...” she whimpered, overcome by the irresistible savour of the deaconess’ hot cunt, as she sucked all three of her glistening digits into her mouth, slobbering with delight.

Harriet sat smoking nervously, sucking her smoke in short sharp audible drags, while surveying the bright 1970s evangelical décor, all faded green carpet, pine laminate, spotlights, loudspeakers and plywood stackable chairs. It seemed a somewhat stark, clinical place without its customary heaving throngs of praying fucking acolytes, but soon Harriet’s confession came tumbling out through clouds of smoke: “Oh God, Reverend Dicky, I think I must have hurt Michael’s feelings so badly! I said some terrible things to him – but all he was doing was eating Janey’s cunt, nothing wrong with that really, but I ... I...” She took another sharp drag. “I just got jealous! I called him a double-crosser and a cheat – I don’t know where it came from. I’m a good Christian girl, Reverend Dicky, I really am not normally like that! But I thought I’d be able to make it up to him, but then he never came home to my place, and he isn’t at his mum’s, and I am so desperate to find him. But you’ve seen him? Where is he? Please tell me where he is!” Harriet was in tears, puffing on her cigarette with panic and desperation, smoke pouring in and out of her lungs.

Meanwhile, Deaconess Rahab was wasting little time, lifting her haunches up onto the font and opening her legs wide to display her bald, half-fucked cunt, its pink flesh glistening and frothing with interrupted lust. “Eat it, bitch!” she commanded, the lustful desperation in her voice undisguised, as she pulled Janey down so the slender brunette was crouching before her exposed fuckhole. Janey grinned, plunging her face into Rahab’s crotch and slurping with abandon as the deaconess whimpered, “Oh yeah, that’s it, bitch, that’s good, fuck my cunt with that hot tongue!”

At the altar end of the church, Reverend Fumbel sat, still naked, facing Harriet. “Harriet,” he intoned firmly, “I can’t tell you where Michael is at the moment: he asked me, for his safety, not to tell anyone – anyone – and I must honour that. But –”

“His safety?!” interrupted Harriet, gesticulating with her cigarette. “But he’s not in danger, is he? OK, I was a bitch, but I’m not threatening him. I just want him back!”

Janey, meanwhile, was utterly entranced by Rahab: her hot cunt juicing all over her face and – as the diminutive brunette glanced up – her lovely voluptuous body writhing and arching with pleasure on the font, her proud tits jiggling and flowing, framing her lusciously seductive face and blond hair. But then the deaconess paused. “Are you saved, fuckwhore?” she asked, looking down at the slender girl slobbering at her cunt-mound.

“Uh ... what?” muttered Janey from the depths of Rahab’s gash.

“I said, bitch, are you fucking saved?” Rahab’s voice was sharp with zeal. “Do you know Jesus? Have you been washed in the cunt-juice of the Lamb?”

By contrast, Reverend Fumbel was working hard at keeping his voice emollient. “I understand your concern for Michael’s safety, Harriet. But you were the one who told him you were no longer his friend. You dumped him – which is something you promised you would never do. And I hardly need tell you what a blow that is for someone as emotionally insecure as Michael.”

Tears were running down Harriet’s face, and her nose was running. She sniffed loudly, wiping a large smear from her upper lip with the yellowing filter end of her cigarette and licking it off as she took another deep drag. He’s right, she thought to herself as snotty residual smoke seeped slowly from her nostrils, I’ve been so cruel, so heartless, and so fixated on my own state of mind I haven’t even realised how much I have hurt Mikey... “Oh God!” she cried out loud, exhaling a thick column of smoke heavenwards. “Oh God, forgive me!”

In the baptismal alcove, Rahab was pressing her point. “Believe in Jesus, bitch! Be born again of cum and the Spirit, and you will be saved!”

Janey, to be frank, didn’t know what Rahab was talking about. Her parents, free thinkers both, had not brought her up to be remotely religious and, while she had always tolerated Harriet’s spiritual convictions with the attentiveness of a true friend, she had never had the slightest interest in such matters for herself. And so she muttered a perfunctory “Uh ... no, sorry,” before resuming her cunt-slurping.

At the same time, the Reverend Fumbel was lecturing Harriet with kind, though uncompromising, firmness: “You know what it says in Scripture, Harriet: I will send the Horny Spirit to you. And when He has come, He will convict the world of sin – because they do not believe in Me.”

“But I do believe, Reverend Dicky!” Harriet inhaled again, urgently, removing her cigarette from between her lips with a noisy smack. “I trust in Jesus!”

“Trust in Jesus, slut!” Rahab’s voice echoed loudly around the alcove, and thence out into the nave of the church, even as Janey continued to slobber happily at her gash. “You eat good cunt, bitch: you’d make a good fucker for Jesus, you would – oh fuck oh fuck yeah that’s good, right there, on my clit...”

Janey was pleased her oral ministrations were having the desired effect on the deaconess, and so she decided to ignore her increasingly incoherent attempts at proselytisation and just concentrate hard on pleasuring her twat. Rahab didn’t seem to mind too much either, as her preaching gradually gave way under the onslaught of Janey’s tongue and fingers, soon disintegrating into pleasured, pleasurable fuck-talk: “You know Jesus is pleasured by you, fuckslut? He wants you as his fuckwhore, He wants you to open his cunt to Him, He wants you to – oh Jesus motherfuck that’s it you fucking whore eat that fucking cunt make me come!”

Meanwhile, Reverend Fumbel was gently but determinedly continuing to reproach Harriet. “I know you believe, Harriet. I know you are Jesus’ fuckslut, I know you have opened your cunt to him. But you, like all of us, have allowed an idol to come between you and God. Do you know what that idol is, Harriet?”

Harriet sat trembling, her body shaking with humiliation and grief. Tears continued to course down her face, and smoke from her nostrils. She blew her nose noisily into her palm, and mindlessly wiped the large slimy glob of mucus into her fine blond hair. Her heart was bereft, but through her pain she glimpsed the truth. “I ... I ... Oh God, Reverend Dicky ... am I guilty of ... of love?”

“Praise be to the Horny Spirit, sister, for revealing this to you,” cried the preacher, “for in recognising your own sin you open the door to your redemption!”

Janey, by contrast, wasn’t really interested in redemption – but she was aware that Rahab was approaching her climax: she could feel her juices flowing, her vulva getting hotter, her twat begin to tremble and twitch and clench, until – “OH FUCK!” screamed the deaconess, as her cunt convulsed. “Thank you Jesus for letting me come all over this slut’s face. Now send your Horny Spirit on her and make her your fuck-disciple, IN JESUS’S NAME, AMEEEENNNNNN!!!”

Janey was not remotely moved by Rahab’s prayer, noisy and sincere though it undoubtedly was – but she gamely buried her face into the deaconess’ spasming cunt, continuing to slurp and nibble and frig as Rahab climaxed. Indeed, it would have been an unremarkable, though admittedly pleasurable, end to her pussy-feast if it had not been for a strange transformation which now Janey noticed coming over the deaconess. Rahab’s orgasm, instead of subsiding, was building even more: her cunt was growing hotter and wetter, continuing to dribble fuck-juices into Janey’s face and down her thighs onto the edge of the font. Her skin glowed bright, and the spasming of her body seemed to be building in intensity; indeed, she seemed now to be convulsing uncontrollably, as if she were undergoing some sort of supernatural fit. A strange deep moan began in her chest – resonant, quavering, rising and falling with her convulsions – until suddenly she intoned, in a voice unnaturally deep and sonorous, which echoed throughout the church: “DAUGHTER OF CUNT, HEAR THE WORD OF THE LORD!”