In Progress

In the countryside of southern Spain, two strangers, dressed in black-hooded over coats, had each a large cherry wood trunk in hand, dragging behind them. This town had not had visitors for many many years. The arrival of these two in particular would be something quite unexpected.
The air of this town was different and unusual than that of the other towns they had been to. It was cold and very foggy.
The strangers came upon a small house. The strangers looked at each other and nodded, agreeing they had come upon the right address. After knocking they awaited a response from the inside of the small house.

The door creaked and brushed the floor heavily as it opened, and the face of an old woman, appeared from the darkness of the inside.
“No se puede repicar y andar en procession.” She said to them, meaning you can't run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, the two strangers did not know what she meant, they only stared at her blankly.
“Come in then.” She snarled, “I will catch my death with that draft.”

The inside of the house had a definite Andalucsian influence; maybe that was where the old woman had come from. It was very dark and dusty, very gloomy you might say. The curtains were drawn and there were sheets covering a lot of the furniture. The only thing luminous was a small altar with Ave Maria as the centerpiece, surrounded by candles, in the corner of the living room. With a very large wooden cross pinned on the wall directly above the mini altar.
“So!” She said, frankly, “You have come from Paris?” She crossed her hands over her cane, as she sat down.
“Je suis Marie, this is my sister Chel”.
“French are you? Are you both?” She inquired with one raised eyebrow, maybe she was from Andalusia, but she had a British accent.

Chel was born in Mexico, as for Marie she was born in France.
Marie and Chel were shown to the guesthouse located next door, which happened to be rather spacious and had two floors.
Marie and Chel began to prepare for bed. Chel walked around the room braiding her long golden locks as she hummed, as Marie brushed her teeth, and put her hair in a bun at the top of her head.

Marie and Chel were very different. Marie came from French decent because of her father. She had strong brown eyes, was organized and had a smart head of dark locks on her shoulders. Her face was soft and pale. Marie was very much like her father, strict in her ways, bold and direct. Her maturity always left her looking after Chel.

Marie did not have the body made to be desired she would say. Marie was flat chested, and quite heighty and she had thin long legs. Although, it was said Marie had the nose of the sphinx, and the sense of a dog, she could smell what ingredients were missing when in the cuisine. She could even detect where her sister was. But her sense of smell ended her fondness of her beloved Jacques, from the perfume of another woman on his vest.

Marie was not for messing around with love. She said it made women stupid and emotional and it made men lazy, she said love always ruins things.
But Chel. Chel was something else. Chel did not have the simple face that Marie had. Chel had a sway in her walk. Chel was irresistibly cursed with beauty. She was passionate and wild. She had a curvaceous little figure, which by movement could cast spells on the minds of men. Chel is what they call in French une femme-enfant, which is when a girl has the body and sensuality of a woman, but has the innocence of a child in the face, and the spirit of a child within. Chel was always curious, and loved to misbehave. Her father was of Mayan decent, so she had earth colored skin and it always looked wet, as if she were born ready for ecstasy at every moment. She was very much blamed for her raw and ostentatious behavior on account of her father.

There is even a rumor that she made father Pierre ejaculate in his robes during confession. Chel spoke to him, whispering to him, her devilish sins. Father Pierre sat back, rigidly, clenching the sides of his bench, in the dark confessional. Divided by only a window, a carved panel with holes. Chel’s heaving breasts, enlarged over the tightness of her gown as she breathed, confessing her dirty deeds. Chel placed her naked hand on her breasts touching them as she spoke, trying to dramatize what she was saying, along with emphasizing every “TH” and “L” in her sentences, by thrusting her wet tongue to the top of her teeth, and the tip of her tongue. Father Pierre was sweating and trembling, screaming to God, restraining from defying him, trying to return from the road to orgasmic ecstasy. But it was too late. Chel’s clear eyes beneath her black netted veil widened as she heaved harder and put her head back, father Pierre saw the only light come from above hitting her breasts which were almost fully exposed. The gesture of throwing her head back as she cried out the sins she had committed, busted two of her buttons. Father Pierre’s soul was then lost, right there, as he sat in an orgasmic frenzy.

Chel stood up and stuck her finger through the panel holes, and licked the panel in between them and smiled. “Amen”. She whispered.

Chel walked out of the confessional and removed her black lace gloves from her pocket, which covered her hands up to the thighs of her long golden fingers. As she swayed past another Priest, he spoke, “ Miss, the best way to redeem yourself in the eyes of God is always to confess.” He put his hands in prayer and bowed his head a little.

Chel turned and whispered, “Yes, its always more exciting when someone’s watching.”