Page 1 of Eyes Like Angel

PROLOGUE

Eva

A moan escaped through my lips as the hard shaft pounded my swollen insides, clutching tighter, sloppier. Heavier.

The darkened room was getting hotter. Hot neon lights grew brighter.

It has been minutes, but it felt like forever. He was taking it slow, as much time as he could.

Breathy, labored moans blared through the air, and the squelching sound of my wet cunt sealed, large hands enclosed my thin waist, dragging my body, and bruised downward onto his lower hips, pressing and thrusting his throbbing shaft, constricted against my folds. The room suppressed in quietude, and the air has gone warmer; sweat beaded on our skin. Lips cracked into soundless pitch in our breath, ragged, staggered.

Bed creaked as his hips thrusted faster, huffed, our craved breaths trembled, and sweat collided between mine and his, air temperature boiling when the room used to be so chilling.

Everything was happening so fast. One minute we had a glass of mojito, the next I ended up being trapped at the bedroom mattress, hands tied and strapped onto the metal headboard; he could flip me over when he wanted to. My mind missed an important piece before leading up to the heated occurrence. Smacked me from behind, he pressed his moist lips against my bruised shoulder.

Grazed his lips on my earlobe, his hot tongue licked and nibbled the tip, his body tucked lowering the space on myaching back closer, collided skins got hotter, his massive hand kneaded my breast as his hips grinded slowly, teasingly. I heard satisfaction in his croaked sigh, strands of his palest of blond hair splayed over my shoulders.

A warm breath tickled me, rasping, “Tell me, my sweet Eva, do you have any sins to confess? Better say a word now, or my punishment for you will be twice as climatic you’ll forget your own divine God that you worshipped with my big cock.”

As his smoldering hot tongue flicked once more, under my line blurry sight, above us, there were paintings of Catholic angels and a faded portrait of me he drew, tainted and dripped in his hot cum.

My life was once ordinary until this sick, unearthly bastard came, either as a punishment or as a salvation, a possible chance of either a blessing or curse—possibly both.

1

Eva

Divine Miracles Church –November 27th, 2023

I wondered if prayers of grace and love often come true as they said. For that, God might know. As for me, I may never reach the conclusion.

Nothing is worse than being at a church on Thanksgiving on a Sunday Mass with an empty stomach pain. A gut worsened with brutish burn as I mindlessly watched the spectators—the dedicated followers of Almighty God, bowed their heads down in silence, in merriment or in solemn, mouthing the prayers they memorized from the Scriptures, from the lips of a preacher.

Thanksgiving was a wondrous day for the family to be blessed on a holiday where they gave nothing but meaningless gratitude, masking behind their grins. It’s always been like this, on the ordinary days, too.

Like the hours and days were constantly in repetition—living in the constant routine.

“Let us pray, with the blessings of the Lord in this joyous day.” Silence prolonged. Candles flickered. The air grew thicker. “Our Father who art in Heaven, hollow be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven,” the priest’s preaching boomed on the old mic at the small podium, each time he spoke with vowels, the mic’s sound crackled through the speakers, buzzed until it reach to high-pitched noises, ringing in the ears, like a burst on the eardrums.

“May the Lord be with you,” the priest said.

“And also with you,” the followers responded.

“Lift them up to the Lord—”

My mouth is tempted to yawn, but teeth clutched and dragged, provoking to draw blood. Each and every one had their ducked their heads, followed and acclaimed to what the preacher spoke. His hands lifted as he chanted his holy gospels minutes pass. Hands pressed altogether, and spectated through a sea of crowd in obedience to the gospel in such a stretched time. A newborn baby roared with cry behind the glass—a separate room from the main section, possibly terrified at the preacher’s booming voice at the installed speakers. The mother tried to appease the blatant noise down, but some men were mercilessly furious at the newborn child.

“And you may—”

Please God, no. Anything but that!

“Offer a sign of peace,” the priest encouraged.

There it was.

My eyes darted on every single one offering each other’s handshakes as for the family giving each other’s hugs. Stubborn children clung into a mother’s embrace and gave peck on the cheek; despite some children cowered at their mother’s aggressive grips and pinches earlier.

They gave peace one another as I remained motionless with fingernails grazed against my other hand in light strokes. No greetings were handed to me; only a stiffened bows from two nuns, with a faint flash of blurred look they darted and fell away in wince.