God is a Slut Chapter 1: The Purest Girl in the World._(1)

LUCIFER

God was sitting across from me at the table of the Limbo Bar. She had blonde hair that flowed freely save for two braids that roped along the crown of her head. Her skin was light, but well colored, and her eyes were big and pale blue. She wore a white silk dress with a neckline that descended past her navel, revealing her torso and the inner portions of her ample breasts. The dress flowed gracefully down her thick backside and stopped just above a pair of sandals. Being the devil, my outfit was less conservative. I had a black corset that pushed my bosom up so high the tops of my areolas were showing. I wore fishnet stocking that climbed my legs until they came together into a pair of black silk panties. My black leather boots covered most of my legs, running up my calves and then clinging to my mid thighs. I had straight black hair, black lipstick, a pair of horns, a pointed tail, and red skin.

We’d meet up here every year or so to catch up, and I always had an exciting proposition for her. God liked to make benevolent humans, and I liked to corrupt them; it was a game we played. She’d try to make the best person possible, and I’d try to tempt them into having fun. God really thought she had me on this one: she’d created (as she put it) the purist girl in the world.

“…and let me tell you Lucy,” God said through slurs of drunkenness, “there is no way, NO WAY, you’re getting to this one.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past two thousand years,” I laughed, “the win/loss column is staggering.”

“I got you that one time!” God laughed, “You know what I’m talking about! Ahhhh I drank too much. Hand me a bucket, I’m gonna puke.”

“Jesus Christ, God.”

“Yeah! That’s the one!” God said through a dry-heave, “Couldn’t get to him, could ya?”

“You’re not taking great care of yourself.”

“Sorry, Lucy,” God said as she wiped her mouth, “I went on a binge with Hunter S. Thompson, I thought I could keep up, but that man…”

“You were telling me about your new project?” I said, getting the conversation back on track.

“Yeah,” God said as she regained her composure, “so this girl I made, Rachel, sweetest thing you ever saw. She volunteers in the soup kitchen, she goes to church every Sunday, she doesn’t have sex, she doesn’t do drugs, she’s going to college to be a doctor so that she can help kids in Africa, I could go on.”

I looked down at earth and zeroed in on the eighteen year old Rachel. She was trying to hide her curvaceous body with a large sweatshirt and baggy jeans. She had her brown hair done up in a conservative bun, and wore glasses a little too large for her face. Despite her attempts to hide herself, she was incredibly beautiful.

“You’ve made this type of person before,” I said, “last one was named Alexa. I had her doing coke and fucking for strangers on the internet within a week.”

“I really liked Alexa,” God gave me a sarcastic pouty-face, “what happened to her?”

“Last time I checked she was getting gangbanged by about twenty demons,” I smiled, “and loving every second of it.”

“You always turn my pet projects into whores,” God scowled, “whatever happened to making them do something interesting?”

“Remember when we made that bet back in 1889?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” God said, “little Adolf, the Austrian artist.”

“How’d that turn out?”

“Not great.” God admitted, “You really got carried away there.”

“Your bet was too tempting,” I smiled, “how could I refuse?”

“I’m never putting that much on the line again.” God shuddered, remembering what she had to do to pay off her debt.

“Oh c’mon,” I smiled, running a hand up her thigh, “you know you liked it.”

“I did.” God giggled, biting her lower lip.

“We should go back to my place.”

“I don’t know Lucy,” God smiled, “I don’t think I’m drunk enough to go to hell.”

“I’ve got a whole theme park of whips and chains,” I said as my hand slipped under her dress, “and millions of demons just waiting for you.”

“Maybe just for tonight.” God whispered lustfully.

“You’re such a masochistic little slut.” I giggled as I brought my face to hers.

“And you,” God said, bringing her lips to mine, “are my perfect little sadist.”

RACHEL

“Hey, you’re Rachel, right?” asked Tom, star quarterback of the football team.

“I am…” I said awkwardly.

“We’re throwing a party tonight and-”

“NOT INTERESTED!” I yelled and walked briskly away from Tom’s dumbfounded face.

I clutched the cross hanging from my neck and prayed as I walked to the school’s chapel.

“Forgive me Father for my impure thoughts, forgive me Father for the lewdness of my body, forgive me Father for almost succumbing to the temptation of the beast. Thank you Father for the gift of resolve and the strength to carry on your will and overcome my weakness.” I muttered to myself as I made my way to the confession box.

“Rachel,” Father Hernandez said, “you’re here…again.”

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” I said as I sat next to him.

“How long has it been since your last confession?” Father Hernandez asked.

“Eighteen hours.”

“And what sins have you come to confess?”

“I had impure thought about a boy at school.” I confessed, feeling the burden of sin lifted from my shoulders.

“That’s it?” Father Hernandez asked.

“I also jaywalked on the way to class today.”

“Jesus Christ, Rachel.”

“Do not say the lord’s name in vain, Father.”

“I’ll make sure to say some Hail Mary’s, but we’re talking about you right now,” Father Hernandez said as he turned and looked at me through the mesh window, “the whole point of confession is to recognize and atone for the minor sins man is weak to. God, in his great wisdom, provided us with joys and pleasures that are forbidden under certain circumstances, but you won’t go to hell for just thinking about them. Enjoy yourself, live a little, and then come back here and atone, and all is forgiven. You don’t need to come here after every little thing.”

“I am sorry, Father,” I said firmly, “but the scripture is clear.”

“Who was the boy you were thinking about?” Father asked.

“Tom Brockman.”

“Football player?”

“Yes.”

“Confess your thoughts,” Father Hernandez sighed, “give me the details.”

“He invited me to a party,” I said, “and I wanted to go. I fantasized about being in a room alone with him. I wanted him to take off my clothes, to touch me.”

“Go on.”

“I wanted,” I stuttered, “I wanted him to guide me to his bed. I wanted him to put his mouth to my breast and nurse from me. I wanted to feel his strong hands pull my legs apart. I wanted to feel his…member push against my womanhood. I wanted him to hold it there and ask me if I was ready, and then I wanted to say ‘yes.’”

“Goddamn woman.” a sultry female voice moaned from where Father Hernandez just was. I whipped my head and screamed in horror.

She had red skin, big eyes with golden irises and black hair. Two small, curved horns protruded from beneath her black mane. Her cheekbones were high and her lips full and luscious, with a sheen of black lipstick shining from them.

“Keep talking,” she moaned, “I’m almost there!”

I burst out of the confession box and stumbled to the ground. I got back up to continue my flight but was stopped but what I saw. I was in hell. Masses of writhing flesh contorted in rhythmic lust, their victims singing their exultation to the void. The bodies of the punished were bathed in red light, presenting me with a sea of crimson debauchery that stretched to the burning horizon.

“Welcome to my home,” Satan said as she stepped from the confession box, “do you like it, Rachel?”

I dropped to my knees and prayed. I had sinned, this was all because I had depraved feelings for Tom. I was being punished, and all I could do was ask for forgiveness.

“Rachel?” Satan asked. I ignored her and continued to pray, screaming my sorrow to the heavens and begging God for mercy.

“Holy shit Rachel, cut it out, I’m trying to tell you something!”

“Father forgive me for my transgressions. I deserve your punishment and accept your verdict. Please Father, save my soul. I am undeserving of your mercy but I ask for it in my hour of need. Please Father, have mercy upon me.”

“Alright, God,” Satan yelled into the endless orgy, “you win this round, come over here and help me out.”

“Ha!” an angelic voice boomed from the crowd, “pay up, bitch!”

“Goddamn it, Rachel,” Satan growled at me, “you just let Joseph Stalin into heaven, nice job.”

A beam of golden light descended from a hole at the top of the cavern. Joseph Stalin ascended in a heavenly aura from the crowd, both his hands flicking off the poor souls below him as he laughed manically.

“I’m gonna miss that mustache,” Satan said sadly, “I used to ride that thing for days.”

I looked up in confused terror at Satan. She tapped her foot impatiently and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds.

“Smoke?” she asked as she placed a square in her mouth. I shook my head.

“Holy fuck, Rachel,” Satan growled, “you’re catholic, not Mormon.” She lit the smoke before yelling into the crowd, “God, can you hurry the fuck up?”

“Sorry, Lucy,” God’s voice boomed, “your chains are all tangled up; it’s like trying to untie earbud wires.”

“Omnipotent being; can’t untie chains.” Satan sighed between puffs, “And you people wonder why your world is so fucked up.”

A golden light emerged from the masses and cut through the ash-filled air of the inferno. A silhouetted womanly figure emerged from the center of the light and walked forward with a grace I’d never seen before. Her features crystallized as she walked toward me, her dress billowing majestically, her hair blowing behind her in a yellow mane, her kind, beautiful face smiling down at me.

“Hello, Rachel,” God said to me with a motherly tone, her voice full of reverb, “I have chosen you, as a favorite daughter of mine, to embark on a holy task that will forever shape the course of humanity.”

“Hey God,” Satan said, “you’ve…you’ve got cum on your face.”

“Oh shit,” God laughed, her majestic guise breaking as she awkwardly tried to find the semen, “did I get it?”

“Yeah, you got it,” Satan looked at me and laughed, “that was quite the introduction, wasn’t it Rachel?”

I just stared back.

“Lucy, can I get a smoke?” God asked Satan. Satan grinned down at me as she handed God a cigarette. God put the square between her lips and lit it before letting out a satisfied cloud of smoke.

“What was that thing,” God asked Satan as she flicked the ash from her square, “that big flaming guy with the horns and the fire-whip?”

“The Balrog?” Satan asked.

“That’s what that was?” God asked as she took a pull of smoke, “Did you steal that from Lord of The Rings?”

“I had Tolkien make him for me on commission.”

“Anyway, can you get me his number?