How Does Your Garden Grow?
Copyright© 2017 by Mark Gander
Chapter 44
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 44 - David Howard is fed up with his life in the Mafia-controlled state of New Jersey, even if it is the only state with a working government in the post-apocalyptic world that exists since Fireball Day. Between his mob-loving (literally) wife Andrea and his psycho gay ex-friend and boss with benefits, Steven, David is more than ready to call it quits. He just won't get to do it alone.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Crime Humor Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Paranormal Demons Cheating Sharing Slut Wife Incest Uncle Niece BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial White Male Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Squirting Voyeurism Menstrual Play Public Sex Nudism Politics
1305 hours, local time
Sunday, 10 May, 2015
Eagle Point Park
Dubuque, Iowa
“It is for you, my brothers and sisters in the Church of Haven, and even for any of you here who are not yet Havenites, that I have come with a message of hope for the future!” the Prophet David Howard thundered as the predominantly Havenite, overwhelmingly naked crowd packed Eagle Point Park to listen to him.
The air was electric with anticipation, and the smell of barbecue wafted over from the makeshift communal area where the faithful had been sharing food and stories. The Prophet’s words had been echoing through the park since the early morning, his voice carrying over the occasional distant sound of a car horn from the city beyond. His message of peace, love, and harmony had drawn an even larger crowd than the park had ever seen before.
The Prophet’s eyes scanned the sea of faces, each one hungry for his spiritual guidance. He knew that this gathering was a testament to his growing influence and the truth of his vision. His heart swelled with pride and a sense of purpose as he continued, his voice modulating to a more intimate tone.
“But,” he began, “there are those who wish to oppress us, who fear the beauty and freedom of our way of life. They seek to clothe us in the shackles of their archaic beliefs and hide us from the divine light of the heavens!”
The crowd murmured in agreement, a wave of indignant energy rippling through their collective consciousness.
“We must stand firm against these purveyors of darkness,” the Prophet urged, his gaze intense as it locked onto a young couple in the front row, their bare skin glistening with sweat from the midday sun. The woman, her breasts bouncing slightly with the fervor of her nodding, reached out to her partner, their fingers entwining in a silent pledge of solidarity.
A murmur grew from the gathering as the Prophet paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. His eyes searched the crowd for any sign of doubt or dissent, but found none. The congregation was his, their trust and loyalty as naked as their bodies. He raised his hands to the sky, palms up, as if to embrace the very heavens he spoke of. “We shall not be silenced!” he declared, his voice booming with renewed vigor.
The crowd roared in approval, their collective voice echoing through the park. The young couple in the front row leaned into each other, their naked forms pressed tightly together, drawing strength from the Prophet’s words. The man, his muscles flexing in the sun, felt a surge of courage rush through him. The woman’s eyes gleamed with a fierce determination as she squeezed her partner’s hand even harder.
The Prophet David Howard’s gaze continued to sweep over the throng of devotees. His eyes fell upon a group of newcomers who had arrived during his speech. They were still dressed, their clothes looking out of place among the sea of bare flesh. He pointed at them, his voice softening with the warmth of welcoming. “Look, my brethren,” he said, “even now, more souls are drawn to our cause.”
The clothed attendees, visibly moved by the Prophet’s rhetoric, began to strip off their garments. The material fell away to reveal their vulnerable human forms, a symbolic shedding of their old lives and a rebirth into the embrace of Havenism. They called out to him, their voices a mix of excitement and awe, begging to be initiated into the faith that promised them freedom from pre apocalyptic conventions and unity with their fellow humans.
The Prophet’s smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with victory as the last of the newcomers shed their clothing. His words had the power to move mountains, it seemed, and the transformation before him was all the proof he needed. But amidst the cacophony of agreement and adoration, certain figures remained steadfast in their attire, their expressions stern and unyielding. They approached the makeshift stage where David Howard stood, each step resonating with the gravity of their convictions.
“I am Father Jonas Moore of the Society of Jesus. This is Reverend Pentecost Wharton of the Foursquare Church of God and this is Reverend Michael Orton of the Disciples of Christ. We stand for Christ and for historical, canonical Christianity. We call upon you to repent of your blasphemy, idolatry, and apostasy. You have traded the Gospel of Jesus Christ for false doctrine and heathen rubbish. Repent now or face the judgment of the Lord,” the leader announced.
The Prophet’s smile never wavered, his gaze unflinching as he faced the trio of clerics. He knew this confrontation was inevitable; it was a dance as old as time itself. He gestured for them to come closer, his voice filled with the sweetness of a serpent. “Welcome, brothers, to the embrace of the Church of Haven. Here, we strip away the layers of deceit that have shrouded the true nature of humanity for millennia. Why do you cling to these rags when the truth is so much more liberating? Do you not see how God has judged your churches and found them wanting? Do you not understand that the destruction of Vatican City and Constantinople reflects the white-hot wrath and indignation of Heaven in the fire and brimstone raining down on Fireball Day, July Sixth, 2013?”
Father Moore turned very pale as he remembered the way that the Vatican was destroyed that day.
“You speak of the end of the world, Prophet,” Father Moore responded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. “But it is not the end, it is the beginning of a new era of tribulation. You preach a gospel of flesh and lust, not the salvation offered by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!”
“Then let God be our witness. I call for God to give us a sign of whom he favors. If God favors you, despite the destruction of the Vatican, let him strike me dead. If he favors me, let him strike you three dead instead,” the Prophet challenged the clerics.
The crowd grew silent, their eyes widening with anticipation. The clerics exchanged furtive glances, their faces contorted with disbelief and horror. The Prophet’s confidence was unshakeable as he waited for their response, his naked form a stark contrast to their formal attire.
Reverend Wharton stepped forward, her hand trembling as she pointed a finger at the Prophet. “You dare to challenge the will of God?” she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. “You blaspheme with your very breath!”
“Doesn’t your own Scripture forbid women to preach? I call to attention your own defiance of your religious text,” the Prophet observed.
The clerics’ faces grew redder, their fists clenching. Reverend Orton spoke up, his voice firm and resolute. “We are not here to be tested by you, false prophet. We come in peace, offering you and your misguided followers a chance to return to the true path before it’s too late!”
“And I give you the opportunity to convert in light of the growing evidence of my authority and revelation, before you incur the wrath of Heaven yourselves,” the Prophet David Howard urged the trio.
With a sudden, blinding flash of light, an angelic figure, clearly masculine, appeared before the stunned congregation. The crowd gasped in awe as the being descended from the heavens, its wings a fiery halo that cast flickering shadows across the park. The angel, known as Ariel, was a breathtaking vision of power and beauty, his eyes burning with an unearthly fire that seemed to pierce the very souls of those who beheld them. The figure hovered in the air, a flaming sword in hand, his gaze fixed on Reverend Wharton.
“Your time has come, defiler of the sacred,” Ariel’s voice boomed, resonating with divine authority. “You have spurned the truth of Havenism and chosen to stand with the corrupt and the blind.”
With a swift and decisive motion, Ariel brought the flaming sword down upon Reverend Wharton, who had only enough time to scream a single, desperate syllable before her body was cleaved in two. Her lifeblood spurted out in a crimson arc, painting the lush green grass of the park with a stark, macabre contrast. The crowd watched in a mix of shock and awe as the flaming blade sizzled through flesh and bone, the smell of seared flesh filling the air. The two remaining clerics stumbled back, their eyes wide with terror as the angel turned his gaze upon them, the flaming weapon still dripping with the essence of the vanquished preacher.
But then, a miracle beyond their wildest dreams unfolded before their very eyes. The Almighty God Himself appeared, His presence so profound it seemed to warp the fabric of reality around him. The heavens opened up, and a beam of pure light engulfed the lifeless body of Reverend Wharton. The crowd fell to their knees, their eyes stinging with tears of reverence and fear as they beheld the divine apparition. The light grew brighter, and from the center of it emerged a figure that could only be described as a heavenly being.
It was Reverend Wharton, now reborn as an angel. Her mortal form had been transformed into an ethereal beauty that surpassed any earthly creature. Her eyes shone with the light of a thousand stars, and her newfound wings stretched out behind her, their feathers as pure and white as the driven snow. She looked upon the Prophet David Howard with a gaze that seemed to hold both wonder and awe.
“This man is a true Prophet of Heaven and I acknowledge this fact in all of its particulars. You two, repent and convert to Havenism, so as not to anger God. Christianity is the past. Havenism is the future,” Wharton said, even as God took her and Ariel by the hand, vanishing into thin air.
The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers, their belief in the Prophet’s words stronger than ever. The clerics looked at each other, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The power that had been demonstrated was not something they had seen in their own churches, and the transformation of their fellow minister into an angel was a testament to the truth of Havenism.
Father Moore and Reverend Orton dropped to their knees, the weight of their convictions suddenly feeling very heavy. They had come to challenge the Prophet, but now they found themselves questioning the very foundation of their faith. The Prophet stepped down from the stage, his nakedness a stark reminder of the freedom he offered, and approached the trembling men.
“You have seen the power of the heavens,” he said gently, extending a hand to each of them. “Will you not cast aside your fear and embrace the truth?”
Father Moore looked up, his eyes searching the Prophet’s for any sign of deceit, but all he saw was the unyielding conviction that had captivated so many before him. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, a feeling that was at once terrifying and exhilarating. Reverend Orton, too, was visibly torn, his eyes darting between the Prophet and the spot where their companion had been struck down and then raised up.
With trembling hands, Father Moore began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving the Prophet’s. “I ... I need to think,” he stuttered. “But if what I have seen here today is truly of God...”
The Prophet nodded understandingly, his hand on Father Moore’s shoulder. “It is an adjustment, no doubt, but take that leap of faith and remember, nakedness is not conversion itself. It is a symbol of openness and the embrace of harmony with nature as well as communion with one’s fellow man. Take that step. Remove your clothes.”
Father Moore slowly finished undressing in front of everyone, hastily followed by Reverend Orton. When both were naked, everyone who was still clothed stripped completely nude. Everyone now knelt before the Prophet David Howard and his sister, the Prophetess Serena Kurtz. The Prophet’s wives, husbands, and lovers stood next to them, beaming down at the neophytes.
“Rise, please, my friends. Almighty God has returned to His Heaven. I am but a man, albeit one with an angel for a father and a prophetic mandate. Let us all love each other. Let us embrace each other. Let us caress each other. Let us ... enjoy each other ... and each other’s bodies. You, bend over for me, my dear girl,” the Prophet approached the female half of the young couple, and you, my dear boy, bend my sister and wife, the Prophetess Serena Kurtz, over.”
The reaction was immediate.
The young man and woman, still holding hands, stood up, their hearts racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. They had never felt so alive, so connected to the divine. The Prophet’s words were like a siren’s call, impossible to resist. They stepped closer to the Prophetess, their eyes locked on hers, the fire of the angel’s sword still dancing in their memories.
The Prophetess Serena Kurtz, her voluptuous figure on full display, took a deep breath as the young man bent her over gently. She leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his touch as he positioned himself behind her. Meanwhile, the Prophet David Howard approached the young woman, his manhood standing proud and erect, a symbol of his divine authority. He reached out and caressed her cheek, his touch as soft as a feather, yet as firm as the conviction that pulsed through the air.
The couple’s eyes met, and in that moment, they knew they had made the right choice. Their hearts raced with a passion that was as holy as it was primal. They were not just about to engage in an act of love; they were about to participate in a sacred ritual, a union that transcended the physical plane and connected them directly to the divine.
The Prophet positioned himself behind the young woman, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity that seemed to bore into her very soul. His hand slid down her back, over her curvaceous hips, and rested for a moment at the base of her spine. The crowd watched, their own desires building as they awaited the moment of divine communion that was about to unfold before their eyes.
With a powerful thrust, the Prophet began fucking the young lady in earnest, her cries of pleasure echoing through the park like a chorus of angels. The Prophetess Serena, her eyes closed in ecstasy, felt the young man’s firm grip on her hips as he entered her from behind, the heat of their bodies melding together in a symphony of passion and faith. The congregation, now fully naked and entwined in various positions, joined in the sacred act, their moans of pleasure mingling with the whispers of prayers and invocations of deity.
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