Let Us Pray

With five candle flames, dancing and leaping to keep the dark at bay, we start our service.

Your pious, reverent, hands, trail my skin and my naked body murmurs its prayers in return. Ours is a religion of equality, of mutual supplication.

Priestess and goddess, artist and muse, you start your work.

Deft fingers skip and flick across skin, sparking nerves to life. Spark after shivering spark soaring and dying in an instant.

This work is ensemble. Lips, neck shoulders, chest, all play their part, all tingling with shards of pleasures.

With incremental pressure you catch one spark, kneading and stroking it into a languid glowing ember in my chest.

You fan this ember, worship it, then with sharp, exquisite, pain you prick, and strike it out.

This is how you choreograph. Across my body you dance me to a frenzy and then subside, building with pleasure, snuffing with pain.

I tremble with breathless revence as you eventually move dowards towards fresh kindling.

And what fires might burn here! Your fingers glide over the summit of my devotion, your hands gently cradle and coax this final fire aflame.

With soft mouth and firm hand you draw me forth. A silken finger slips inside urging, pushing me onwards.

The candles gutter, their energy consumed by the fire raging within me and with a final roar I explode.

This then is my offering, a precious donation which you hungrily accept before laying, sharing this blessed, tingling stillness at my side.