communion IV [awakening]

"Sleep brings no rest to me:
The shadows of the dead
My wakening eyes may never see
Surround my bed".
~Emily Bronte (The Horrors of Sleep)

A curious calm falls like a curtain, the air hushed by a single breath. Eleanna is stretched out on the altar like a sacrificial lamb. She is naked from the waist up, her dress bunched and twisted around her hips. Her eyes are closed, her hands clasped together on her stomach. Her breasts rise and fall with every deep breath, pink nipples stiff and pointed in the chilled air. Every breath she takes flows through me like a silk sash fluttering in the wind. I am standing above her with my hand around her throat. Gently I move my fingers to stroke her outstretched neck. Her pulse palpitates beneath my fingers trickling through my palm vibrating my senses like a plucked harp string. Ghostly pale in the warm yellow light, her features are shadowed and soft.

She is beautiful beyond reason, and yet as I gaze down at her, all I want to do is ravage her. Her softness and her innocence evokes dark imagery inside my head that has lain dormant for too long. Purity as a virtue has left her beauty unmarred, washing her soul clean like a baptism.

I start to slide my hand down. My cock strains against the inside of my jeans. I can almost feel the warmth of her mouth over it. The feeling is so palpable that I have trouble controlling my breathing.
I want to fondle her beautiful breasts-to carve my fingers into the soft flesh and watch as her skin burns red from my fingers. I yearn to run my thumb across each engorged nipple. The hunger to run my tongue across each angry welt from my nails as they rise to the surface of her pale white skin consumes me. I want to hear the sharp intake of her breath, her tiny whimper. I would lick each tear that trickled from the corner of her eyes, to let the salty extracts soothe the abrasiveness as it slipped down my raw throat. I flicked my tongue across my cracked lips.
Suddenly a sharp pain spears through me. The ornate dirk which dangled from the black velvet collar had nicked the soft fleshy edge my palm. "Shit!", I exclaim bringing my hand up for a closer look. Glinting like an eye in the warm glow of the candle light a drop of bright red beads out of the small wound. I am fascinated by the sight. My vision starts to blur. From deep within me there is a stirring. A gnarled leathery eyelid creaked slowly open, cracking painfully from the ravages of all this time that it had stayed closed, to reveal an obsidian eye. Little rivulets of blood begun to flow from the edges, filling in the spaces.

It had finally awoken.

Before I can react, Eleana has reached for my hand pulling it towards her. She extends her tongue and as quick as an asp, licks the droplet of blood from my palm. She runs the tip across her lips savouring the metallic tang smearing her pink lips with a crimson streak.
"Fuck me!", she whispers harshly, urgently reaching for me.

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.

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...

communion [meeting]

“All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream.” - Edgar Allan Poe

The Huge carved wooden door closes with a soft thud behind me, severing the icy tendrils of mist that swirled around my feet as I stepped inside. The frigid gust of wind that snuck inside with me, rushes down the aisles to caress the flickering tongues of the candles throwing the shadows on the wall into a phantasmal dance. I pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the low light before I start to make my way forward. My footsteps echo sharply within the great walls like the crack of a whip and I wonder if she is here, as promised. Drawing closer to the front, I make out a seated figure wrappd in a cloak, embraced by her long dark hair falling like a shawl upon her shoulders. Even though she knows that I have come, she does not move, instead staring straight ahead, back arched and rigid, her head slightly bowed. I slip into the pew behind her, kneeling on the bench and lean towards her.

"Good evening m'lady. I am glad you are here"

Eleana stiffens almost imperceptibly as her head bows even further, a stray wisp of her red hair folding gently across her right cheek. "I did not have a choice", she whispers, her voice low and breathless like the swaying flames of the candles that provide the only light inside this church.
My lips curl upwards in a sinister smile as I lean closer and with my left hand pick up her hair moving it away from her neck, exposing the black velvet band around her pale white throat. She draws in a sharp breath from between clenched teeth as my lips make contact with her hot flesh, just below her ear lobe. I growl, low and feral against the side of her neck bringing my right hand to gently wrap it around her throat. I can feel her pulse flutter beneath my palm like the thrumm of a small bird caught in a net and she whimpers softly raising her head, extending her neck, submitting to my actions. Her breasts rise and fall with every deep breath as a warm flush spreads across them and yet her hands remain clasped on her lap, her back still straight, a poise of demure docility.

On the walls a hundred spectral apparitions slowly end their tortuous dance to hover in anticipation, gazing down at the unfolding scene below them, soft whispers rising upwards to the caverneous ceiling. Still kneeling behind her, as if at worship, my thumb and forefinger graze along the edge of the collar, my palm catching momentarily at the small metallic dirk dangling against her jagular notch...