“You can’t wear that!” exclaimed Alison.

“Why not? Isn’t it sluttish enough?” replied Claire. She was proudly showing off her tight black wet-look PVC one-piece dress, which barely covered the distance between her nipples and her ass. Her cunt lips peeped out cheekily from underneath.

“It’s too sluttish! This is an old-style religious service we’re going to: you’ve got to look modest and chaste and stuff – like they dressed before the Enlightenment.”

“Oh, but that’s so disgusting! Besides, how can you be ‘too sluttish’? There’s no such fucking thing as ‘too sluttish’!”

“Yeah, I know – but that’s how things are with these Old Believers. You need to cover up – long sleeves and long trousers and things. Here, try this,” said Alison, flinging some pieces of clothing out of her trunk.

“Where the fuck did you get these, Al?” Claire grimaced.

“Fancy dress party: ‘millenial’ themed…”

“These are so fucking awful,” declared Claire as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a blouse. “Look, the only tears in these jeans are at the knees: there aren’t any on my ass or my cunt. And this blouse is so fucking thick so you can’t even see my tits through it. How’s anyone gonna feel me up in this?”

“They’re not – that’s the point! In those days it was considered bad form to feel someone up without their consent.”

“Well, why would anyone withhold consent? Fucking Jesus!”

Alison ignored the question, but continued, “Here, and you have to wear these.”

“What the fuck is this?” asked Claire, holding up a piece of clothing the like of which she had never seen before.

“It’s called a ‘bra’. You wear it on your tits.”

“What, like this?” asked Claire, incredulously.

“No, no, it’s what they called ‘underwear’. You put it on under the blouse. And these –” Alison brandished an even stranger item of clothing, “are called ‘panties’. You wear them under your trousers.”

“Is the point of all this gear to stop anyone from even trying to fuck you? ‘Coz that what it looks like!”

“Yeah, maybe – but when in Rome… And they’re all going to be old-style believers there today, so let’s just try and behave, shall we?”

“Fucking God-freaks, you mean. Illegal, subversive, anti-social religious pervs. And I bet they’re all Undesirables: blacks and coloureds and…”

“Claire, calm down! We just go and sit and keep our mouths shut. Even if you can’t stand Rob, do it for Eva’s sake – okay?”

“Okay – but you gotta fuck me first before we go in – otherwise, I’m gonna go fucking crazy sitting in church for a whole hour with no jerking off allowed. Jesus…”

~

Conveniently, there was a bench on Tottenham Cunt Road where Alison could eat Claire’s pussy before the funeral started – even if doing so around jeans and panties made things a bit more complicated than they were used to. (“Jesus, Al, how did they ever fuck in the olden days?!”) And when Alison knocked twice on the green door, a smiling dark-skinned nun let them in and led them down a long plain corridor, to a small chapel with pews and kneelers arranged in a semi-circle facing a simple stone altar. “Hey, it’s like our fuck lab!” whispered Claire. “Is that where they fuck, on that table thing? That must be so fucking uncomfortable!”

“Sh!” signalled Alison. “Don’t use that word here!”

“What word? ‘Uncomfortable’? What’s wrong with saying…”

“‘Fuck’!” whispered Alison. “Don’t say ‘fuck’ here – it’s rude!”

“Oh yeah, sorry – I forgot… Don’t say ‘fuck’, yeah, okay…”

There were already a few people kneeling at the pews, praying or whispering quietly to each other. Unlike at Wankminster Abbey, no one was fucking. “No one’s even jerking off!” whispered Claire to Alison, amazed at the novel sight. “But look, I was right – they’re all coloureds and Asians and…”

“Shhhh!” Alison signalled to Claire to be quiet. In front of the altar, on a dais, was a simple wooden coffin. And seated in the front pew, backs to the door, were Eva and Rob, talking quietly with a dark-skinned priest whom Alison presumed to be Father Ambrose. Rob was dressed in a black suit and tie. Eva was wearing a long black dress, her hair straightened back into a simple ponytail, a black mantilla over her head. Alison and Claire sat down in a back pew.

“Jesus, Al, look at Eva!” whispered Claire. “She looks awful! No one’s gonna want to fuck something looking like that – oops, sorry, F-word. And who’s the Asian in the pyjamas?”

“I think he’s the priest – Father Ambrose. I think he might be Goan…”

“Well, they all look the same to me… Hey, is it true that if you go to confession you can get your throat fucked by the priest? That must be – oh fuck, sorry, there I go again – oops, oh fuck, I just can’t stop saying…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, CLAIRE!” Alison whispered, but louder than she meant to. A few heads turned in the front pews. “Sorry…” Alison mouthed apologetically to the congregation. Eva and Rob noticed, turned, grinned and waved at their friends, as the chapel slowly filled with mourners.

Alison had never been to a non-fucking church service before – but she had at least been to church, and so knew to follow along with what everyone else was doing and copy their behaviour. Claire, on the other hand, was finding it very difficult. They were barely ten minutes into the service before she started whispering into Alison’s ear, “I am so fucking bored and so fucking horny. Hey, let’s sneak out and have a quick fuck – they won’t notice.”

“No, Claire, just sit down and shut up!” whispered Alison urgently.

“Surely they won’t mind if I just jerk off quietly here in the back pew. I won’t make any noise, I promise…” She slipped her hand between her thighs and started frustratedly rubbing her crotch through her denim jeans.

“You’re already making noise, Claire. Just shut up and sit still!”

“How can you stand it? Aren’t you horny too?” whispered Claire.

The truth is, Alison was. She was a fucker through and through and was devoting much of her attention, as was her habit, to scouring the congregation for fuckable specimens. Truth be told, there weren’t many of them: most of the congregation looked, Alison thought, old and ugly: presumably all sterilised specimens of various types of Undesirables allowed, for exceptional reasons, to remain in the Union after the Expulsion – the last, sad, hidden representatives of their once-numerous communities, now decimated by exile or execution. But she amused herself by wondering what the few young, dark-skinned, handsome (or pretty) specimens of Undesirability present kept hidden under their well-buttoned clothes – remembering what Eva had said: “The few of us that are still here are only allowed to remain in order to satisfy white people’s penchant for fucking black ass…”

Father Ambrose was now reading out loud:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

As Alison listened, she wondered briefly whether it was true. She felt weary and burdened, to be sure – from being ‘loved’ by Rob, from being attacked by Eva, from being assaulted by Chad, from watching the old man mown down in cold blood in the name of the Enlightenment, from all the jealousy and spite which seemed to permeate the whole world of state-sponsored fucking. Was there really someone who could lighten her burden? Tears welled up behind her eyes. Claire muttered next to her, “Fuck, I can’t jerk off through these fucking clothes. Is there a bathroom anywhere here?”

“Off that corridor, I think – where we came in.”

“See you later,” whispered Claire, sliding out of their pew and disappearing.

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God…

“Oh, Jesus, this is heavy!” thought Alison to herself. “‘Love… love… love’ – that’s all they fucking talk about, these God-freaks.” From her position close to the door, Alison could, much to her embarrassment, hear Claire moaning from the behind the door to the toilets. “Oh Jesus,” Alison thought, “if she wants to fucking jerk off, can’t she do it quietly? Last time I take her anywhere…”

Who will separate us from the love of God? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

“‘Conquerors through love?’ What the fuck does that mean? Is that possible? No, no, no – Mommy and Daddy taught me that ‘love’ oppresses and imprisons people. It is Pleasure that conquers all things… But if that’s so, why aren’t I in that fucking bathroom with Claire, eating her cunt and letting her fist my ass? Why am I sitting here with all these ugly people listening to this bullshit? I mean, it can’t be true: I bet they don’t even believe it themselves. They’re all gonna be like Rob and Eva – sitting here listening to God-shit, then the moment they’re out the door they’ll be fucking the first ass which comes their way…”

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

From the other side of the toilet door, Alison could hear Claire building up to her orgasm: “Oh yeah, oh fuck,” she was muttering, “yeah, rub that fucking clit, baby – I wanna fucking come!” But for a moment Alison ignored her, intrigued anew by the words she was hearing from Father Ambrose: “‘A bride adorned’! Not a bride oppressed or violated, but ‘adorned’! What the fuck…?”

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying: See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.

And then something strange happened: Alison did not know how or why, but she felt compelled to kneel. She was, for the first time in her life, not kneeling to suck a guy’s dick – but kneeling for something unutterably rich and strange. She felt compelled to worship, to adore something – or Someone – greater than herself, so much greater, in fact, that she could not even attempt to seduce Him. And yet He loved her. He offered her not Pleasure, but victory through His Love. With Him, she would not need to keep eating every new cunt, or fucking every new dick that came her way, for He was adorning her as His bride. Suddenly, Alison thought, it was as if a veil had fallen from her eyes. All the ‘marriage’-talk, the ‘love’-talk, even the ‘fuck’-talk – these things were just signs, shadows, typoi, signposts to the eternal Love which now beckoned to her from Beyond.

And the one who was seated on the throne said: See, I am making all things new. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty, I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.

Behind the toilet door, Claire was coming – loud and noisy and obscene: “OH YEAH, FUUUUUUCK!” But Alison barely noticed, for all she could hear was the voice calling to her:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

“But how?” demanded Alison in the silent but screeching turmoil of her heart. “Fucking how? I’m a fucker, goddammit! I’m a child of the Enlightenment, destined to fuck and be fucked! How can I come to You?!”

No one can serve two masters.

Either you will hate the one and love the other,

or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other.

And so Alison, still on her knees, wept desperately – for she knew she must choose. Claire tiptoed back into the chapel and slid into the pew next to Alison. She giggled as she held three fingers of her right hand up to Alison’s nose. Alison smelt cunt – and it was beautiful: pungent, full-bodied, sweet – and irresistible. In an instant, Alison wanted nothing more than to eat hot cunt again, to taste its savour, to coat her face with it so that everything tasted and stank of cunt. She felt her own pussy tingling and juicing up, and her slender hand could not resist moving down to her crotch. Even as the old man’s coffin was being borne slowly down the aisle, and Eva was shaking with grief and weeping into her brother’s shoulder, and Father Ambrose was intoning, “May the chorus of angels lead you into paradise,” Alison was maniacally licking Claire’s fingers, sucking them deep into her mouth to savour her heavenly, hellish taste, as she rubbed desperately at her own twat through her clothes.

Claire chuckled wickedly.

“No one can serve two masters,” Alison whispered to herself. Her spirit cleft in two, she broke down in tears as she ran out of the chapel, down the corridor, and into the bathroom. She plunged into the first cubicle she could find, yanked her jeans down and had four fingers up her cunt even before her buttocks had touched the toilet seat. “OH GOD, OH FUUUCK!!!” she howled, for it was but a second before she was coming, her lust, fear, yearning and humiliation boiling over into a shattering, painful orgasm which swept through her entire body, leaving her breathless and whimpering, as the tears continued to pour down her face, and her juices down her thighs and onto the toilet seat.

Claire did not follow, but sat silently in the chapel as the funeral party slowly filed out, a knowing and satisfied smile on her face.

~

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last Confession?” replied Father Ambrose Deconceicao. He had a warm, gentle voice, with a slight Indian lilt to it.

“Oh, it depends how you look at it. I… I’ve been to Confession a couple of times very recently – but in a normal church – I mean, you know, Wankminster Abbey? I don’t know if that counts. I guess your way will be a bit different.”

“Yes, a bit different. But we can only ever do our best.”

“Well, I’m so confused, Father. I’ve always been brought up to believe in the Enlightenment, in Pleasure, in fu–... I mean, in, you know… I’m at the RAF, you know, the Royal Academy of…”

“And do you really not believe in it anymore?”

“Well, I don’t know, Father. A lot of things have happened recently to shake my faith in the Enlightenment, and in, you know, fucking and all that – sorry, am I allowed to say that word here? I don’t know what else to call it…”

“That’s all right, sister, you can use that word – do continue.” Father Ambrose smiled indulgently.

“Well, and I heard what you said today, about the love of God, and being conquerors, and being adorned like a bride, and about there being no more mourning and crying and pain, and – oh God, Father, I so want that. But then you said that no one can serve two masters at once, and surely that means I have no hope, because how on earth can I follow the way of Love whilst living in the world out there, which is all about Pleasure and fucking and – oh sorry…”

“You don’t need to keep apologising.” Father Ambrose smiled again. “Yes, it is hard living in the world while trying not to be of the world. And we will often fail.”

“Yes, but Fucker – I mean, Father – surely that’s not really honest? I mean, I know some members of your congregation, who talk a lot about ‘Love’ and ‘God’ and stuff – but as soon as they’re out the door, they’re fucking around as much as anyone else. Doesn’t all this God-talk just make us hypocrites?”

“That’s a good point, sister,” replied Father Ambrose as he fetched a small Bible from the pocket of his cassock. Let me read you something written by a man who wrestled with exactly that question:

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do… For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out… What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

“Do you know what that man’s answer was? He wrote:

Thanks be to God, who delivers me!

“Now – did that man seem content with the way he was? No – but that very fact is the cornerstone of leading an honest existence. It is, of course, what the world hates us for, calls us hypocrite for. In the eyes of the so-called Enlightened world, we will always be hypocrites because we do not live up to our own ideals. But in the eyes of God who loves us, that is what makes us worth giving His life for.”

“But all these rules, all these things your God won’t let us do – you know, no fucking around and everything. How can anyone be happy with that? Why can’t we be free?”

Father Ambrose smiled broadly. “But are you free, sister? I saw you running off into the toilets at the end of the service – and if you will forgive me, I could not avoid hearing what you were doing there. Was that a free choice? Could you genuinely have chosen otherwise? Or are you enslaved to the Pleasure you so ardently seek?”

Alison sat in silence, trembling and silent – for she knew it was true. The priest continued: “Do not be afraid, sister. You may fail many times in Love – but you will never fail to be Loved.”

Alison paused, then took a deep breath, before asking, “Should I listen to a man who says he loves me?”

“Ah, that’s a difficult one. Some say ‘love’ a lot but mean it little. But

this is love:

not that we loved God, but that he loved us

and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

“The true Lover gives Himself up for the one he Loves. What has your lover given up for you?”

Alison thought, and knew – but did not answer.

~

“Where the fuck did you go, Al?” Claire was sitting on the bench outside 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, quietly dildoing her pussy as she waited for Alison to reappear. There was a worried frown on her face as Alison gently shut the green door behind her: clearly, for all the pleasuring she had been giving herself, Claire remained disquieted.

“Oh, I was just having a little chat with Father Ambrose,” said Alison nervously, as she too sat down on the bench.

“What, the guy in the pyjamas?” said Claire. “What were you talking about?”

“Love,” said Alison simply. She looked at her feet.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Alison, won’t you ever give up on that bullshit? You heard that service today – it’s all shit from top to bottom: fresh, stinking shit straight from a horse’s butt into your face! And you’re just eating it up and saying ‘more, more!’ I know what you really liked best in that service – tasting my cunt-slime and then jerking off in the bathroom! Here, have some more!” said Claire, removing her dildo from her pussy and waving the glistening pungent phallus in Alison’s face.

“Oh Claire, no, no, you don’t understand… I love your cunt, I do, bestest slut. But I’m just trying to keep an open mind. Remember, you’re normally the one telling me to stay calm! Here…” She affectionately slid the dildo back into Claire’s pussy.

But Claire was not staying calm. “It’s all about Rob, isn’t it? I saw you yesterday after you came down from his bedroom. What did he say to you – apart from fuck your hot ass again? Is he still ‘in love’?” Claire pronounced the word with undisguised contempt. “Does he want you to marry him and go off to fucking Africa and have babies with him? Alison, can’t you see? One minute he’s fucking your ass, or fucking my throat, or fucking his little sister’s face – and the next minute he’s all ‘God is love’ and ‘No, you can’t say “fuck” here’ and ‘Will you marry me?’! This man is a total fucking hypocrite, and he is determined to control you!”

Tears were welling in Claire’s eyes. “Please, Alison, listen to sense: it’s just like you were saying a few days ago. It’ll be fine for him: he’ll persuade you, with the help of that Fucker Ambrose, that you’re ‘in love’, but then he’ll fucking dump you – and tell you it’s fucking God’s will or something. Please, Alison, I beg of you – don’t be taken in…!” Claire’s voice began to crack. She slid off the bench and knelt on the pavement in front of Alison, hands clasped, looking up into her eyes in anguished imploration.

“Aw fuuuck, baby,” said Alison tenderly, stroking Claire’s long shimmering hair and kissing her face gently. “Don’t cry. Why cry for me? Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not worried for me, Alison, but I’m worried for you – because I care about you, Al, I do, I really… I really…” Claire hesitated, despair etched on her face, tears rolling down her cheeks – before blurting out, “GODDAMMIT, ALISON, I LOVE YOU!” and then dissolving into floods of tears.

Alison drew breath in shock – but having spoken the unspeakable, Claire could not stop: “I love you, Al. I love you so much, I don’t want to see you get hurt, I don’t want to lose you. I’m so sorry, I know it’s all wrong, and I know I’m a total hypocrite – but I fucking love you. Please don’t shut me out, I can’t live without you!” Her painful sobs rent the air and echoed across Tottenham Cunt Road.

Some passers-by stopped, shocked by the words they were hearing, and staring in horror at Claire, whose face was now pressed into her beloved’s lap as she continued to whine, “I love you… I love you…” The dildo slipped slowly out of Claire’s cunt and clunked gently onto the pavement.

“Are you all right, young lady?” enquired a gentleman in a business suit – not to the weeping Claire, but to Alison, who sat in bewilderment on the bench, looking down at the beautiful blonde now wailing at her feet.

“I’m okay, thank you,” Alison laughed nervously. “Please don’t worry – my friend sometimes gets a bit, uh, overwrought…” Inside, however, she was trembling in terror, neither daring to touch Claire, nor stroke her hair, nor kiss her better, nor even mutter a soothing “fuuuck”.

Claire kept her face buried in Alison’s lap as her sobs gradually subsided, and the scandalised crowd dispersed.

Eventually, slowly, Claire knelt up and looked around, red-eyed. Alone, she wiped the tears and snot off her own face. “I guess I’ve fucked up, huh?” she said.

Alison said nothing, but pushed Claire away, stood up, and walked briskly away up Tottenham Cunt Road without a backward glance.