Communion II [gathering]

“As in all the churches of the holy ones, women should keep silent in the churches, for they are not allowed to speak, but should be subordinate, as even the law says”.
1 Corinthians 14:33

They crowded into the shadows, huddled together amongst the rafters, their whispers filling in the hollows, trickling down the walls. Through the stained glass windows, the moon throws it's moonbeams in monochrome splinters to splash against the pews.

I pick up the small silver dirk, still warm from resting against her skin and the dark red stone set within the intricately carved hilt glints once like a winking eye. Eleana's breathing has deepened, each breath drawn through flared nostrils and slightly parted lips.

"Interesting choice for jewelry". A rhetorical statement, not expecting a response.
"Interesting choice for a meeting". Her voice, a slight quiver in her voice [fear? anticipation?] is yet strong and low. "I assume we are not here to pray?".
The vibrations from her throat as she speaks charges through my palm stirring something sinister deep within me. I laugh, momentarily breaking the tension. I sit back stretching my arms across the back of the wooden bench and exhale slowly trying to control my heart rate. A smirk curls one side of my mouth. "Actually worship has already started m'lady. It began as soon as you entered"

Slowly, with almost agonizing deliberateness, Eleana turns towards me. Her face is partially hidden behind her hair that drops like a veil straight down, but I can see her eyes glitter in the flickering light and this time an arrogance has seeped into her voice. "Then pray tell, who is the prey and who is the predator?"
Above us, there is a flutter of sound, something crawls in the gloom. Hoarse whispered voices are hushed as the watchers gather up a collective breath. Eleana glances upwards instinctively, almost as if she heard something, although I know she could not have. Her inner sense [innocence?] is not completely opened yet, concealed still by an obsidian layer of her chastity, untarnished by her purity. And yet, as I gaze into her dark green eyes, locked steadily onto my face, I know that deep inside her, there are darkened corridors, a gallery of passageways with bolted doors, behind which lay even darker dreams. If only I could find the key. Perhaps tonight I might be afforded a tour through some of those tunnels, explore the caverneous realms of her mind. Would she hand me the key or would I have to seek it out?
I choose not to answer her, instead rising up fom the pew to step around and stand in the aisle next to her. I extend my hand and she reaches out for me, trusting me explicitely. Her hand is warm and clammy yet steady and soft as newborn skin. The electric sensation of her touch crackles through me to roil inside my belly. My breath is thick and warm. I cannot help but notice the dark red polish adorning her fingernails, fingers bare of any rings.

"Come with me", I beckon to her softly, and she rises to obey. Outside, the wind has picked up and the icy tendrils of sleet hurl themselves onto the wooden sidings, rattling the windows, howling through the cracks and crannies to swirl around the ceiling. The night was getting colder, the moon ducking behind fleeing clouds. The candles brushed by the icy wind, waver in an undulating dance spurring phantasms into an enchanting rhythm as they sway and whirl, groping together in an unhallowed orgy of breasts, hands, cocks, cunts and tongues...