circle of stones, on a thick mattress of pine needles. She kneeled down, slowly wriggling out of her jeans. She patted the space beside her.
Naked from the waist down, but with their shirts open, they lay under the blankets beneath the trees. She gripped his penis and worked the foreskin back, the angry red glans glistening.
"It's big," was all she said.
There was no need for foreplay; her juices were wetting the insides of her thighs.
"Think you can get that in your mouth?" Black asked.
"It's real big," she repeated.
"Try."
Without hesitation she bent her head and took him, while his fingers worked at the wetness between her legs. He pulled her mouth from him and positioned himself between her legs, inserting only a small portion of himself inside her.
"More," she groaned.
"First you tell me your God is shit," he said.
She hesitated, then complied, uttering the blasphemy. And the medallion around her neck began to glow.
He slid another inch inside her and said, "Praise the Master of Darkness, Susan."
"Yes," she whispered in passion. "I do praise Him."
He moved between her legs and she screamed in pleasure and pain. Black said, "If this feels so good, Susan, why then does your God deny this pleasure to his subjects, whenever they choose to partake of it?"
"I don't know!" she wailed, struggled to get more of him inside her.
"Because your God is shit!"
"Yes. My God is shit!"
At his urgings, blasphemous words rolled from her mouth, leaking like filth from a broken sewage line.
And God must have frowned as the Devil laughed when Black shoved his manhood into the laughing, screaming, corruption-spouting young woman. His newest convert. By the circle of stones. Not too far from a reaking hole in the ground.
"Susan screaming," Nydia said, her lips tight as the wails of pleasure drifted through the timber.
"But not in pain," Sam observed.
"No, I guess not. My brother is … amply endowed. Like you," she said, glancing at him.
"My father must have been hung like a bull."
She laughed. "What a marvelously elegant expression.
"Shall we hike through the timber and see what's happening?" Sam suggested with a grin.
"What is this, another side to you? The voyeur?"
"I just want to see if Dad gave him the same equipment."
"You're awful. You and Black are … about the same, in that department."
"How would you know?"
"I'm his sister, remember? I've seen my brother naked on numerous occasions. None recently, thank God." She was gently leading him in the opposite direction of the wailing pleasure sounds.
"Must be gettin' good," Sam drawled.
"You're incorrigible! Remember, Sam: He has His eye on you."
"Before you get too pious, honey, remember the same applies to you."
She looked horrified. "I forgot about that."
They walked a full mile from the circle of stones before they spread the ground sheet Sam carried. He said, "We'll give them time to get it done, then wander down that way. I want to see this circle of stones and the hole in the ground."
She lay back on the ground sheet, her hands behind her head. Sam's eyes began wandering. "Don't get any ideas," she cautioned him, pointing upward. "He's watching."
A half continent away, many of the residents of Whitfield began answering the call of their Chosen Master, gathering in a huge clearing on the Zagone Ranch, whose eastern range bordered on the fenced-in area known as The Digging. While God did not interfere—directly—into the affairs on earth, at least not too often, and certainly never in any obvious manner, Satan was bound by no rules on earth, and could do anything the Dark One chose to do. And did—often.
There would be no interference from anyone in this part of Fork County. The Devil had seen to that. Should anyone travel through, all would appear normal, and no one would have any desire whatsoever to stop—for anything.
But the Dark One did not know that God also had plans for this part of Whitfield, and was already working.
This time, if all went according to Satan's plans—and the Prince of Darkness saw no reason why they should not—there would be no great billowing plumes of smoke from burning, exploding buildings; no racing about the county blowing up ranch houses and shooting people— none of that business this time. No, all would be handled a bit more sedately this time around. His followers could, of course, have a bit of fun: dance, sing, engage in their heretofore forbidden open orgies, all that type of mortal frivolity. Perhaps some human offerings would be fun. Certainly the Jew and Jewess and