“Deliver Us”
Mofo publishing’s latest anthology of literary erotica, Sacrilege, comes out August 17th. This week I’m sharing excerpts from both my stories in it.
“Deliver Us” is a lighthearted and angry look at the kind of sex that will get you sent to hell. Namely, exorcism roleplay, with bondage, warming oils, and getting almost too deeply into character–
Deliver Us
Ryan might have made a mistake in telling her that his first awakening to bondage had come through some C-movie about an exorcism. Watching that lissome teenager writhe, strapped down on the table—though just a kid himself, he’d known something was going on, something even beyond the desperate, weirdly poignant straining for salvation. Years later, he found out exactly what. And years after that, he confessed.
And now he was about to lose his immortal soul over it.
But God, Ann looked good in a Roman collar.
“I thought about being a nun,” she said, running her fingers over it. “But in the end it didn’t work out.”
“No kidding.” He grinned. “When it comes to nuns, I always think about . . . either sweet little old lady campaigners of social justice or else rulers across the knuckles.”
“Seriously. When I was younger, I thought I might have a vocation.”
“You’ve never mentioned that before.”
She shrugged, and he remembered that she didn’t talk much about her Catholicism in general. Or her ex-Catholicism. Which seemed more likely, given her continued playing around with the collar. She brushed away the ends of her brown curls hanging over it.
“Anyway,” she said, “I just thought of it when I put this on. Since they don’t let women become priests. A Sister would be as close as I could get.”
“I think you’ll make a good priest,” he told her.
“Thanks.” The moment of softness passed from her eyes, and she leaned over him. Loomed, really. When he stood, they were the same height, but Ryan always felt as if he shrank five feet when he was tied up. And the improvised vestments seemed to do something for her—she grew in them.
She said, “But after all, there’s lots of things they don’t let good Catholic girls do. Extramarital sex . . . sex not for the purposes of procreation . . . most of everything we’ve ever done.”
“I’ve seduced you into evil. How demonic of me.” He raised his eyebrows, which he’d often been told were at a certain devilish angle.
“Very.” Her grin was far more evil than any expression he could ever devise. It sent chills down his spine, and heat flowed right after them. His old jeans were tight enough that he suspected she could tell. He had picked a pair with an especially weakened waistband in case things got torn once he started writhing.
She bent closer, until the end of the silk scarf she was using as a stole dangled, and whispered, “You’re very wicked.”
She meant it. The way she had fiddled with her costume—solemn, if not reverent, maybe with a bit of wistfulness—spoke louder than their joking, spoke in the same clamoring tone as her silence about her past religion. They played now with something serious. If they did it wrong, they would be running a very big risk.
Ann frowned. “I should smack those knuckles with a ruler.”
“Come on.” He tugged at the straps holding him to the headboard in a weak sort of protest. She laughed at him. She cackled. It wasn’t very devout. And the indignity of the situation left him more turned on than he’d want to admit.
“For God’s sake!”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to beg for mercy just yet, Lucifer.” Her lips pursed on the name, making him think of kisses. And more. “Especially not by that name.”
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