His hands were not the worst of them.
After carrying me to the pope’s apartments, after the Swiss Guard shut the door and holy men tore robes from my flailing arms, I grasped what really was to be done.
How much my mother had left out.
Before I had a chance to hide my naked body, priests I had never seen before took me in hand. Around the room, every cardinal who
had seen my earlier disgrace waited.
Many openly prayed.
Watching.
Beady eyes under miters, for they were dressed in their most holy finery.
Upon the grandest bed I had ever beheld was the prostrate naked body of flabby infirmity. The pope had been prepared for me.
A youthful male who had yet to earn his priestly collar had taken a worm of flesh from between the pope’s legs, pumping up and down that ragged flesh. I saw the gray mat of hair it was nestled in. Saw the way it twitched as soft hands stretched it higher.
One look at my bared body, and that rod of flesh jerked and plumped.
His Eminence was vile, and he was watching as my drugged limbs struggled vainly in the hands of many.
These priests, my captors, did not waver. Each knew their part in my degradation.
Legs forcibly spread wide over the Holy See’s boney form, I was forced to straddle him. My secret sex bumping that rod of quickening flesh.
I had seen pigs rutting once, and still remembered the shame of viewing that male’s appendage jerk into the female’s oinking body.
And I knew why she’d shrilled.
Chanting crowded the air, the waft of freshly lit incense creating a cloud around our shamefully bared bodies.
Where the Holy Father lay still as a board, I writhed. I think it excited him, my fight to protect my virginity, for his eyes looked upon my small chest where brown nipples had puckered and red marks grew from clinging grips along my ribs.
Six men held me open, held me bent, exposed me to be ruined.
The young one pored oil upon the elder’s shaft, pointing that glistening organ toward my thatch of dark hair.
“Push her down.” That was Cardinal Beluni. That was the devil ordering this evil.
NO!
I lurched, but drugged and small, I was impaled in one horrid shove downward no matter my struggles. Flesh tore on that feeble member. A scream burst from my throat, so piercing even Beluni’s fist could not suppress my cry of pain.
Agony, a quantity of blood that would have impressed my mother, flowed from between my thighs, over the hairy stomach of a wide-eyed leper.
And leper he was.
The sores that had been hidden by that man’s white cassock were numerous. Many were open and weeping, their puss smearing my skin where I was pressed down upon him.
And then I was lifted, salvation awaiting as the cause of my pain retreated from my womb. Beluni had promised me God’s work would be quick.
Lies.
On a sob, I was pushed down again.
For ages this torture continued.