Angel

In the morning, I hear boots on the front porch. I creep to the door of my room and press my ear against it, eager to find out what's going on.

I hear Brother Owen's voice. What must he think of me? I just couldn't even tell them that I couldn’t see them. They probably thought I did it on purpose. They must be so angry.

Then I remember, I can open the door. I can. I don’t have to cower in here. I just need to do it.

My mother spins around, her mouth falling open she hears my door opening. I'm not supposed to do this, in her mind. Just taking a step into the living room is an act of audacity that is sure to enrage her.

But she has to be pleasant and controlled in front of Brother Owen. There's nothing she can do, and she knows it.

I watch her hands balling into fists next to her sides. Brother Owen takes a half step toward me.

“Are you feeling well? Mary suggested you were ill after work yesterday,” he says, but I know he doesn't believe any of this.

Still, I see the glint in his eye, the coldness. He's already decided that I don't have an excuse good enough for what I've done. It won't even make a difference that it wasn’t my fault.

“I feel much better, thank you,” I answer, pointing my chin in the air. I don't want to seem too defiant, but I don't want to come off like a child either.

“Silas has requested your presence. Please come with me,” he announces curtly.

I quirk an eyebrow at my mother. I'm not going to ask for permission. I'm not going to say anything. I simply follow him out the front door and into the sunlight.

My dress swishes painfully around my ankles as I try to keep up with him. I should have made the skirt just a little bit fuller to give myself more room for my legs to move. But normally I wouldn’t have to stretch like this. Owen is much taller than me, and I almost have to jog to keep up with him.

I hitch my skirt up slightly to avoid the long, almost evaporated puddles in the ruts of the path.

“I listened to the rain last night,” I observe, trying to start a conversation with him.

“Finally,” he mutters. It's almost a growl. He does not want to talk to me.

I can't blame him, can I?

I assume we are going to the barn, but he veers left and we arrive shortly at Father Daddy's small shack. The front room is his office, and I'm a little sad that we’re not going back to our place. I thought we were perhaps going to do more training, but I guess not. He pulls the door open, his gaze dark and furious. With one hand he gestures that I should enter.

The office is small and crowded, with a desk at one end and two chairs in front of it. The dark wood paneling makes it feel very closed in, like a root cellar. I almost expect to see bunches of sweet potatoes hanging from the ceiling.

“We made a decision,” Father Daddy announces. I squint into the gloom and wait for my eyes to adjust so I can see him. He sits in his chair behind the desk with his fingers steepled, balanced under his chin. I can't see his expression clearly, but the room is practically seething with his anger.

“I didn't mean to do it,” I begin. “Mama just said I —”

“It doesn’t matter now. Is that your best dress?”

“Well, yes…” I stammer. “Is it all right? Where are we going?”

“We need you to make a good impression,” is all he says.

“Am I being sold?”

My question hangs in the air. Father Daddy scowls and turns away, and I feel like I can hear him snarling under his breath.

“We need to make sure you're still intact,” Brother Owen says behind me.

I flinch, looking over my shoulder. “Intact? What does that mean?”

He hardens his gaze. It makes me feel so cold, as though he was so warm before, and now he just turned to stone.

“I need to look at your flower,” he explains in a low growl. “I need to see that it is untouched.”

I gasp, my hands flying up to cover my mouth. “Of course it is untouched!” I hear myself squeak. “No one has ever… you should know… I can't believe you would even say that to me!”

I whirl around, looking for Father Daddy's eyes. I need that connection. “You know! Tell him!”

He stands slowly, holding his hands out apologetically. “We just need to be sure. We just need to make sure the trip is not for nothing.”

I hold my breath. What choice do I have?

“What do you want me to do?”

Owen gestures toward the chair with his chin.

“Sit there, please.”

I shuffle toward the chair, my hands trembling. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Humiliated? Embarrassed? Afraid? I turn to sit down.

“Wait… pull up your dress,” Brother Owen commands me.

My cheeks fiery hot, I bend over to gather the hem of my dress and raise it, then sit with my hips and legs exposed. Brother Owen kneels between my feet, his hands on my knees. The pressure is gentle, but insistent.

I look toward Father Daddy as Brother Owen pushes my knees apart. He peers down, touching my most intimate spaces and prodding me gently, pulling me open. I feel tears stinging, burning in my eyes as they overflow and course down my cheeks.

“That's enough,” Father Daddy growls. He shakes his head and turns away. “Stop. That's enough.”

Brother Owen pushes my legs back together and pats my knee sympathetically.

“She's fine. She's intact.”

Father Daddy snorts with disgust.

“Can I go now?” I sniff pathetically.

Father Daddy leaves the desk and comes around to the front. He plucks both my hands off the chair and lifts me to standing, then to my surprise he gathers me in a warm, crushing embrace. I melt into him, barely holding back sobs of frustration and anger that I can't even explain.

“Thank you, my Angel,” he whispers into my hair. “I know that was difficult for you. Thank you for being strong.”

Brother Owen stands to the side. He scrubs his hand over his face.

“Make sure you're ready by Friday,” he says, his voice tense. “Make a new dress if you want to. That would be nice.”

I nod against Father Daddy's wide, comforting chest.

“Everyone does things for the Family,” Father Daddy whispers to me. “There are times when we have to do difficult things, because that's what is needed of us.”

“I know,” I say, surprised at how strong my voice sounds.

I push myself back from him and look up, grateful that he meets my eyes. It's there, our connection. I feel it pulsing, like a still-connected phone call.

His hands cup my chin and he leans down and kisses me on the mouth. His lips are gentle at first, almost chaste. Then he kisses me deeper, opening my mouth with his tongue pressed against my teeth, sucking gently at my upper lip, breathing me in. I slide my hands around his neck and hold tight, succumbing to this perfect embrace.

As he kisses me, I feel Brother Owen move up behind me. He strokes the back of my neck, then leans down to bite me gently. I hear a moan escape my mouth as I'm pinned between them, submerged in the sensations of both of their bodies at once. Being enveloped this way turns my whole body on at once, and I let them hold me, slightly suspended above the floor.

With my eyes closed, all I feel is a slight strong sensation of vertigo as Father Daddy picks me up and lays me across the desk. Without saying anything, he dives down, pushing up my skirts and bearing his face between my legs. At the first warm intrusion of his tongue against my sex, I'm moaning too loudly, wrapping my thighs around his shoulders and pulling him closer, closer to me. As close as he can get.

Brother Owen takes his place on the other side, looming over my head from behind the desk. I hear the brittle sound of him unzipping his trousers and feel the velvety touch of his manhood across my lower lip. Automatically I open my mouth, aching to be joined with them. Brother Owen covers my face with his manhood, entering my mouth from above, stroking himself as he presses the tip of his erection against my hungry tongue.

Father Daddy circles and nuzzles my sex enthusiastically, his warm breath filling me with joyous light and sound. The three of us rock together, somehow arranging this complicated pattern of passion until we all cry out, together, enjoying the same explosion of fireworks. We are united and completed with a volcanic transformation.

Brother Owen's seed dribbles sweetly from one corner of my mouth as he withdraws. He leans over and brushes his lips against my damp forehead, stroking my cheek with his fingers as I pant, my body trembling with pleasure.

Father Daddy's hands encircle my hips and pull me forward. He lifts me back to standing and smooths my hair, holding me close against him again so that I hear his heartbeat. I want to stay here forever, right here, just like this.

“I think your training is almost complete,” Father Daddy murmurs. I hear the pride in his voice.

“Yes, certainly,” I hear Brother Owen sigh.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I murmur happily against his chest. I feel him twitch slightly.

“What did you call me?”

I look up at him, startled. “Oh… I didn't mean… you know. Daddy. It just sounds right.”

He doesn't say anything, but the expression on his face is a combination of emotions that I understand viscerally. He liked it. I can tell.

I pivot slowly, reaching back to take Brother Owen's hand. He allows himself a mysterious smirk.

“Thank you, Brother,” I smile. “That was just what I needed.”

“It was just what we needed, too,” Brother Owen agrees. “You should be getting back to your mother now. Don’t forget to be ready on Friday night.”

I shrug my agreement. It doesn't seem so bad now. Somehow, I'm sure I will find the strength.