She squinted at Botticelli’s replica hanging on the wall in front of her, trying hard to concentrate in the midst of the storm brewing inside her.
Dante’s inferno and the Map of Hell… she’d read so much about it, and yet the irony wasn't lost on her as she tried half-heartedly to concentrate on each level, barely able to make out the shapes in her head.
She looked at all the pain, the punishment, the anguish… for the unbaptized… the gluttons… the greedy… the wrathful writhing in slime… But as she rocked back and forth one level held her attention the most.
“Faster…” she moaned, and he complied.
Her mother and Sunday school had spent their entire lives warning her of Satan and Hell, but right now, midst the throes of passion, lust didn’t seem like a sin to be avoided anymore.