Concentric (the fourth)

Image from Pixabay by Comfreak

Here’s another from my Guest Blogger Mr Bram Stroker – his story of love and lust, with twisted layers of darkness and manipulation set in a religious framework, concludes here. Or does it just go round again?

Insanity. Surely.

Her precarious mental health has danced like a ballerina on the head of a pin since she was a child and she now played more frequently in the margins between light and black days.
Like her father before her. He had been taken from her Life in her formative years. Her recollections of him dimmed over time. He had become more glorious, more important to her as she had aged. The gap at her Graduation, her white wedding, the funeral of her mother; growing larger. She missed him as any daughter would.

It was years later now. June 5. She was now well into her fourth decade. The ‘incident’ in Church was a fading memory, blurred at its edges. She recalled the sexual advances of a young priest who after her complaint had swiftly been moved to an inner city church far away in the Projects. The Catholic church was ill prepared to deal with another sex scandal. It is still in the midst of the historic allegations of children.

Her dreams had been claret hued for years since then, & the mark on her breast had grown, slightly now resembling a star of Ruby Red. She was, she confided in herself, a bright star in her dark world. She had felt the headiness building in her over the last few days and weeks. It filled her thoughts. And she was altogether anxious.

She was alone at home and retired to bed. The digital display of her alarm seemed to take an age before the red LED rolled over. 00:00. Midnight June 6. She slept fitfully, then woke with a start. Her radio alarm sounded and the opening guitar assault of Helter Skelter filled her ears. It was only 6:06.

She sat bolt upright quickly; enough to make her dizzy. ‘When you get to the bottom you go back to the top of the slide,‘ screamed a younger Beatle. Her room – and it was hers – was cold. Her mirrors: Frosted. A chill air filled it.

She caught a shadowy reflection in the mirror. Her breast ached and the tip of each point on her unholy tattoo began to bleed, encircling it. She felt the bed heavy. As He sat. His eyes a glow of red, his scent familiar. She saw … not the face of her lover. Or her priest. But something else, something darker.

He grabbed at her. The first touch, a bolt of electricity into her soul. A guttural release when it hit her, there. She, eyes burning clawed at Him, ripping his shirt so the buttons fired across the room, clattering across the floor like glass marbles…

She grabbed at his belt and slid her hand inside the waistband of His underwear. She could feel how hard He already was. He sliced through the straps of her bra and watched as it fell to the mattress. Her breasts heaved, pert as her nipples, which tightened from want…

She pulled at his trousers and briefs, freeing Him from his cotton confinement so he grew large in her hand. She fell backward onto her mattress. Raised her hips, presenting Herself to Him. His fingernail sliced through the thin lace like a scalpel. She lay exposed, He knelt exposed, and she guided Him toward her as he lowered and took her breast into his mouth., tonguing at the fresh blood on Her chest. She took a sharp breath, gnawing on her lower lip, as for the first time, she felt Him fully enter her….

The first new moment of penetration & how it pierced, she scratched at him. Her fingers stroking through the hair on His chest to pull him in as if he was her reined Beast. She gouged at his back and with each lash, she felt him swell and thrust inside her. His vein pulsing, she wrapped her legs around His waist. Owning Him.

He pinned her wrists to the mattress and they fucked. Hard. Sweat covered, blood smeared, a purity of carnal lust. She gyrated her hips and she felt it near. He stretched and arched His back, bracing himself. Momentarily, she lost His face. Her body tightened as her orgasm neared, that sweet deep hunger just before release. His eyes rolled toward the revolving ceiling light above Him as his body shuddered. He roared as she gripped him tightly inside herself.

Their eyes locked once more and as she climaxed, her body convulsing, He came hard inside her emitting deep heavy cries as He slowed. Each stroke was deeper. Harder. Deeper. This Beast had two backs. Her cheeks were tear stained, her face spittle covered. He collapsed with a post orgasmic tremor inside her.

She spoke and, as she did, she heard His voice intone, in union with hers. In legion. Many.

“The Devil has always been inside you,” each confided, looking deeply into the soul of the other.
“The Devil is in us all.”

And the perfectly formed pentangle on her breast seared into her skin.

As she looked at his form, in his face she now found only one. She saw the face of …

And from the corner of her mind, a memory watched her. A Crown of Thorns, tight around its head, and she felt it then. Somewhere deep inside her, a tiny heart beat, for the first time.


If you enjoyed this, follow Bram on Twitter, because he often teases out these stories over a Tweet-thread, and IMO he’s a skilful writer. Submitted for #mmmMondays and #WickedWednesday Why not follow the links & see what others have posted.

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