“Bring out your men!” shouted a chorus.
“What?” asked Lot of the door.
“Bring out your men. We must have at you tenfold!
“What?” asked Lot's wife.
“Mmm,” said the Eldest.
“Your men!” called the voices. Shouting. “Your men!”
“Men, what a waste!” sniffed Lot's wife. “Please, Lot, give us to them.”
“What!” shouted Lot at his spouse.
“Give us to them, now, Lot,” she said, reaching into the kitchen for a knife.
“I-I cannot give you the men,” said Lot, looking now at the terrified urchins. “They are my guests. Not of this town.”
“Give us to them, Lot!” repeated his wife. “Or I will cut you.”
“Bring out your men!”
“I have a wife. And daughters! My daughters are unsullied. Inexperienced!” shouted Lot, as he watched the hand of the Youngest move deftly between the legs of her older sister. “Would not they satisfy you?”
“No. It is not the time for that. You know the law. Tenfold. Bring out your men that we may know them!”
“What. A. Waste.” Moaned the Eldest between gasps as the hand between her legs moved faster.
“Father's right,” echoed the Youngest, reaching up to suck on the nipple of her sister. “This city is depraved. Mother! We should go.”
“Yes-yes we should. We should go out to find men! You-you angels! Find us men!”
“Bring out your men!”
The two urchins had had enough. They feared the angry, unfulfilled looks on the faces of the women more than they feared whatever lay outside. What did a man, in Sodom, have to fear from another man? There were beautiful priestesses in the temples to take care of any lust.
“Wait-Wait! Angels!” Lot shouted, as the duo pushed past. “At least give me your sacred message.”
The two strangers looked at one another, puzzled near the door.
“I am the Righteous Man!” said Lot, blocking the door. “Give me your message. You don't need to say it out loud. Only whisper.
Both men looked at one another. Then at Lot. One whispered something in his ear. Then the pair bowled him over and raced away from the knife-wielding woman, fleeing out of the front door, slamming it behind with a bang.
“Men!” shouted the crowd before Lot's house. He sat up, eyed the crowd through the door. At least 30 persons there. 40. 100. He could not count. The urchins, stunned, were seized by the crowd.
“Filth!” shouted one. “Disgusting!” added another. “Clean them first! Dry them! Prepare the way!”
“No, too merciful!” This from a fellow in uniform. “Too merciful. The law is clear. Pain must be repaid tenfold. No clearing the channel. They must suffer all. Remove their clothes.
The crowd tore aware the ragged garments from the duo. Lot saw one, in fear, throw up a half-bottle of his best vintage. At least they would feel no pain.
“Line up!” said the man in charge. “Let the largest among you go first!”
Lot looked over, say a giant blackamoor emerge from the crowd and remove his armor. Below was a staff the likes Lot had never seen.
The blackamoor spoke.
“I get no pleasure from this. But I am sworn, as we all are, to protect the priestess. Tonight we return pain tenfold. Let any among you who would dare to harm she who protects us know, this staff I carry, is the true sword of vengeance!
Wild applause. Swoons from the ladies in the far edge of the crowd.
Lot's urchins were held down, spread-eagled, their faces into the dirt. Nude, the giant blackamoor stood upright over the first. Now fully engorged, he set to, crushing the man with his bulk. Somehow, the staff disappeared into the poor urchin.
The fellow shrieked, with a blood-curdling cry that Lot wished instantly to forget. The blackamoor reared back, pulling himself all the way out, slowly, then pushing in to the hilt. Lot saw flecks of blood emerge from the unfortunate. The blackamoor paid no heed, moving to his own rhythm as the body below quivered and wept, begging for mercy.
Finally, the blackamoor finished his first victim.
“You,” he said to the second urchin, who knelt in fear, hands over his head to drown out the screams. “I said you!” repeated the blackamoor, kicking the man for lack of acknowledgement.
“Yes?” asked the urchin, terrified.
“Clean this off!” answered the blackamoor, waving the gigantic, blood-soaked rod before the face of the urchin. “And no teeth.”
Lot drew back.
“What a waste!” said his Eldest daughter, now next to Lot, her bare breasts pressing against his side.
“So sad,” echoed the Youngest, resting her chin on her father.
“What was their message, husband?” asked Lot's wife, her hands moving at the middle of the gown, as though she'd taken pleasure in the spectacle.
“Message?”
“The angels? Their message.”
“We must flee this wretched place!” shouted Lot.
“Flee!” said the Eldest. “Flee!” echoed the Youngest.
“Well, I don't know about that,” said Lot's wife. “Surely, that blackamoor is wasting his talents now. On your angels. But I suspect if I were to-”
Lot raced over. Slapped her. Again. Again.
“Flee!” he shouted, and handed over one more cup of wine.
The quartet slipped out of their hovel as the attention of the crowd turned once again to the blackamoor. His staff cleansed, he was eyeing his second victim lovingly. To their side, nine men had begun to loose their armor. Wagering among the crowd began, over who was next in size to repeat the violation.
“It's unfair!” said one in the audience. “Going from big to small, he won't feel it! He won't sense the punishment.”
This brought approval from the crowd. Or they just enjoyed admiring the blackamoor.
“Smallest. Smallest! Smallest next! Work your way back. Let's see the blackamoor twice!
The leader stood up before them again. “If that is your wish!” he said. “And who among this crowd is the smallest?”
“Oh, I think I know,” whispered Lot's wife as they crawled past the wine stand. Lot's daughters giggled.
“We must keep moving,” said Lot, slapping the trio angrily.
They stumbled upon a pair of asses, fully laden for a long journey out. Its owners, nowhere to be found, had slipped back into the city.
“A gift from the angels!” shouted Lot.
“The angels! The angels!”
Lot put his wife on one donkey, helping her back onto the beast as she slid down. He attempted to cover her, to protect her from the sun, but she did not agree. His daughters made their own way, and sat together atop the creature. Lot dropped his wine into the bags on his wife's animal, and set out, holding a bridle in each hand.
His wife slogged along, barely keeping herself upright with a shaking grip on the saddle. His daughters fared
