Your sermon goes on for hours. You preach hellfire and damnation, eternities and infinities.
You are powerful, emotional, evocative. I touch myself frequently throughout your sermon.
I make sure you see it too, and I see you lick your lips as the service comes to an end.
The deacons go about their business selecting new maidens from the flock.
They are young, bright-eyed, and beautiful. They swoon when you touch their heads and
are escorted out by the deacons, just like I was.
I follow with a deacon at each elbow, but I move with purpose.
The new maidens are stripped before the sanctum, and the fire reveals their awe.
I disrobe as I walk towards them and toss my things on the crackling brazier.
The deacons give the maidens their black veils. For me, I take the white, and gold cords are
placed around my ankles, wrists, and neck.
I wait before your sanctum, naked and eager, while the new maidens titter behind me.
I feel poised and polished until you open the door.
When I see you, I am undone. You are naked, save for the black marble mask and an erection
that looks like it could crack concrete.
Your cock is so beautiful, so perfect, that I'm tempted to fall to my knees and worship
it now.
You see my gaze, my point of fixation, and you grin.
I hold my arm up, expecting you to take me by the wrist, but you don't.
Instead, you walk around me, inspecting me and the other maidens, like a breeder inspecting
livestock he might purchase.
You linger on the new girls, getting close enough to sniff their hair, check the color
of their eyes, and at one point, you brush your cock across one of their asses, making
them jump.
Finally, you come to me. You stand in front of me, your erection aimed at my abdomen,
and I see your eyes glimmer behind the mask.
You sigh loudly, and you make a show of seizing my wrist. You pull me along the four-poster
bed, and I am smiling despite my frustration.
You guide me to the bed where I'm to prostrate myself, and you instruct the maidens to kneel
at the bedside and begin their prayers as before.
Then you crawl over the silk to join me, and you find me laying on my belly, ankles crossed
in the air, like a teenager on the telephone.
I glance over my shoulder, and I watch you.
I'm not smiling.
I'm not coy.
This is not a game to me like it was for her.
She was given something you are withholding, and this is my tiny, rebellious way of demanding
the same thing, the same cruel treatment.
You register my little act of defiance, and you respond with the appropriate paternal
instruction.
You scoop me up, lay me across your lap, and you spank me like a petulant child.
Your nights with your brides are special.
You reach into the ancient, the forbidden, and part of that, I'm sure, hinges upon the
pain you inflict.
Thus, I should be given the same pain as she received before we start, or so my logic holds.
However, when you begin to strike me, I realize I might have been too free in my invitation.
You treat me like a child, but you don't spank me like one.
Your hand is calloused and hard, and your arms are corded.
Your first volley makes my ass glow red and brings tears to my eyes.
The next ten drive the breath from me.
I fall fully across your lap, and your erection presses hard into my belly.
I wriggle, I cry, I beg.
I lose count around twenty slaps, so I start counting in my head again, and I quickly lose
track, just like before.
So much time passes, and you are so thorough, and you're beating that my entire backside
is hot, pulsing with pain by the time you're done.
I've soaked the silk sheets in tears, and I left your legs wet, where I wriggled across
your lap and my knee.
Just when I'm able to stifle my sobs, you haul me up on my hands and knees, like you
did with her, and I feel the head of your cock resting between my cuntlets.
That's when you ask me, are you ready, child?
I don't trust my voice, so I nod.
I think about how wanton, how shameless the last bride acted when you took her, her screams,
her ecstasy.
I thought it was all a part of her act, but when you enter me, I feel myself stretching
to accommodate you, and I know she wasn't acting.
It isn't the bestial way you move, it isn't the power you wield, or the hardness of your
body, or your cock, it's your Holy Spirit.
You thrust into me with an eagerness that speaks of joy and desperation.
You take me, claim me, as one who is hanging from the cliff of mortality, and I am the
fruit you pluck before you fall.
I've already screamed my voice hoarse during your spanking.
Now my cries of lust are throaty, and I embarrass myself with little yelps as our flesh slaps
together, and I feel your cock filling me.
I clench, and I wriggle, and I instinctively crawl away, but you pull me back.
You always drag me back, like a compass pointing true.
My legs shake, my arms buckle, and you let me fall into the sheets, eyes and mouth wide,
while you hold me by the hips and bury yourself in me.
Then you say the words I've been waiting for all week, the words I've obsessed over since
I saw those shadows.
But I'm so deep in my shameless lust, you have to repeat yourself before my mind can
surface to obey.
The book, you say.
Open it.
I reach for the altar at the foot of the bed, and I peel back the black velvet.
Underneath is a book of simple calfskin binding, uniform yellowed pages.
I open the book to the inside cover, and I moan as I feel you slowing your pace.
You're close to coming.
I can feel you're close, and you're breathing heavier than when you fucked her.
That, more than anything, makes me smile as I look at the ancient pages.
The words are written in neat columns, but they are no language that I recognize.
Indeed, I don't know that anyone on Earth could recognize them, but they speak to me,
nonetheless.
As you fuck me, I see a story, creation's oldest story, shaping in my mind, in both
our minds, an interplay of light and dark, a dance of entropy and creation, the coupling
of primal man and first woman.
I see the creation.
I see pregnant eternity, and I feel the friction and the war of power within me right now,
within the pleasure and the seed of your vigorous fucking.
Unlike your last bride, I see the shadows that emerge from you when the candles go dark.
I see the shades of the old god, the ancient one who derives its pleasure through you,
as you take your pleasure from me, and unlike her, I embrace you both, man and darkness.
I moan.
I wriggle in the grip of those shadows.
I spread my legs for them.
I welcome them.
I breathe it in, and the void fills my throat.
I open myself, and they enter my every orifice, lifting me high above the bed, weightless
and twitching, as you plunge into me again and again.
I can't breathe, can't think.
I am reduced to a vessel for your greed, and I shudder on the edge of blissful, orgasmic
consciousness.
You caress and squeeze and nibble my flesh, rapacious, and I hear you grunting as you
approach the precipice.
I am soft and warm and floating before you, and you unleash yourself into me, cumming
as I wriggle helpless on your cock, suspended by night, given form, for your pleasure.
And that is when I lose myself.
I cum on the edge of sanity, desperate for air.
I quake and I shiver until I see points of light like stars behind my eyelids, except
the stars never leave my eyes.
They dance above the bed, as if my pleasure has summoned the cosmos above your sanctuary.
I wait for the release to end.
I feel your seed filling me.
I feel your body stiffen, and you pull away from me, but the roar in my head only grows
louder.
The shadows around me melt and thicken until I'm cocooned in flickering darkness.
I open my mouth to ask why, why?
I was a good girl, I was much better than she was.
I did everything you asked, I accepted you in the darkness of abandon.
I realize, far too late, that it doesn't matter at all.
My words are swallowed by nothing, I breathe nothing.
I am invaded everywhere by dark nothingness.
The last thing I see before my vision leaves, and my mind flees in existential terror, is
the black marble mask, the elder helm laughing at my folly.
My eyes go white, my limbs shake.
I curl, fetal in the air, until I feel myself fading into nothing.
I feel your body stiffen, and you pull away from me, but the roar in my head only grows
louder.
The shadows around me melt and thicken until I'm cocooned in flickering darkness.
