Chapter 2: Orgy

Sister Agnes felt both apprehension and excitement as she prepared for her second Friday night party in Heaven. She had lost her life-long virginity at the first party. What awaited her at her second? Another sex experience, to be sure, that was the rule. But with whom?

As the sun declined in the sky, her first decision was what she would wear. God had not provided a munificent wardrobe for her stay in the virtual medieval environment in which she resided. She had three pairs of shorts – a bit too short for her taste – three sleeveless blouses – a bit too revealing -- and one dress. No bras, no underwear.

She tried on the dress. It was of thin cloth with a flowery pattern and a length that ended above her knees. It was sleeveless, cut-low over her breasts, and held on by strings that tied over her shoulders. She knotted the strings. She had no mirror to evaluate her appearance, but she found the dress too immodest. The slightest lean forward would expose her breasts. She adjusted the straps to reduce the cleavage, but the cleft between her breasts was still visible. She shrugged and decided to wear the dress. The people, or rather spirits, of Heaven had attended last week’s party in every stage of dress and undress.

Despite her apprehension, she liked the dress. It swished around her hips when she walked; her legs were slender and her breasts were ample and bounced with each step she took. During her sixty years as a nun she had never been able to overcome the sin of vanity. She had been proud of her body as a young woman – and she was thirty-five years old again in this virtual reality.

She decided the dress needed more shape. She fastened a belt around her waist and was gratified that it highlighted the gentle curve of her hips. She then tied her long, light-brown hair into a pony tail. For inspiration, she read again the plaque on her wall:

“The spirits who reside in this afterlife believe that possession and ownership are the source of human misery. Here, you own nothing and you must share what you have, including your body.

The sun was getting low in the sky when she set off walking down the narrow, shady dirt road to the village a few hundred meters distant from her stone house. She shared the road with the enthusiastic spirits of other people, also walking to attend the weekly party. When she reached the main plaza of the village, one of the first persons to greet her was Melody, wife of Burt, the mayor of the virtual community.

“Agnes!” Melody gushed, rushing over to her. “I’m so glad to see you. I need help.” The previous Friday, Melody had been wearing a diaphanous Roman toga. This week her nipples were bare. Painted red and black lines radiated from her nipples along the curve of her breasts. She wore a loincloth of tan colored cloth that bared her ample hips and was barely long enough to cover her pubic area and buttocks.

“What can I do?” asked Agnes, always willing to be helpful.

“The Three Amigos have chosen me for their Friday entertainment. I can’t take on all three of them. How about joining us?” She gestured to her rear.

Agnes looked at the three men – really boys, about 20 years old -- standing behind Melody. One was tall and black, one was middle-sized and white, and one was short and Asian. All were bare-breasted and wearing loin cloths similar to Melody’s

The tall black boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I’m Tom.”

The middle-sized white boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I’m Dick.”

The short Asian boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I’m Harry.”

Melody took Agnes by the hand. “Let’s go to the dance first. It’s fun, especially just around sunset.” She led Agnes to a flat sandy place about the size of a tennis court with a pyre of logs in the middle. At one side of the sand was a raised platform on which four musicians were playing music. A young man with a guitar was playing and singing a country song. He was backed up by a drummer, a violinist, and a flutist. About one hundred people were crowded onto the sand dancing to the music.

“That singer looks like Elvis Presley,” Agnes said. “I remember him from when I was a teenager.”

“That singer is Elvis Presley,” answered Melody. “He’s on tour in Heaven. We’re pleased to have him here tonight.

“Let’s dance,” Tom, the black boy, put his hand around Agnes’s waist and led her into the crowd of dancers.

“I don’t know how to do this,” said Agnes.

“Just wiggle and sway,” said Tom.

Agnes did her best and soon Tom passed her off to another man, and he passed her off to a woman, and she circulated around the sand, going from one partner to another in quick succession as the band ran through a series of rocking and romantic tunes.

A naked man ran into the sand holding a burning torch. “It’s time to light the pyre,” he shouted and tossed the torch onto the mound of logs which flamed instantaneously.

“It’s sunset,” the man with whom she was dancing – and who was holding her much too closely – explained. “The ceremony is about to begin.” He was gone before she had a chance to ask what the ceremony was.

As the fire burned brightly and reached toward the sky, Elvis and the musicians increased the intensity of their singing and playing and what had been a sedate minuet, turned into an orgiastic celebration. All 100 people frantically danced around the fire, circling from one partner to another, men with women, men with men, women with women. Agnes felt herself thrown from one person to the next, their hands running over her body, her hips, waist, and chest, the feel of erect penises, covered and uncovered, touching her, other breasts brushing hers, whirling hair rushing over her face, lips touching her neck and shoulders – and all that as the dusk thickened and night came closer.

A strap on her dress became untied and slipped off her shoulder and a breast was suddenly exposed. She reached down to pull the dress up – but a man’s hand stayed hers. “Leave it,” he said, and he reached up and untied the strap on the other shoulder and the dress fell to her waist leaving both breasts exposed.

And, now, as the sky darkened, the band reached a new level of frenzy with Elvis and his band mates screaming (incongruously) “YMCA” accompanied by a pounding drum beat, the rhythm of the guitar, a whining violin, and the flute player trying desperately to keep up with the others. And Agnes kept dancing, sweat dripping off her face, running down her torso, breasts bouncing, swinging wildly, her dress flying around her spinning body, throwing herself into the arms of one person after another, shouting out as did all the others the words to the song.

Then, suddenly the music ceased. Every one of the dancing 100 stopped dead in their tracks and sank to the sand, exhausted.

From the stage, Elvis said, “Thank you very much.” He and his band walked off the stage and only the sound of heavy breathing, chirping crickets, and the murmur of water flowing by in the nearby river were heard. Agnes lay on her back, breathing hard, and men on either side of her touched her hips with theirs and their hands reached across her to nestle her breasts.

A scream came, and Agnes turned her head to see its source. An enormous naked woman was at the edge of the sandy dance floor. She must have weighed at least 150 kilograms, with several chins, thunderous thighs, huge breasts that sagged to her waist, and rolls of fat hanging from her back, her buttocks, and each of her arms. She advanced toward the elevated stage, one slow, methodical, painful step at a time, each foot hitting the ground with emphasis.

“The Earth Mother,” the man laying next to Agnes whispered.

Agnes started to ask about her, but then fell silent. The fat woman continued her stately walk toward the stage and, on reaching it, lay down on her back, her legs spread and hanging over the edge of the stage.

“That’s the signal that sex can begin,” said the man next to Agnes. He patted her on the stomach and sat up and said, “Sorry I have to leave you. I want to fuck the Earth Mother now. After the first half dozen men it gets messy.”

With that, he stood up and walked to the stage, standing in line behind another man, who was already standing over the fat lady between her thighs and thrusting his penis into her. Still other men arrived and took their place in line. The other dancers, including Agnes, rose to their feet and began to disperse. The fiery pyre in the middle of the dance floor was burning low and the dusk had turned to night. Stars and a full-moon hung over the village.