communion III [submission]

“An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.” ~Charles Dickens

...Come with me".

I reach out my hand to her and she takes it without hesitation, her gaze cast downward. A jolt ripples through me like a single drop of water breaking the surface of a whispering pool as her fingers entwine with mine. My heartbeat quickens. A tingling sensation runs across my scalp. She rises with a slow regal grace, the rustle of her dress seemingly the only sound inside this ancient church. There is a stirring deep within me, a dark desire in the pit of my stomach awakening to feed. I take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through flared nostrils.
Eleana holds her head high, shoulders straight. Her full breasts pushed together by the tight bodice of her dress strains against the laced edge of the neckline. The ornate dirk nestled comfortably within the deep regions of her cleavage, once again catches my eye. The sharp edge pointing straight down towards a place that I wish to drag my tongue across. I want to drink in her scent, to be intoxicated by her smell. She runs a hand down the front of the dark green full length dress smoothing out the velvet with a whispered swish. It is a stunningly captivating dress, regal in it's simplicity, accentuating every curve of her body. Cinched tight at the waist, by a belt of midnight black, it billows gently downwards to drape and flow around her feet that are encased in dainty black slippers. It seems as if she has just stepped out from a rent in the fabric of time, a vision from an age long past, a time of kings and queens, of courtesans and jesters. Perhaps her emerald eyes had borne witness to opulent nights and languid days, gilded furniture and over sized ballrooms. Did she traverse darkened corridors where servants scurried. Was she witness to bustling humid kitchens where butlers ravished kitchen scullions, taking them from behind, food stained skirts bunched around their waists.

"Where are we going?" Her voice is soft, lilting with a slight hint of an accent that I cannot quite place. It is a rhetorical question, posed simply to break the tension. Her hand is firm within mine. She has already placed her faith in me. There is no going back now. I lead her by the hand and we walk towards the front of the church. Outside, the wind has picked up, howling through the tattered leafless branches of the trees, flinging snow against the small windows like fingers scrabbling desperately for a hold. High above us, amidst the rafters, bridged together by giant cobwebs that are almost as old as the structure itself, something large scrabbles and I feel the weight of dark phantasmal eyes follow us as we head up the aisle. We stop in front of the rack of pale white offertory candles, each glowing flame undulating like tongues whispering a wordless prayer, each shape contorted by the melting wax. I step silently behind her. Leaning forward, I gather her long bountiful red mane in my left fist to move it out of the way and place my lips against the nape of her neck. With teeth slightly bared, I extend my tongue to drag it across her cool flesh, to kiss her softly, nipping ever so gently as I close my mouth. I bring my right hand around to place it against her throat, my left hand now around her waist drawing her backwards to me. Eleans leans backwards her weight pressing against my chest. "Pick up a candle. Any candle", I whisper into her ear, my lips brushing the soft edge. Being this close, her scent surges through me like a drug, heady and strong. My cock twitches in response.

On the wall directly above us, a lovingly detailed effigy of Jesus Christ, nailed to His wooden cross, looks down on us with an expression of infinite sadness as His life flows out in eternal forgiveness from His wounds.