The Chapel In the Woods
by: Mark Alexander
Our footsteps crunched loudly in the autumn leaves as we walked along
the forest trail and the late afternoon sun pierced the golden red canopy above
with a glittering sparkle, brightening the undergrowth. The air was cool, yet
not chilled with the approaching taste of winter, though I admit that I felt the
forest preparing itself for the first snow.
The chapel stood ahead of us, it's chiseled stone face and hard oaken
doors stood like a monument against the seasons. Built by man, ostensibly for
God, it had become a forgotten relic in the age of atheism. As we neared, I
marveled, as I have often done, on the tendency of man to look upward, seeking
some higher reward or divination.
We slowed our steps as we came to the massive carved doors, the
stylistic designs carving an intricate pattern to the unknown deity. I reached
out and touched the strong brass handle, pulling. The door opened, it's heavy
weight sliding on the age old hinges.
We entered the chapel, and I pulled the door shut behind us. I found
the iron lock bolt, the one the archaic park service had installed, and slid it
downward into the sunken hole in the floor. I turned and then stopped in wonder
as the light from the setting sun struck the huge crimson stained glass windows,
filling the chapel with a bloody light. I shivered, and for a moment, I thought
that the red tinged candle had been remounted. But no, the wooden pews had long
been removed, as had the accouterments of the ancient religion. I looked and
saw the iron bolts were the red candle had been mounted, symbolizing the
presence of God. Only the empty stone of the wall remained.
The walls were rough rock, hewed from granite, and placed together with
simple mortar. Their grayed appearance brought to mind the stories of medieval
dungeons and castles from long ago. We walked across the empty space of the
floor to the nave, where a stone altar, bereft of it's vestments, stood like a
monument to a grave. It's surface was only marred by the inch long iron bolts,
sticking out from the sides of the altar, that had once mounted the candle
holders of the ancient ceremony.
I looked back at my partner. She stood in quiet surrender, her long
copper hair cascading down upon her sable cloak. I pulled slightly on the
leather leash that led to the black collar encircling her neck, drawing her
attention.
"What do you think?" I asked her, curious as to her thoughts.
Her pale blue eyes looked back at me and she shrugged her shoulders,
seemingly hesitant to speak.
I swung back toward the altar and mounted the dais, pulling her upward
with me. I moved around the stone table, until I stood behind it, gazing down
upon the unseen congregation of emptiness.
I drew in the leash, pulling her close to me, detecting the soft scent
of her rose flavored perfume. I threw my arms about her, picking her up and
cradling her like a newborn child. I felt her head slide down upon my shoulder
and I felt a sudden chill, knowing what was to happen to this woman, this girl,
this sacrifice.
I had planned this moment for months, ever since seeing this place, this
holy chamber. I knew what I needed to do. Not murder, I am no killer. Yet, in
this place a sacrifice would be made. An unholy thing become divine. I would
draw the attention of God back to this place.
I gently placed her upon the altar, lowering her until she rested on the
stone. The black hood of her cloak pooled under her head, pillowing it and
spreading the living wave of her hair across the cool granite. The cloak spread
open, draping the altar in a soft black sheath, bathed in the scarlet light of
the sunset.
Her shirt and long skirt were also black, a matching raven. I reached
into my pocket for my knife, and I slid the blade up through the short sleeves
of her shirt, slicing the thin cloth like water parting before a prophet. I
dropped the knife on the table beside her and then slowly unbuttoned her shirt,
exposing a sliver of white skin between the two pools of darkness.
When her shirt lay open, I pulled the edges apart, freeing the silk and
watching as the pools of cardinal light flashed across my sacrifice's skin. Her
eyes were closed and she lay awaiting whatever would come next. I smiled in
anticipation of the delights and pleasures that awaited me, as well as the
experience that awaited her. It was part of my desire, my dream.
Her skirt was fastened with a simple button, and I quickly pulled apart
the cotton earthcloth. Her loins were bare, clear except for a single patch of
down. Her legs were closed, guarding her secrets, and I resisted the urge to
part her, to touch and taste her pleasure. But something that simple was not
what she was here for.
I turned and picked up the small pack I had carried, opening it and
searching for the rope. It was a strong hemp, thick and smooth, and I placed it
on the table next to her. I had cut even strands, six feet long, and I began at
her wrists, binding each carefully and tightly. I knelt down at the base of the
altar and tied the rope ends off on the protruding bolts, until her arms
stretched out above her head, parted.
Her ankles followed, and I licked my lips in appreciation as her tender
sex was exposed for my eyes. Her rose colored slit glistened slightly, as if
she was expecting a tender touch or penetrating experience. Finally, she was
bound, stretched out upon the altar, like Andromeda for the Titan. I could not
help my gaze lingering on the white marble skin laying among the folds of black.
I treasured the sight of her petite and delicate feet laced into the black open
toed sandals. She was beautiful, desirable. I smiled at the irony, for no
captive was ever more captivating than my sacrifice. Her pleasure and suffering
would bring God, if he existed, back down to this once hallowed hall.
Next I removed the four, red hued candles from my bag, setting them down
upon the four corners of the altar. I lit them carefully, allowing the soft
glow of candlelight to bathe my helpless lady in a sheen of beauty.
And truly she was beautiful. My mind played over the course of events
and I reached once more into my pack.
I drew out a small bottle of brown ink and thin paint brush. With
delicate patience, I dipped the brush into the bottle and slowly brushed my
canvass of living skin. Her breath moved her body and I slipped the brush up
and over her breasts, painting the delicate nipples, and then bringing the line
down to her navel. I pushed the brush downward, looping it in intricate designs
to her womanhood, actually sliding the brush through her soft down and into the
crevice of her sex. For over an hour I worked, my hand moving steadily.
When I was done she looked like a Celtic goddess, inscribed with the old
symbols of power and a desire. I stepped back and examined her, pleased with
the outcome. I took hold of one of the candles and held it up over her body. I
saw her eyes flash with momentary concern, but then glaze.
I turned the candle sideways and watched as the hot wax dripped down off
the bell and fell toward my captive. I watched as the liquid splashed down upon
her breast, coating the nipple in a red veneer. She gasped, but did not cry
out, and I allowed the hot wax to fall, coating her breast over and over.
Her eyes were no longer glazed, and yet, I wanted more. I moved the
candle an inch, dropping more of the hot pain upon her other breast. I watched
her bosom heave under the intensity of the heat as the drippings splattered and
splashed their way over her white full curves. I watched in fascination as the
wax flowed down the mounds of her bosom and deep into the rift between them.
I set the candle down, letting the hot liquid cool and harden. Slowly
she calmed, feeling the hot warmth flow through her body, no longer burning it's
way deep inside. I returned to my bag and removed the small thermos.
The contents had melted slightly, becoming the pure life giving
substance. I reached in and deftly took one of the large cubes, drawing it out
of the water. Her eyes still remained closed and I used one fingernail to pick
the protective covering of wax from the brown stub of her nipple.
She felt the pull, but ignored it, and I took the opportunity to place
the ice directly upon the exposed nub. She cried out, but quickly stifled it,
and writhed in the tight bonds I had placed her in. I held the ice in place as
I quickly peeled away more of the wax. Rivulets of ice water flowed down her
hot breast, following the cool flow of wax down to her abdomen.
I placed the cold on her other breast, freezing the exposed nipple in a
chilling bite of cruelty. I watched in pleasure as she struggled, pulling and
twisting against the ropes, trying desperately to dislodge the hand which
tortured her. Soon I relented and I moved the ice away from her skin. Feeling
the cold in my fingers, I felt the meltwater drop from my hand and fall onto her
skin. I positioned my hand directly above her glistening sex and watched as the
first drop fell, searing her tender petals.
Her hips thrust outward and she cried out, this time allowing the full
throat of her wail to darken the fading light. More drops fell and I watched
her muscles tense and pull, straining to close herself. The water droplets
continued to fall, sliding down the lips of her flower, mingling with her own
juices.
I tossed the cube away. Her open legs were beautiful, white creamy
thighs leading downward to the pink petals. I pushed forward, dipping my head
lower until the scent of her pushed at me. I extended my tongue and tasted the
edge of her sex, feeling the cold water and hot juice of desire. I slid my
tongue along the ridges, licking her soft moist skin and she pushed upward into
me. My tongue found the round hole at the base of her sex and I dipped it in,
licking the walls of her passage, loving her with my tongue. I moved back
upwards and found her clitoris, sucking it in to my mouth, drawing it out of
its hood. The dying sun cast it's last breath on her skin as I tasted her
spice.
She moaned loudly, twisting upward as I suckled her. I felt her
pleasure coursing through her body like wild lightning and I pulled backward and
up, disappointing her. I knew her needs, but the night was still young, and God
had not yet seen true suffering.
I removed the candle wax from her skin. It came loose easily, as if the
only true merging had come when the paraffin was hot and heavy. Then the skin
and liquid fire melded as one. I cast the melts away from her, like the tossing
of coins for charity. I leaned down and took the tender nipple of her breast
into my mouth and licked at it. She jumped and then arched her back, pushing
her breast up into me. I felt her need to be taken, to be eaten and consumed.
Yet I was not ready.
I reached again into my bag of tricks, knowing exactly what was to come
next in this choreographed theater. The two small balls, linked by a chain,
glistened in the soft light of the candles. I moved to her parted legs and wet
slit. With gentle fingers, I split the lips of her flower, spreading the skin
outward. I wetted the first balls with her own juices, spreading the slick sex
over it's plastic face. I positioned it delicately, directly at her opening and
pushed, sending it down. The second ball was easier to prepare, and I quickly
pressed the small pressure switch on the side as I plunged it in to her body.
Immediately, she tensed as both balls began vibrating, rolling and
shaking around in the moist warm heart of her pleasure. Her loins involuntarily
spasmed, and I watched in amusement as she pushed and pulled, trying in some
unfathomable way to satisfy her need.
But I knew that it would be fruitless. The balls would only tantalize,
stimulate and torture, until the very sides of her well were sore from the
sensations. I knew I could leave her like this, tied for the night, and find
her catatonic in distress the next morning. All without a sliver of pain.
But that was not my plan, and while it would have been exciting, in a
cruel way, to watch as the toys worked her body, I knew that my needs would come
first. I returned to my bag, drawing out the long leather whip, and I gazed at
my victim.
I began with her breasts. Long, strong, slow strikes, always targeting
the tenderest spot. The end of the whip was wide, over two inches, and the
repeated strikes began to turn her light tinged skin a deep shade of crimson.
It took more blows than I had expected to change her skin color, and her voice
echoed through the chamber as the combined forces of balls and whip took her
over the edge of pleasure and pain, to the sublime place were the lines between
blurred and faded.
Her breasts were hot to the touch, the skin dry and sensitive. I
dropped the whip and removed the small bottle of oil. It was simple baby oil,
a common substance, that I poured out over her body. I cupped her breasts,
feeling the heat, and then I began to massage the oil into her body. Her
breasts glistened in the candlelight, and then her abdomen. I caressed her
thighs and her calves, even anointing the tops of her feet through the sandal
straps.
I moved back upward, drawing the excess oil to her collared neck. I
rubbed the liquid into her skin and then up over her arms. With my fingers, I
lingered over her forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips.
When I was done, her body glowed with a thousand jewels of light.
Rivers of luminescence streaked across her skin, sparkling. I could still see
the painted designs, but they had faded in the brightness, and I saw my
sacrifice as unworldly, perhaps touched.
Her body still heaved with the pleasure streaking up between her legs
and I moved onward in my plan. I picked up the whip again and proceeded to
rewarm her breasts, striking one and then the other in an unholy symmetry.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, mingling with the oil, and I moved downward to
her thighs, taking special care to strike low, staying away from her tender sex.
I finished punishing her thighs, and I put the large whip away, picking
up the light thong cat of nine tails I had purchased for this night. I moved
around to the side of the altar, positioning myself between her outstretched
legs. I raised the whip high and brought it down directly on the exposed
opening of her sex.
Her sharp cry split the air and her bottom leapt off the cloak,
straining upward. I quickly lashed her again, sending the stinging straps
against the moist wet lips of her sex. Her scream ricocheted across the
sacristy, raising goosebumps on my skin. I struck her again, this time make
sure that the straps dug down, parting the slit and sending their small spark of
pain deep into her body. Her voice cried out, tearing into the air her desire
and pain.
But she did not ask for mercy. No words escaped her mouth.
She knew, as did I, that there would be no mercy on this night. No safe
words. No moment of peace. She knew, as did I, that tonight she was a
sacrificial lamb, led to the slaughter.
The whip smacked into her with a wet slap, striking against the
saturated petals of her flower. I watched as the juices of her sex dripped from
her body, soaking the cloak beneath her legs. I imagined that I could see the
minute vibrations of the balls inside her, tickling and tingling her flesh into
waves of pleasure.
It was a sight to behold.
I dropped the whip and picked up the thermos. I reached in and picked
up another ice cube. I held it over her mouth, letting the cold water fall on
her lips. Her pink tongue rose, licking the water, drinking the small droplets.
She held out her tongue and I let the drops fall directly on to it, sating her
thirst. When she closed her mouth, I moved the ice downward and placed it
against her lips. She shivered, and then tensed as I slid the ice down her
throat, over her collar, and to her breasts. The ice traced a cold path in the
oil as it passed up the slope of her breast and then over her nipple, and I
watched in satisfaction as the small brown bump rose sharply. I moved to her
other breast, cooling it's heat with the frozen water, and taking delight in the
texture of her tightened aereola.
It was time to move on with my strange tableau, and I dropped the
melting ice onto her belly. She cried out as she realized that I was leaving it
there and she began to thrash against her bonds.
"Don't." I commanded her. "Or I'll plunge that little piece of ice
right into your hot little hole." I said.
She whimpered and tried to hold still, but couldn't command enough self
will power to obey. In a flash I picked up the ice as it began sliding down the
side of her belly and pushed it right into the hot moist place I had whipped
only moments before.
Her entire body rose up, pulling against the ropes, and she cried out
again. I dipped my fingers into her sex, feeling the magical mix of cold water
and hot juice before my fingers touched the shuddering vibration of the balls.
Her cries became hot with desire and I knew that she was close to orgasming.
Yet I was unready. There was still more to come.
I took hold of the closest ball and drew it out of her. The second
ball, still attached by the chain to the first, followed quickly, falling out
and over her clitoris. She moaned loudly, desperately, as if a disastrous
calamity had befallen her. I laid my hand on her soft down of hair and felt her
body shudder, over and over, as it dealt with the forced removal of the
stimulus. I smiled.
I glanced at my watch. Over two hours had passed and I had subjected
her to unspeakable torments. She was at the stage where her desire had mixed
with pain and I could begin the real torture. I moved to my bag and removed the
butt plug from its depths. Lacking any lubricant, I rolled it through the
sodden lips of her flower, making it's rubber body slick.
I moved it under her, and she lifted her bottom off the cloak to allow
me to push it into her bottom. Slowly, it moved deeper, finally settling deep
into the small orifice. I pushed the switch and the slight hum of the vibrator
began.
Next I grabbed a tube of lubricant, a special jelly meant for sex. It
had special nutrients to calm the sensitive sides of a woman's sex, and I knew
that she would need it. I had left the vibroballs between her legs, and I took
hold of the small strip of duct tape needed for her next torture.
I disconnected one of the balls, leaving a single vibrating menace. I
then took the bottle of jelly and inserted the nozzle like end deep into her
hole. She shook as she felt the rough plastic insert dig through her body, but
I watched in satisfaction as she moaned when I began squirting the contents of
the tube into her. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pressed against the sides of the
tube, sending more and more of the special cream deep into my victim's body. It
was a large tube, and by the time it was empty, I realized that there was not a
sliver of room left.
I moved the tube away and watched as some of the jelly began to leak
out. I quickly pinched the lips of her flower shut as I scrambled for the
vibroball. Finding it, I jammed it in, splurting and squirting the jelly
outward. I was prepared for this though, and I cleaned the excess gel away,
clearing her skin.
The strip of duct tape came next, and I applied it directly over her
female opening, closing the sides of her flower shut. She was moaning
continuously now. I moved around the altar and reached toward my bag, but
drying my hands on the sides of her cloak in the process.
In the bag I removed a small black box and several wires. I placed the
items on the altar, near her breasts and retrieved a small razor from the bag.
Enough gel and cream still lay near her groin, and I carefully trimmed the small
triangle of hair from her pubic mound. That small bump of fat, with all its
nerves and sensitive sensors, would soon be the site of even more sensation. I
hummed with excitement and carefully unwound the small black wires.
Each wire ended in a bare metal strip. With careful deliberation, I
placed the slip of the first wire directly on to her pubic mound, running the
end directly down to the top of her slit which was covered in gel. I knew that
the water based jelly would conduct electricity. Two other wires were placed on
her breasts and my black electrical tape secured them, though albeit with
difficulty due to the oil.
She was still moaning when I turned the dial of the small control box
near her breast and I saw her body jerk as the current, at its lowest setting,
coursed into her breasts and groin. I watched as her nipples rose against the
tape and wire, higher than even the ice had brought them. Her hips began
moving, thrusting up and then down in a strange dance. I smiled as the
electricity played her like a violin.
I stepped back from my work, stretching and moving. My eyes roamed
around the chamber, looking for something, yet not knowing what. I glanced at
my watch. I walked away from the altar to exercise my legs. I moved around in
the dim light, seeing my shadow fall on the stone and listening to the small
helpless cries of a girl in distress. I circled the whole church, relishing the
sound of her moans echoing through the corners. Finally I approached the altar
again.
The control box had five settings, each one more strenuous than the
previous. The first level was a small current, stimulating, yet tantalizing.
The second level was more robust, sending even the heartiest woman into
shuddering delight. Yet neither first or second levels could bring a woman to
orgasm. The third level, if left on long enough could cause a woman to come.
However, if used as a catalyst for the fourth level, the controller could cause
a buildup that could only be satisfied by the pain/pleasure of level five.
I turned the current off, watching as she slowly relaxed. Her rapid
breathing slowed and became steady. Then I swiftly turned the dial to level
two. The effect was electrifying. Her body went ridged and she cried out
loudly. I saw the muscles of her thighs and arms rippling as her body dealt
with the sudden jolt. Her mouth clenched, cutting the small scream into a
squeal and her body shivered uncontrollably.
I stepped backward, watching with intensity as my victim's body was
subjected to torture. I smiled at the though of the word, doubting that even
the Inquisition had tormented heretics like this. Her body rose up and down,
pulling against the bonds holding her to the altar, and I quickly checked the
knots to make sure they held.
I turned the knob to level three and her mouth widened and her vocal
cords let loose a true scream. Yet I could tell that this was not a scream of
pain, but one of unfulfilled desire, demanding satisfaction yet finding only
increased torment. I quivered in the realization of what my sacrifice was
experiencing, and I felt my excitement rise.
I again looked at my watch and saw that most of the night had passed us.
Quickly I moved to the dial and turned it to level four. The tonality of my
victim's scream changed, and I knew she was feeling the first sparks of pain.
The pain mixed with the pleasure however, and I knew her mind had passed the
point of distinguishing the two. Her body thumped against the altar, her
fingers clenched into fists and then slamming outward.
I looked up and saw the glow of the morning sun begin to lighten the
stained glass windows. I watched, waiting patiently as the sound of her cries
echoed the brightening chamber. Slowly, I saw the red orb of the rising sun
pierce the tree line and the first rays struck the glass windows, sending the
room into a chorus of red hues. I raced to the altar and turned the dial to
five.
She threw her head back and released a soundless scream into the sun's
light. Her body arched upward and stayed there. I watched her eyelids flutter,
and then she gasped loudly. Her body clenched and I jumped in surprise as the
vibroball exploded out of her body with a wet and solid thunk, shoving the tape
aside. A spasm of shudders erupted through her limbs and I watched as she
pulsed, taken through the multiple orgasms like a drummer doing a roll.
Finally she collapsed, and I turned off the electricity. Her eyes were
closed and she lay still on the sable cloak. I walked around her, seeing her
breaths slow and steady, her heart beat thickening. Between her legs, the mass
of gel I had squirted into her was oozing out like a turgid river.
I realized that she was asleep. Overtaxed and abused, her body had shut
down to repair itself, and reenergize. I untied her wrists and ankles, rubbing
an emollient cream into her chapped wrists. She remained asleep as I moved her
arms and legs, bending them and massaging them.
I repacked my supplies in the bag. I felt tired, and yet strangely
sated. I looked about the chapel, trying to sense a change, but the only change
I felt was the one inside me. I felt at peace, sensitive to the world, and I
laid a gentle hand on my love's forehead.
"Thank you, my lady." I whispered to her.
I watched as her eyelids fluttered open slightly and she murmured
something back to me. I kissed her on the cheek and then picked her up, leaving
the sodden cloak on the altar. Her slick body was beautiful in the morning sun,
streaming through the windows and I carried her across the floor of the chapel
to the door.
With my foot I unlatched the bolt and pushed the door open with my back.
I carried her out into the morning forest while birds sang and the pure white
sunlight shimmered on her skin. I carried her naked down the trail, away from
the chapel in the woods. I had finished my sacrifice, and found what I wanted.
Please feel free to e-mail critiques and comments to m_alexander911@hotmail.com.
I always welcome reader response.
Yours Faithfully,
Michael Alexander
