Page 61 of The Flesh Remembers
The dais writhed at the room's far end, a mass of conjoined bodies glistening in the candlelight. The volunteers willingly offered themselves, their limbs and torsos intertwined in endless movement. Skin slid against skin, mouths pressed to trembling flesh, and the air was thick with the sound of their pleasure, a symphony of moans and whispered prayers.
Eleanor’s gaze was drawn to the altar, her breath bated as she watched. The participants moved with hypnotic grace, their bodies forming shifting patterns that seemed to pulse with the energy of the apparatus above. She felt a pull, a magnetic force tugging at her chest, her belly, and her thighs. It was impossible to look away.
Lord Blackwood’s voice echoed through the hall, rich and commanding. “Tonight, we weave ourselves into the tapestry of unmaking,” he declared, his dark eyes gleaming. “Let your desires guide you. Let your bodies and souls merge with the coil’s infinite power.”
At his words, a fresh wave of volunteers approached the dais. They moved slowly, reverently, shedding the last of their garments as they climbed onto the living altar. Hands reached for them, drawing them into the heaving mass. Their moans joined the chorus, harmonizing with the apparatus’s low hum.
Eleanor felt her pulse quicken as she watched. The scene was mesmerizing and unsettling, a delicate dance on the edge of ecstasy and madness. The participants moved with an almost choreographed precision, their bodies arching and bending in perfect synchronicity. Fingers traced patterns on sweat-slick skin, mouths left trails of kisses along trembling spines, and the faint shimmer of galvanic energy lit the air around them.
Her body ignited with heat as the ritual's pull gripped her. The runes on her arms burned brighter, searing against her skin, and she gasped, her breath snagging in her chest. Theapparatus thrummed, its coils spitting sparks into the air, a relentless force driving the ritual toward an unstoppable climax. Blackwood turned to Eleanor, his voice low and reverent.
“You are the heart of this ritual, Eleanor. The coil responds to you. Step forward, and let it take what it needs.”
She hesitated, her heart pounding. The pull of the apparatus was stronger now, its energy wrapping around her like invisible hands. Her skin burned with the glow of the runes, and every nerve in her body screamed for release. She felt exposed and vulnerable, yet… she wanted to give herself to it. The pull of it, the lure summoning her, was absolute, and she could not fight it.
James appeared at her side, his presence grounding her. His half-luminous form shimmered in the candlelight, the faint glow of his skin casting soft light on her face. He reached for her hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Her knees buckled, but he caught her, his fingers curling around her waist to steady her.
“Eleanor,” he murmured, his voice rich and resonant. “You’re ready. Trust me.”
She looked up at him, a gasp escaping her lips at the sight of his glowing, otherworldly eyes, filled with longing and an intensity that made her tremble. She nodded, unable to speak, and he smiled, a slow curve of his lips sending a fresh wave of desire rushing through her.
James led her to the dais, his hand warm and steady on her lower back. The altar pulsed beneath them, a living, breathing mass of flesh. The participants reached for them as they stepped closer, their hands brushing against Eleanor’s thighs, hips, and arms. She shivered at their touch, her skin alight with sensation.
The apparatus loomed above her. It seemed to reach out with invisible tendrils snaking up her spine and slithering under her skin. She felt it in her bones, in her blood, in the very core of her being. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and she couldn’t resist its pull.
James turned to her, his gaze burning into hers. “Let it take you,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet caress. “Let yourself feel everything.”
Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, his kiss deep and consuming. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. His hands roamed her body, tracing the glowing runes on her skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
The altar responded, its rhythm quickening as the participants arched and writhed in time with the coil’s hum. Their moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that filled the hall. Eleanor felt hands on her, soft and reverent, mouths pressing kisses to her skin as if worshipping her. She panted softly, her body adrift as waves of sensation washed over her.
The climax came in a blinding surge of light. The apparatus screamed, its coils sparking violently as the living altar convulsed. The participants cried out, their bodies quaking as the ritual consumed them. Flesh melded with flesh, forming an intricate tapestry that glowed with an otherworldly light.
The walls of the hall shimmered, revealing glimpses of another realm, shadows twisting and contorting, phantoms reaching out with spectral hands. Eleanor stared in horrified fascination as she saw their faces, their eyes pleading. She felt the altar’s pull, the magnetic force of the apparatus drawing her deeper into the ritual.
James wrapped his arms around her, his touch grounding her even as the world unravelled around them. She clung tohim, her body tingling with the force of the energy coursing through her. The altar rose beneath them, tendrils of light wrapping around their bodies, binding them together in a cosmic embrace.
As the last shards of reality fell away, Eleanor let out a cry, her voice joining the chorus of moans and screams. She felt herself slipping, losing all sense of self, yet she couldn’t resist. She gave herself to the tapestry, James, and the coil, surrendering to the storm of pleasure and power.
Excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood
My god, it is glorious to behold. We are creating a new world, or opening a doorway into a new world. Either way, the world will never be the same once this process is completed.
When we began with the subject and Eleanor, I knew we were going deeper than ever. The rituals were more intense and graphic, generating more pain and pleasure than ever before.
Though Eleanor has proven to be more formidable than I first thought, there was no denying how transcendent she looked at the center of the ritual with all that energy flowing through her. Her orgasm shattered her, and the rest of us could feel the waves of it flowing off of her as she screamed her release.
We will continue to go further, deeper. We will break this world, take it, and change it to suit our needs. The world will bow down to us and beg for the heel of my boot on their necks, and I step out into this new world.
AGod Among Mortals
The great hall exhaled desire, oppressive heat clinging to Eleanor’s bare skin like the tantalizing touch of an unseen lover. The mingling scents of the hedonistic ritual saturated the air, forming a heady cocktail that invaded her senses. The writhing shapes of shadows teased her eyes with glimpses of indulgence too shameless to resist.
The marble beneath her feet was slick, each step an exercise in balancing against the residue of excess: spilled wine, streaks of sweat, and crimson trails from rituals past. Around her, bodies moved in unrelenting rhythms, tangled in the throes of fleshly worship. Limbs interlocked, fingers dug into yielding flesh, lips sought and devoured hungrily. A symphony of unrepentant desire filled the chamber. The taste of debauchery was sharp and metallic with a hint of honeyed sweetness that lingered on the tongue. Eleanor’s stomachlurched as she passed, her gaze lingering on the glistening, undulating bodies, a forbidden magnetism pulling at her resolve.
Her chest heaved, the carved runes on her skin pulsing faintly with heat that seemed to respond to the charged atmosphere. The altar ahead shimmered with a sheen of offerings past wine, sweat, and the unmistakable remnants of unbridled passion. It beckoned her forward, the energy around it pressing against her like a lover’s insistence, relentless and consuming. Her fingers brushed its edge, trembling at the thought of surrender, her pulse hammering in her ears as fear and desire waged war within her.
And at the heart of it all was James.
