I walk to the big heavy wooden doors of the little stone chapel. They are walnut, dark and yet compelling and welcoming, beholding secrets on the other side, promises of what is to come. With great trepidation and a tingling in the very core of my womanhood, my hands work the knob to open the weighty doors. An aroma of sexual scents almost knocks me backwards, but I stumble into the cavernous chapel anyway, my body hot and cold at the same time, my legs quivering uncontrollably.
And there I notice the small circle of flame with the bondage cross laying flat in the middle. My head reels, my mind fills with the possibilities: of surrendering control, losing control, gaining control, and taking control. I can visualize myself in that ring of fire, giving but being taken, hungry but hungered after.
My clothes suddenly feel tight, too constricting, in fact. My throat is dry and my sex tingles with an ache so deep that I cannot stand on my own two legs. My knees buckle and I feel the cold stone against my cheek as the floor moves beneath me. I am somehow moving but not mobile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure sitting on a throne at the far end of the room. He is so masculine, so manly, so divine in his sculpted glory and exuding a sensuality so potent that my mind begins to fray.
The floor feels cold beneath my profusely sweating body, my torn clothes wrapped around my waist, my calves, exposing the unexposed, like the devil himself has made me naked. His laughter peels out through the chapel, ringing in my ears as my head pounds and my senses reel. My mind is in this state, suspended between darkness and light, sexual and asexual, pleasure and pain. My sex still tingles with an anticipation so strong and throbbing that my mind cannot comprehend the depth of it.
A kindly face appears. It is that of the figure on the throne. He is crouching beside me now, sexy in his caring concern as he spreads his long flowing red velvet cape over my prone body. This warms me inside, despite my continued shivering and quivering. His gentle hands are strong as he lifts me gracefully into the air and lays me down tenderly where I had first envisioned I might lay...on the cross, within the circle of fire. The stone there is warm from the glow of the flame. My body eases onto it, waiting its bated breath for my next cue.
My eyelids are heavy; sleep comes and goes. It feels like I am in a fog, a haze, a dream maybe, or a fantasy...yes, someone's fantasy. My taut nude body glows in the light of the circle of fire, each bead of sweat illuminated by the flickering flames. My sex is moist and glistening in the heat of the fire. I am finally warmed through.
I move to stretch, as if waking from a long sleep, but feel a pulling at my extremities. Surprised but not panicked, I notice the leather loops carefully anchoring my wrists, my ankles, not tight, but loose enough for certain mobility. The tingling in my sex begins anew. I have lost control to these bonds but I have surrendered myself to this feeling of abandon.
