The Tribulations of Mr Job
a story by parrafan
Disclaimer: All supernatural beings mentioned in this story are fictional (just like in real life, eh?). If any supernatural being feels it has been defamed or misrepresented by this story, it knows where to take the matter up with me.
Dedication: This story is dedicated with warm affection to Tom and Stevy.
The Tribulations of Mr Job.
One fine day in rural America, God was walking along in a pleasant, grassy field admiring His creation. He particularly enjoyed America, of all the countries of the early 21st century. The people were so childlike (that is, they were ignorant, violent and selfish).
Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, had also been wandering around - checking up on developments. Things were coming along nicely. He too liked America: so much potential! Seeing God a few metres away, he crept up behind Him and leapt onto His back, covering His eyes with his hands. "Guess whooooo!" he cried, mimicking a shrill voice.?
"Er, Mohammed?...Jesus? Uh, Joseph Smith Junior?" God hazarded.
"You are so hopeless at this game, I swear to You!", a disgusted Satan spat as he climbed down off God's back.
"Oh, it's thee", God observed, frowning. "I knew whosoever it wast all along, I was just yanking thy chain"
"Yeah, right", smirked the devil. "So, anyway, God, how's it hanging?"
God sighed in annoyance. "I do wish thou wouldst not use that vulgar expression, especially around the Cherubim. They are starting to nag me about what it means, and being created without genitalia, they won't understand thy satanic humour. But since thou asked, it is hanging low and loose and full of juice, as the saying goest."
Satan smiled. "So, been getting any, lately, God? Putting it to the Seraphim? Getting the Divine leg over every night?"
The Divine patience was being sorely tested. "It may surprise thee to know that I do not think about sex all the time. There are plenty of other matters that occupy the Mind of God, I can tell thee. So just shut the fuck up about sex, wilt thou, it's starting to get on my nerves"
"Oooh, look who got up on the wrong side of the cloud this morning, eh!" Satan taunted Him.
God just glared at him, then his features softened as his infinite mercy kicked in. He couldn't stay mad for very long, even at Lucifer. He reached inside His robes for His purse. "So, how much dost thou need this time?", He asked the devil.
"Hey, whoa, this isn't a business call old man. I just happened to see You strolling by, just thought I'd shoot the breeze for a bit. Man, you are so suspicious"
God nodded. "I suppose it goest with the territory. So much evil around nowadays - er, no offense intended."
"None taken", the devil replied easily. "But evil's supposed to be my stock-in- trade. You're the one with the alleged 'good guys' on Your team. Which reminds me, have You got any outstanding candidates for Sainthood at the moment? Maybe someone you might need to meet an untimely death and thus be sitting at the foot of the celestial throne a few decades earlier than he or she expected? A Joan of Arc, or an M L King Jr, maybe?"
God's divine Brow furrowed for a moment. "Well, now that thou comest to mention it, there is one person who particularly pleaseth me. As close as I've seen to perfection for quite a while. Mr Job is his name: he's a clean-living, decent guy with a steady, worthwhile job. He goest to Church every Sunday, and prayeth to Me every night before he turneth in. Nice house, nice family, the whole ball of wax. A pretty wife that he keepeth satisfied in bed four nights a week-"
The devil whistled in appreciation. "Four, eh? Not a bad average"
"Bet thy fiery ass!" God asserted. "He makest sure she reacheth her climax before him most times, too!"
"A real gentleman", Satan agreed. "What about the kids?"
"All a credit to him. Oldest is a girl, Cynthia, still a virgin at fifteen, canst thou believe it? Next, a boy, James, he's twelve, wants to become a clergyman, he's got the cutest bubble butt thou hast ever seen. The youngest, Stevy, a delightfully innocent child, never touches his dick except to pee"
"Well-behaved kids are a pretty strong sign of good parenting, I'll grant You that", the devil conceded.
But God was just getting warmed up. "He even goest the extra mile and helpeth others less fortunate than himself - coacheth Little League, visiteth sick people in the hospital, volunteereth once a week at a soup kitchen, financially supporteth a starving waif from some loser country, thou knowest the kind of thing"
"Mr Job, eh? Well, I don't know him personally, he hasn't come to my attention - yet. But You know, it doesn't surprise me that he's on Your team. After all, You shower him with all these earthly advantages: the house, the family, steady employment; it's no wonder he goes to Church Sundays and prays every night. I bet You he wouldn't be so holy if he didn't have all those worldly delights to prop up his belief in You."
God stroked His chin. A little smile played about His lips. "A bet, eh? All right, thou art on. Thou hast free rein to interfere with his family, his money, everything, only thou art not to touch a hair on his head. We shall see where his loyalty lieth".
"Great! Gotta go!" Lucifer grinned as he departed in a puff! of sulphurous smoke.
'Mr Job to the principal's office please - Mr Job' came the scratchy voice over the classroom squawk box. Twenty three pairs of sixth grade eyes looked up at the box, then at their teacher, expectantly.
"It sounds like I'm needed in Mr Jeremiah's office, boys and girls. It shouldn't take long - please continue with Chapter Three. Now I want no misbehaviour while I'm gone - I'm putting all of you on your honour to read quietly while I'm away. I'm trusting you all to do the right thing." Nods all round as their beloved teacher left the room and walked briskly to the Principal's office.
"Go straight through, he's expecting you", the Principal's PA directed, nodding towards the door. Entering the inner sanctum, Mr Job noticed that two older children were also present.
"Please sit down, Mr Job, and listen to what these kids have to say. I'm afraid it won't be pleasant", Mr Jeremiah stated, as the teacher took a seat.
The two seventh-graders, a boy and a girl, looked at each other, as if to decide who would speak first. The boy piped up. "That's him. That's the man who pulled my pants down and put his hand on my...my..." The boy's voice trailled away into sobs.
"I saw him do it", the girl added. "He did it right in front of me. He had one hand on this boy's bum and the other on his private parts, and he had this awful smile on his face while he did it. When he saw me he told me not to say anything, or he would hurt my parents. And my cat. We ran right here and told you. He's a pervert."
The Principal nodded towards the two children. "Thank you, Lucy and Damon, you've both been very brave. You may go back to your classroom." After the two kids left the room, Mr Jeremiah addressed his staff member. "These are very serious accusations, Mr Job. Obviously I can't permit any further risk to the students at this school; as of this moment, you are suspended - without pay - pending a full investigation. I suggest you return to your home and await a visit from the police. Of course, if you're innocent, you have nothing to fear. Now get your evil, perverted ass out of my office, you filthy child-molesting scum".
Mr Job had remained speechless throughout the brief meeting. His brain was unable to formulate any words to convey his utter shock and confusion on hearing the baseless accusations of the two children. He somehow staggered to his car and drove home, on auto-pilot.
He let himself in the front door, crossed the room and collapsed onto his couch. How could those kids say those terrible things about him? His mind refused to function properly - it was like a needle stuck in a record's groove, repeating the same phrase over and over: how could they? how could they?
When he began to calm down, a sound which had been fluttering at the edge of his consciousness pushed itself forward. It was emanating from somewhere above him. But no-one should be home at this time of day - not even him. Mr Job concentrated for a few moments. It sounded like - no, it couldn't be. He rose from the couch and walked to the bottom of the stairs. The sound was a little more distinct here: two sounds, really. A high voice, no words, only noises, like 'oh, oh, oh, oh', underscored by a deeper voice; no, not exactly a voice, more like a growl.
He ascended the stairs, the sounds becoming louder with every step. They were coming from his daughter's bedroom. Without thinking, Mr Job turned the doorknob and opened his daughter's door - and was struck with his second shock of the day. His daughter Cynthia was kneeling on her bed on all fours, stark naked. The family German Shepherd, Lucifer, was on top of her, vigourously humping away, his red tongue lolling out of his slavering mouth, as he growled and slopped his spit all over Cynthia's back.
Mr Job slumped to the doorframe. He observed that Cynthia seemed to be enjoying the dog's exertions, her pert little boobs jiggling back and forth with every thrust of the dog's hips. Cynthia did not notice her father enter her bedroom, and began to urge the dog to greater heights of activity, praising his copulatory efforts and crooning with passion as the family pet drilled his doggy dick deeper into her desperate ditch.
Never did like that dog, Mr Job thought absently to himself as he stumbled back down the stairs. He didn't know why he let the two lovers continue - it was that kind of day. Before he got back to his couch, his cellphone rang. Sitting, he answered it.
"Is that Mr Job? It's Mr B.L. Zebub, down at the County Surveyors office? I got some bad news for you. You remember that guy you had survey your boundary when you bought your land ten years ago? Turns out he was a fool.... So, instead of building your house in the middle of your block, you built it right over the top of your neighbour's boundary....Ayup, that's right....half your house is on his land....you got it- he wants to sell his block, so half your house will have to come down....Sure, I know you can't demolish half a house....whole thing's gotta go....no, it won't be covered by the County, the Statute of Limitations ran out three years ago....You'll have to carry the loss....sorry about that. Gotta go. You have a nice day, now!"
No more house? Where will we live? What...?
His distressed imaginings were interrupted by the return of his youngest son, Stevy. Accompanying him was a youth he did not recognise, in his mid-teens.
"Daddy, this is my new friend Tom. I met him at soccer practice this afternoon. He's great. We had this big adventure! Wait 'til I tell you about it!", the boy gabbled in his excitement.
Mr Job was in no fit state to hear whatever his youngest son had been up to, and he couldn't quite understand why the boy had acquired an obviously older friend, but he had always made time for his kids to talk to him, and he felt his own troubles might be lightened by hearing about someone else's 'big adventure'. So he invited his son to tell him everything.
Tom had made himself comfortable in one of the single seats, and Stevy, to Mr Job's surprise, sat in the teen's lap. More surprisingly, this Tom, whoever he was, wrapped his arms around Stevy like he owned him! But before Mr Job could suggest that Tom was getting a little too friendly, Stevy began his story.
"Because it's Sports afternoon, they let us practice for our Soccer game. After practice, Tom came up to me and smiled at me. I knew right off we would be friends. We walked back through the park, and I needed to pee. I usually just go behind a tree, because the toilets in the park smell funny, but Tom took me to a toilet, and we both went in. Daddy, there were all these men in there! They grabbed me, and tore off all my clothes, and Tom's too. Then they got me on the floor, Tom as well, and rubbed their big dicks on me, and licked and kissed me all over. I was excited and afraid both at the same time, but Tom was there too, so I wasn't badly afraid. Then one of the men put his big dick near my mouth and told me to open up, so I did, and he put it in my mouth. Another man was doing the same to Tom, so it wasn't so bad. But then another man rubbed his dick on my bottom, and pulled my legs apart like he was looking for my...hole. He stuck his finger in, and pushed it in and out a few times, then stuck his dick in there. It hurt really bad, Daddy, but Tom was right next to me, telling me to relax.
"The other men were playing with their dicks, and shooting their stuff on my back, and on Tom's. After the first couple of men finished with my bottom, it didn't hurt as much - it started to get exciting. Then when they all finished, they got dressed and left. But then some bikers roared up on their motorbikes and they all came in and started doing it all over again. Me and Tom were covered in their stuff when they finished. Then we went to Tom's house to clean up. He was sorry the men treated me so roughly, but I told him it was the best birthday present I ever got. We just came round to tell you I'm going to live with Tom from now on, so he can fuck my brains out every day". The two boys grinned at Mr Job, who could only open and close his mouth soundlessly, like a beached fish. They got out of their seat, Tom carrying Stevy in his arms to the door.
Just as the two lovers departed, two ambulance officers arrived, bearing a stretcher between them. Lying on it was his middle child, James. "What...what happened? Is my boy alright?" Mr Job yelled, distraught. The events of the day were beginning to overtake his senses.
"Well, it's funny you should call him 'boy', because he's going to have to get used to that", the first ambulance man remarked. He thought humour can be useful to soften the blow when bad news loomed. "He was rushed to hospital from his school, where there was...an incident. It appears that an itinerant preacher visited your son's Religious Education class today, some guy calling himself Brother Natas, and gave a talk to you son's class. He took as his text Matthew, chapter 18, verse 9: 'if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out'. Apparently, young James here was so inspired by this sermon that he went to the boys' bathroom with a pair of scissors, and hacked off his own...er, equipment. We got to him before he lost too much blood, but we were too late to save the, er, parts that the boy excised".
"It's so I could serve God better, Dad, so I wouldn't be distracted by sex", the delirious boy murmured dreamily from the stretcher.
Mr Job sank to his knees. What else could go wrong? The question had only formed in his mind when he received a whack! to the side of the head from his wife's handbag, which knocked him to the ground. "Bastard!" she screamed. "Filthy pig!" she shouted. "Diseased vermin!" she yelled.
At first Mr Job thought his wife must have mistaken him for somebody else. Then he suspected she must have heard about his dismissal from the school, and the false story about him interfering with that boy. He tried to get up, to reason with her. "Darling, I..."
"Don't you 'darling' me! Don't you dare! I've just come back from the pathologist. Doctor Reficul told me the results of my blood tests. He said I've got gonorrhea, syphilis AND herpes! And since I've only ever had sex with you, it must be you I got them off! How could you? That big holy joe act, and I fell for it. I'm taking the kids, and we're leaving. You'll hear from my lawyers. Go screw yourself to death, for all I care".
Mr Job staggered over to his couch. Every aspect of his world had fallen down around him. He could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching. "God, this sucks!" he muttered.
"See! See! I knew it!" God capered about on a cloud, punching the air and poking fun at Lucifer for losing their bet. "In spite of all thou didst unto him, he still prayeth to Me! I win! Ha ha ha! In thy face, Lucifer!"
Satan had never been a very good loser. "If that's a prayer, then I'm an archangel", he muttered. To God, he said "Well, of course he still talks to You - he knows that with a snap of Your fingers You can give him all that stuff back, in spades. These humans, they have a thing called the Stock Exchange - so they're used to ups and downs. Anyway, You fixed the bet so You'd be certain to win, with that condition about not touching a hair on his head. I bet if his health suffered, he'd sing a different tune."
God thought about the devil's comments. "A bet, eh? Okay, thou art on - again. Thou canst visit any afflictions thou likest upon him, short of actually killing him. He will still have faith in Me, I'm sure of it".
Satan smiled. "Cool. Gotta fly".
The sirens that Mr Job heard in the distance rapidly increased in volume. Within a few seconds, he could see flashing blue and red lights through the curtains of his soon-to-be-demolished front windows. A rap on his front door, followed by the words "Police! Open up!" stirred him into action. He got up from the couch to answer his front door. All he had to do was explain things to the police, and everything would be okay, like it was, he thought.
Unfortunately for Mr Job, the Police are not very good at reading thoughts. Or listening to excuses from child molesters. Officer Lou and Officer Ed chose to interpret Mr Job's invitation to sit down as resisting arrest (or at least delaying it, which amounts to the same thing). Nightsticks flew, followed by boots, followed by teeth - Mr Job's. After beating him to a bloody pulp in his own living room, the two brave officers dragged his handcuffed and manacled body to their car and threw him in the back seat for a trip downtown.
Mr Job was surprised to discover that all those cop shows on television that feature dank, overcrowded cells full of murderous, unkempt lunatics were inaccurate. The reality was much worse. After a few hours of being urinated and defecated on by his cellmates, he was taken for delousing. A jet of ice-cold water swept the filth from his body, and his new prisoner clothes were not soft and gentle on his skin, either.
"Hey, you! Kiddy-fiddler! You got visitors. You can see them in this room", the desk sergeant sneered.
"Who is it? My lawyers? My family?"
"Nah. A coupla kids. I'm putting you on your honour to behave nicely, now", the sergeant added.
Mr Job stood up when the two children entered the interview room. He was astounded to see that they were Lucy and Damon, the pair of fibbers who had told Principal Jeremiah that awful story about him. "You! What...? How.....? Why...?" he stammered as he sank back onto the rickety prison seat.
Lucy spoke up. "Enough questions, Mr Job. Me and Damon just wanna tell you we're really, really sorry we got you into trouble. We never thought it would go this far. We only did it to show you that God doesn't really care about you, after all you do for Him. You'd think one of his favourites would get a better shake, but it sure doesn't look like it. Look at you - you're a mass of bruises, welts, contusions and broken fingernails. Some of your cuts already show signs of infection - probably some really nasty bugs from the excrement of those crims, I s'pose."
Damon added his two cents' worth, whispering in Mr Job's ear. "I'm starting to wish we really had got it on, you know, it woulda been fun, you and me, I bet you're great in bed, and I got a itch deep inside my ass that needs scratching, oh yeah, I'd make you ready to fuck me by licking your big cock, you know that part just under the head that your wife won't lick for you, I'd sure do it, and suck your balls, maybe even give your bag a hickey-"
Lucy piped up "It's working, Damon, I can feel it starting to get hard. Cut that out and get down here and help me", she added, jamming her little hand inside Mr Job's prison trousers.
Mr Job writhed in his seat, torn between protesting and acquiescing. "Hey! You kids! What're...uh, stop...don't...don't stop...please...what's going on..."
The two imps had his prison pants down to his knees and were gripping his stiffening member, one little hand each. "It's pretty simple really", Damon stated. "We want to show you the earthly delights you miss out on by being such a god-botherer. In fact, we can make everything go back to the way it was, only much better, if you just devote a little more time to your own pleasure, and a little less time to you-know-who upstairs"
"You can make it all...go back to how it was?" Mr Job gasped.
"Only better", Lucy confirmed.
"But...how?"
"Leave that to us. All you need to do is..." she leaned in close and whispered in his ear.
Mr Job put his feet up on a cushion. He stretched back on his sofa and glanced at his new 100-inch plasma TV. An XXX-rated Cable movie was beginning - should be okay, he thought, sipping a cheeky Australian shiraz.
"Can I rub your feet, Dad", his son James asked, sitting on the floor next to the cushion. Since his return from hospital, James was a lot more attentive to his daddy. Mr Job showed his appreciation for James' attentiveness by visiting him in his bedroom every night. The boy (for it would be quite a few years before he grew up) certainly had a willing and exquisite ass. Mr Job found the sounds of Tom and Stevy copulating in the next bedroom very arousing, which was also to James' benefit, as the recipient of his ardour.
Mr Job's daughter Cynthia popped her head in the doorway. "I've made a new DVD, daddy - this time with two Dobermans. Want to see it before I send it to the distributor?"
"Sure thing, sweetie. Just put a copy on the player, I'll put it on and watch it with Stevy and Tom when they get home from the park". Being his daughter's video-porn manager sure paid off. Each movie she made generated a six-figure sum nowadays. Mr Job had never previously realised how much money was to be made in the adult entertainment industry. What an eye-opener.
"Dinner will be ready in about half-an-hour, darling", his wife called from the kitchen. Since their little misunderstanding (as she called it) was settled, Mr Job's wife played the role of model housewife to a T. Perhaps obtaining the block of land the house was built on had something to do with it. It turns out that the error about the boundary was in Mr Job's favour, not his neighbour's. And Mrs Job's pathology tests had somehow gotten mixed up with a drug-addicted prostitute's, well now, that happens all the time, of course, too common to even evoke a remark.
Lucy and Damon call around from time to time, just to see how Mr Job is getting along, and to remind him of his promise. It was such an easy promise to make, too. But I'm sure you already know what it is, having read this far.
God was really pissed. One of the cherubim narrowly avoided a boot up the bum. This time it was Lucifer's turn to gloat. "It's Your own fault, You know. You created sex, after all. Did you really think that humans would be able to use it responsibly? I think you got it right with the animals, by the way; all that `breeding season' and 'estrus' stuff, works jolly well. Pity you didn't think to replicate it with humans - especially boys".
"Thou wouldst do well to avoid any further mention of this subject for several millennia. I'm so fucking annoyed at that Mr Job - some twelve year old boy suckest his knob for half an hour and his will power just collapseth like Mary Magdalene's tits", God grumbled.
"Ah well - better luck next time. By the way, who do you like in the race for the Democrat nomination?", Satan inquired.
"I think Hill's got it in the bag. She'll pisseth all over that darkie - especially since he's a closet towelhead - er, no offense, Mohammed", God replied.
"None taken, my lord, may your name be forever blessed, O mighty one", the Prophet murmured from his virgin-infested couch.
"Fuck, that getteth on my nerves sometimes", God muttered to no-one in particular.
End
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