There was never any real doubt that Renfrew would become a clergyman, his late father, Archie, prior his most unfortunate demise in a freak boating accident, had after all been the Bishop of Rutland, a small but not inconsequential  core of power within the northern Anglican political community. Archibald Palfry was not a pleasant man. having the boorish outlook that many in the old school Church of England adhered to, considering corporal punishment as the necessary  savior of all that was good and noble in his nations and faiths governance,  and whom in his private life thought his spouse as nothing more than a mere chattel to service his desires and demands without delay or question.

Renfrew’s doting mother, Florence, a distant descendant  of the Duke of Wellesley, did all she could to protect her precious boy from the worst of Archies  noxious tantrums, especially when Renfrew commenced to illustrate some extremely noticeable highly questionable effeminate behaviors. Florence was obliged on several occasions to place herself in dire physical straits to protect her sons  face and ass cheeks from a severe pummeling.

Renfrew knew little of his mother’s true bravery, or how her most cruel husband would later in payback inflict  most torturous practices upon her accepting submissive flesh   for  hour upon hour in their purposely well soundproofed master bedroom.

Archibald Renfrew’s drowning came just in time to save Renfrew from an entire world of hurt, and Florence from a bevy of such despicable vengeful perversions ‘tis best not to describe in any sort of detail.

Following her husband’s death, and once Renfrew was situated most contently in his ecclesiastical college, Florence was inclined to retire entirely from public life, taking up residence in the public wing of the Saint Agnes Convent, a patient its closed facility for the care and treatment of victims of long term physical and psychological abuse by malicious partners. Lady Serene Claypool, the Baroness Mister was president of the steering committee that funded the facility.

Renfrew Palfry’s, the Bishop of Winchester Cathedral,  same sex tendencies were neither well concealed nor uncommon knowledge in the corridors of Westminster.  He had a very admiring  group of colleagues whom shared his delight in the male form and an equal number of peers that would avoid utilizing the restrooms in his proximity. The Houses of parliament had decades to catch up on the nation at large in acceptance of the gay community, even though the percentile of those professing or leaning towards homosexuality were exactly similar as those of the public at large, possibly  a tad  higher.

Being of the cloth and rather old school in political pronouncements Renfrew was inclined to largely underplay his rather pictorial femininity in pubic, even to the point of hardening and harshening his and diction when making announcements or speeches, especially those relayed  upon televised appreances. He was still very popular with the Conservative movement, and its older membership, to whom a sniff of gayness was a decided no-no!

Lady Serene Claypool, the Baroness Mister  by right of ascendency, was able to partake in sittings within the House of Lords in pursuant of furthering acts of the enjoined houses of parliament, as put forward for vote by the governing majority of the day. In the Lords she sat adjacent to the recently peered Pam-Ella Cowerland,  now lady Petersham, and but a stiletto thrust away from  Renfrew Palfry the Bishop of Winchester. The House of Lords was as ever a bizarre mixture of the out to grass, out of touch, and just socially out there chaps and chapess’s.

Sitting resplendently, on occasion in robes and coronets, the collective mess would ponder issues of the day, make enlightened speeches, chortle, and whinny, and do their God and sovereign given duty to facilitate the  oiling of  the wheels to aid in the continuing passage  of British democracy.  

Serene Claypool took great joy in quite viscously pinching Lady Petersham at each and every opportunity. If she was able to make Pam-Ella yelp and flinch from the inflicted injury, ‘twas a job well done.

Many scholars of both politics and religion had examined the monolith Peiter Feldshimm had created in the Future Saints of the Highter Universe Church and wondered at the cunning mix of seeming medieval fundamentalist dogma and strictly opposing interwoven personal freedoms that gave the cult such overriding power for recruiting new followers and holding firmly to those already sucked into the rapidly spinning maelstrom at the very core of the organization.

 Like any good street drug pusher the Future Saints fed the consistently  famished hapless  that were the target converts, and most eager  addicts, and once they were wholly hooked rearranged every moment of their existence to promote the church as entirely necessary for the continuing mental and physical health, wealth, success, happiness and satisfaction of every  participant.  

Peiter Feldshimm, or more practically, the Future Saints sisterhood, became the pneumatic hammer that drove the crucifying nails into the palms and insteps of the cults expanding line of most content victims.

The alarming connectivity between criminal activity and religious convictions, particularly those views of a  fundamentalist bent, continue to vex the credulity of the more  incise of the populus, more often cast aside as heretical or even dissolute by the most fervent of believers.

Both religious movements and political perspectives are reliant on opposition to their particular creeds to stoke passion and cohesiveness amongst the faithful. A ‘them  or us’ mentality is often carefully honed, to exert the appearance of a concise and merit worthy differential, when often the actual distinction is vague to the point of nonexistence. All-inclusiveness is not a state the logically  formulated mindset can accept, even those promoting and embracing wholesale unbiased integration.

Religious convictions by their nature  of accepting the illusory and metaphysical as actualities, are not strictly cerebral or objective, but claim those necessary base ingredients notwithstanding.

Pieter Feldshimm individually was not obviously of an evil nature. Sure, his views about the clarity surrounding his religious concepts, particularly those indicating his personal interlocking in a direct ascendancy to the Almighty were highly and uniquely disputable. Strangely, this did not incur a particularly reticent dispute. Many of his other visualizations , rules of conformity, were a but a hodge podge drawn from  multiple predating movements, laced together in a particularly hip and mouthwatering  manner.

The Feldshimm lineage had dark and troubling roots, Peiter’s descent from a vocal supporter of fascism, even though that clarion calling was totally  commercial in nature,  the elder Feldshimm having never provably dipped his hands in the gore of the multiplicitous victims of the Germanic state. Most logically, a certain level of the collective guilt still adhered aggravatingly consistently.

Similarly to the von Braun family the Americanization of the Feldshimm historical connectivity with usury, and wholesale obliteration had been carefully retouched.

The ongoing and seemingly eternal connection between state and private citizen run charitable institutions and the most heinously unsavory  aspects of misuse and molestation continue to prove impossible to totally disjoin or eradicate. The mysterious connection of secretly wicked individuals to those possessing most considerate of human traits,  compassion and charity, continue to boggle the ethical considerations of population at large.

A possible explanation is quite simply that the degree of self-reliance needed to manifest acts of great social standing require an individual of group of likeminded  persons to  facilitate the large degree of realignment of necessary circumstances. Such unquestioned power by its nature is as capable of negative happenings of pure evil as the truly posivive angelic intercessions,

The decision of the economically capable to choose whether to promote good or bad is arbitrary, dependent on circumstances according to impossibly irrational   trains of events to predict with any certitude.

Wibke Feldshimm took particular responsibility for the interactions between the sisterhood of the Future Saints charitable orphanages and child placement schemes and the suppliers of suitable stock in hand in the Balkan regions. Being the most nun like of the wives in appearance, her very scrupulously cropped hair, worn with a wimple cowl of sorts  as a rule, gave her an almost angelic visage, at least to the eyes of very strictly raised eastern orthodox boys from the adjacent mountain ranges.

The reveue that passed in both directions was both a major source of funding for the criminal secret societies aims of further consolidation for their political and social positions and ensured a constant stream of gratuitous  monetary gifts and a consistently  suitable recruits to enlarge the Future Saint sects lifestyle fixated membership.

Pieter was very satisfied with the mechanics of the operation, Wibke was particularly good at allowing him the first nibble of any attractive ripe fruit that processed along the most abundantly flowing production line.

Peggy and John ‘Bot’ Bothomley had no real idea of the original seed of their adopted daughter Jane, except that when she arrived at their Wimbledon doorstep, at age four, she spoke a few words of a guttural Balkan language that was quite easily erased from her memory in bit a few short months.  This circumstance was quite normal and regular  in adoptions  from the orphanages of the Future Saints of the Highter Universe, which was Peggy and ‘Bots’ chosen temple of worship.

After a tricky period, getting the somewhat boisterous girl to calm and polish her behaviors, ‘Jane’ as she was now named, was able to commence to absorb the particular talents her parents expected her be proficient in. By age seven of perhaps eight, Jane was an accomplished foot and lower leg masseuse, and would spend the family evening mealtimes ensconced under the dining-table carefully working of her parents aching lower limbs. Fortunate friends and fellow church members would also be allowed to participate in this most civilized expression of mutual love and respect.

Jane Bothomley was feeling just the tiniest bit nervous. Ma’am, Lady Serene Claypool, the Baroness Mister, had suggested that a couple of body piercings might enhance her fast-maturing anatomy, but the areas of her flesh that the very attractive piercing practitioner  had prepared with disinfectant swabs were not the ear lobes of navel she had foolishly imagined. In fact the way the girl had lingered over the cleansing of her nipples and clitoris was invasive to the point of interference.

“You must try not to wiggle so much, my dear Jane. Poor Melanie is having quite the hard time trying to concentrate with you pert young bod’ spread open so fetchingly!”

Poor Melanie, the woman brandishing the needles and swabs, smiled wickedly at Lady Serene’s words, and gave Jane’s left nipple a cringeworthy hard pinch. Jane with some embarrassment realized she was reacting with some eagerness to the flirtatious strokes, pinches, and pokes.

“Darling Mercy will be so excited when she sets her eyes on your shiny additions.”