Gotha's Embrace Day 02: Sophie's Session

"Now then, Sophie. I want to let you know that, to truly redeem yourself in Goth'a's eyes, we will need to dig deep. We will need to address those unpleasant feelings of yours, and determine the root cause of their existence. We will need to venture far into your soul, so that we may cleanse that wayward part of you. It will be difficult, but I will be here, with you, the entire journey. Trust in me. Trust in Goth'a. Can you do that for me, Sophie?"

His lulling voice was alluring and comforting. I nodded dully.

"Good. Good. Now Sophie, we're going to try a change of tack here. Do not worry, it will all be made clear soon. Can you do that for me, Sophie?"

I nodded again.

"Good. I wanted to ask you something personal. Am I right in assuming that... you did not have the best relationship with your father?"

That line of questioning immediately brought me back to reality. "What... How? I mean..."

"Be at ease, child. I could tell by your alarm when we first met yesterday that you suffered some discomfort due to my appearance. You then told me that I resembled your late father, and I reached my own conclusions afterwards. But tell me, Sophie, is this true? Was your relationship with your father strained somehow?"

"I... Yes. My father was... He was..."

"Go on..."

"He was... not a good person."

"How was he not a good person?"

"He was... he was an alcoholic. My mother passed away when I was young and... Wait, I don't see how any of this is relevant to..."

"Shhh. Patience, Sophie. It will all be made clear soon, I promise." Holding his palms forward to soothe my indignation, Father Gregory continued. "What did your father do?"

"What? I don't understand..."

"You do understand, Sophie. And you don't want to face it. That is the reason why I am asking you this. To make you face it. To force you to face it. You must confront your fears, so that you may be made whole once more. Now, what did your father do?"

"It was so long ago, I mean... I had forgotten about it even..." I tried to worm my way out of his invasive queries, but the Abbot was not having any of it.

"Forgotten? Or simply hidden? Maybe it has been buried so deep in your mind that you have allowed it to fester and grow, impairing your judgment, blinding you to the truth, and hurting those around you."

"What are you implying?" I demanded. An anger started to stir within me.

"I am implying, Sophie, that you didn't see the signs of your husband's offences because you didn't want to see them. I am implying that your previous trauma disabled your ability to see the evidence right in front of your eyes, for you instinctively knew that you could not bear the pain of recognizing it. And I am implying, that because of your inability to see the truth, it could foreseeably bring anguish upon all whom you love and hold dear, yet, in the future."

I tried to blot out his words from my mind, but I knew that in some twisted way, he was right. I had ignored all the signs. I had ignored all the warnings. Why had I not even realized? Was it because I was too trusting? Was it because I wanted to believe in the best of everyone? How many had suffered, because I was too obsessed with maintaining a façade of normality, in the face of all that had happened? And my husband, Henry, was he just like my father, abusing my trust so that he could cater to his own perversions? I felt like the reality I knew was crashing down around me, and I didn't know whether to cry or to scream.

"Sophie, there is only one thing we must do. We must confront your deepest, darkest fears, and face them down. You must tear down your walls and your defenses to your most vulnerable self, so that we may heal that which is broken, deep inside of you. Only then, will everything be made clear."

I didn't want to. God, I didn't want to do that. All that pain that I had been hiding deep down inside, forgotten, buried, I didn't want to dredge it all up again. It was too much. I couldn't.

"Please..." I begged.

"We must, Sophie. Otherwise, you will be doomed to repeat your mistakes forever."

"I can't..."

"Let me help. Let us say another prayer. So that we may have the strength to face what is to come."

"I don't know..."

"Trust in me. Trust in Goth'a. Come Sophie, repeat after me." Again, he started to speak in that guttural fashion a phrase that he claimed was an appeal to the heavens.

"Mgah'ehye ya n'ghft gotha mggoka ye'bthnk." The words twisted in my mouth, slimy, oily, squirming to crawl out of my throat as I painfully imitated his pronunciation. Immediately I felt a heat come over my body, which was suddenly replaced with a profound hollowness. The world shifted in and out of focus. What was he making me say?

"Good, Sophie. Good. Let us continue."

I nodded, but it seemed that it wasn't me that did so.

"I want you to think back to your father, Sophie. What did he do to you?"

"He... he..."

"What did he do?"

"I.... he..." I struggled to get the words out, but it was like fighting against an invisible current.

"Say it."

"He... he... abused me."

"How did he abuse you?"

"He... he..."

"Yes?"

"He... touched me... in places. Oh god. He touched me." The sudden realization of what I had just revealed made me cover my face in shame. I bit back a sob as the horrendous recollection, concealed for so long, came bubbling up to the surface, along with all the familiar sensations of humiliation and foulness that I had worked so hard to purge from myself.

"You have been very brave, Sophie, to admit your pain. Keep going."

"I told him to stop. That it was wrong. But he wouldn't... he... he..."

"Keep going, Sophie."

"He said I had finally come of age. That we belonged together, that he... would... he would..."

"Go on, Sophie," Father Gregory pressed.

"He would call me his good little girl. Even when I told him to stop. I begged for him to stop. But he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't." I couldn't go on anymore. It was too much. Even the thought of it was making me sick.

Perhaps sensing my distress, Father Gregory stopped prompting me. He handed me a glass of water out of nowhere, which I took and drank down mindlessly. It was refreshing and seemed to clear my mind, if only a little. During that time, Father Gregory lit a small candle at the corner of his desk, the faint musky scent of which wafted about the room, calming my nerves. I handed the glass back.

After a pause, Father Gregory began again, his voice low and methodical. "Sophie. This is going to be difficult to hear, but... I have a theory as to why your father wouldn't stop."

I waited for him to continue, not wanting to make eye contact.

"Your father didn't stop, because... deep down inside, you didn't want him to stop."

I looked up in disbelief. It was such a ridiculous notion that I was at a loss for words.

"Sophie, you didn't want him to stop because part of you... enjoyed it."

In a fit of anger, I found my voice. "What? Are you crazy? That's not it at all, that's..."

"Sophie, we all have some perverse inner demon that we cannot admit. This is yours. You may not like it, but it is true."

"No! That's sick! You're SICK! I'm done with this! I'm done with..."

"Sophie!" Father Gregory's voice rang out again, a deep resounding baritone that collapsed my body onto my chair. "You must face your nature! Can't you see? You didn't want your father to stop, just as you didn't want to face the truth of your husband. You knew it was wrong, but you let it go on anyway. Why else would you let it persist? You wanted it to happen. That's why you ignored it!"

"That's... not... true..." I struggled to get the words out.

"It is true! You are a kind woman, Sophie, but your overcompensation in this regard is directly related to the shame you feel. You allowed your husband's affairs to go unnoticed, because of the guilt you carried from your past experiences. And your inability to do anything else, is due to your fear that you may actually come to take pleasure in the sins perpetrated upon you." Father Gregory words were like nails hammered into my soul. They exposed every dread that I had ever experienced, laid them bare, and forced me to confront each in its rawest form. Was it true? Was I so weak? Was everything I believed in a lie?

"I know it is difficult, Sophie, but that is the work of Goth'a. To understand ourselves, fully, completely, to accept all that we are, our flaws, our failures, and to humble ourselves before his grace. To lay ourselves bare before his judgment is the highest calling we can aspire to."

There was a pause as I considered his words. I didn't know what to believe at this point. My life had been a farce. It had all been for naught. Father Gregory had taken everything I had believed in, and shredded it so thoroughly in such a short time that not even a scrap of it remained. I stared unseeingly outwards, as if in a coma, and in that silence, Father Gregory approached me and knelt down to whisper in my ear.

"Let us say a prayer for solace and redemption. So that we may find salvation."

I dutifully waited for his next words.

"Ahph'nglui ya orr'e ph'nglui n'ghft suzl syha'h gotha'bthnk"

This time, repeating the words seemed easier, like I was absorbing them somehow, like grease into a sponge. Strange sensations ran all along my skin like tiny grasping fingers, poking and prodding, ending with light prickles all over my body as if I had been doused in a million microscopic needles. The result was that I felt like my every nerve had been ignited to the point of hyper-sensitivity, so much so that I could feel every thread and strand of my habit, every spongy contour of the sandals beneath my feet, and every little gust wafting about my hair. But most of all, I could especially feel a tight friction between my legs, a tingling centered upon my sex, that just the simple act of rubbing my thighs against the roughness of my knickers was almost enough to make me gasp.

Without warning, Father Gregory grasped my left hand and lifted it into his. His coarse skin grazed the back of mine, causing goosebumps to run along my arms. I almost moaned.

"Sophie, have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?"

"Umm... what..." I mumbled, puzzling through my thoughts, trying to ignore the tingles that were running up my arm and into my body. The air was now so thick with that musky sweet fragrance that I found it difficult to think through its haze.

"Stockholm syndrome. Do you know of it?"

"Yes... yes I think so." I gently removed my hand from his, not wanting him to see my unease. If he noticed, he didn't give any indication. "Isn't that when the victim sympathizes with the captor? What does that have to do with..."

"You are correct, Sophie. That is exactly what it is. But what you should know is that, there is a specific type of syndrome even more sinister than Stockholm's. That is the temptation of the flesh. Out of all the sins, it is the most imperceptible, the most seductive, and the easiest one to fall prey to."

"Yes, but what does that have to do with... with me?"

"It is my belief, Sophie, that you are innately vulnerable to such influences, given your disposition. It is exactly what your husband has mastered, and what your father sought to achieve. By overwhelming your body with baser needs, they would have controlled and dominated your desire, rendering you helpless and unable to resist their further advances."

"That's... that's... preposterous..." This time my denial was much weaker. Was it true? Was that why I hadn't stopped my father, or my husband? Because I was a victim of such a tactic? At the same time, I couldn't deny that my body felt flush, and that I was suddenly taken by a giddy rush of light-headedness. My breath was coming in short gasps, my heart was racing, and my palms were clammy and slick with sweat.

"Let me show you." Father Gregory took out an old tape recorder with large silvery buttons from his desk. He placed it on the table carefully. "This was recorded in secret, and I should warn you, what you are about to hear is... graphic." He pressed the play button.

Immediately, lewd sounds erupted loudly from the speaker. I could hear sucking and squelching and slurping, and most audibly, a shrill shameless voice shrieking over all else. "Oh God! Mr. Lancaster! Don't stop! Oh... it feels so good, Mr. Lancaster! Why does it feel so good? Mmmmmm... keep going. Yes. Yes! YES! Just like that! Ooooo..."

I put my hands over my ears, trying to block out the girl's squeals of delight. Her libidinous moans and howls were never-ending as she called out to my husband. I could tell he was doing something to her, driving her into a lustful frenzy.

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster! Yes! Yes! Use me like a whore! Oh god! Do you do that to your wife? Does she know? Does she know how good you are with... with... OH GOD! How... oooo ... How can you... ooooo..."

I heard spanking and inaudible voices in the background. "Stop." I whispered. The voices continued mercilessly.

"Yes. Fuck me! Fuck me! I'm your slut, Mr. Lancaster! I'll do anything you say! I'll say anything you want me to say! Just put it in me! Yes, just like that! Oh god... yes... yes... give it to me... please... don't stop..."

"STOP IT! SHUT IT OFF!" I screamed. Something inside me snapped, and it felt like a thousand suns had burst in my chest. "SHUT THAT WHORE UP!"

Father Gregory clicked the tape recorder off. He eyed me closely.

I had gotten halfway out of my chair. My body felt hot, feverish. I was panting heavily. My legs were shaking. Worst of all, there was now a growing dampness in my underwear. The smell of my own musk was now mixing with the heavy air, making me dizzy but also strangely excited.

Was I actually turned on by this depraved sequence of events? Why was it that I felt like I was in heat, as if my body was aflame? Had the abuse I had suffered under my father affected me so deeply that I was having such a perverse reaction? I didn't have answers to any of those questions.

And... are you sure you didn't enjoy it? A dark voice asked from within me. The terrible thing was, I wasn't even certain anymore.

Father Gregory finally broke the silence. "You see, Sophie, not only was your husband an adulterer, but he was a master manipulator as well. That girl, she did not initially want to partake in such wicked acts, but your husband, flooding her with sinful urges, eventually broke her down until she was enslaved to her body's needs. Then, at your husband's discretion, she implicated the other members of the Catholic Church in that unfortunate scandal. But she never revealed your husband's involvement, no. Your husband, being ever so clever, even converted to a new religion, our religion, to make it seem like he had wanted to make amends. All to hide his lies. So that he could continue his sins under a different guise."

I glared at Father Gregory angrily, but I knew that it was the truth that I hated. He continued.

"And that is what your father tried to do to you, long ago. He tempted you, tried to tame your body for his own purposes. To overpower you with carnal cravings. Thankfully, your father was unsuccessful. But he left deep scars upon your soul. Scars that, if left untended, could foreseeably consume you."

I closed my eyes. That pungent muskiness was now so overpowering that I could almost taste its sickly saccharine flavor. The world seemed to be in an endless spin. Could it be true? Had my father damaged me so severely that I was vulnerable to emotional manipulation? Could my weaknesses eventually overcome me, driving me to accept, maybe even perpetuate his sins? I tried to find my centre, my calm, but all I felt was a unending darkness. And in that darkness, unbidden, visions swirled into my mind, soaring and gliding, seeming to float before settling into the nooks and crannies of my mind, teasing, whispering, until I didn't know what was real and what was imagined.

Visions of me and my father in my bedroom. He was whispering something in my ear while moving his body closer and closer to mine. My mouth was agape in a frozen cry, but my eyes were glazed with longing. His hands made their way across my shoulders, down my back, grazing my belly, before moving further down to part open my legs. I didn't try to resist as he breathed down my neck. The images faded into blackness. If he had been allowed to continue, I would have ended up just like that slut, ready and willing to fulfill his most depraved desires. I shuddered.

More visions of my father clouded my thoughts. I saw one where I was struggling to resist his advances, but he simply ignored my protests, patiently and methodically working my body with expert skill, playing me like a violin, until by the end, I was reduced to a quivering mass of sensitive flesh. As I looked up with doeful eyes filled with insatiate desire, my father only smiled down at me and murmured something in my ear. All of a sudden my hands leapt under my own clothes, running up and down, rubbing every inch of my delicate skin. One of my hands reached under my skirt, trying to find the source of my need...

Another vision. I was lying in my father's lap, his left hand squeezing between my legs. I couldn't see what he was doing, given the angle, but I could see myself humming and purring, shivering as his arm slid back and forth to cause ripples in the fabric of my clothing. With his other hand, he stroked my hair, calling me his good little girl. My tender face was a portrait of elation and satisfaction at his praise. There was itch down there, something that couldn't quite be scratched, an irritating nuisance that only grew and grew until it could no longer be ignored.

And so the visions continued, one after another, cascading into my mind. Each one detailing my submission. Reveling in my eventual surrender. I had wanted it to happen. All of it. I had wanted to be used. Like some harlot.

Father Gregory's voice seemed far away as the sordid images swirled around me. "You must be brave enough to admit to yourself, Sophie, that you have a profound, sinful nature." I felt fingers under my chin, slowly lifting my head, and as I blinked my eyes open, I saw the bottomless gray pits of Father Gregory's staring deep into my soul. I couldn't respond except to stare back. My eyes were lidded. My breathing was heavy. Subconsciously, I bit the bottom of my parted lips. Everything was so hazy and so soft and so wonderful...

Suddenly, Father Gregory let go of me, and I almost fell out of my chair. He clapped his hands, breaking the trance, stirring me from my torpor. "My, my, but it is getting late." He gestured towards an ebony framed clock behind me that I had somehow missed on my way in. "It is almost time for evening prayer, and I don't want to keep you. After all, we do not want the others to worry."

I slowly got up, dazed and confused. It seemed like I had emerged from a dream. Or a nightmare. I noticed that the candle flame on Father Gregory's desk had burnt out, a thin trail of smoke wisping into the air above.

How long had it been?

"Let us continue this at a later time, shall we? Maybe tomorrow?"

I stopped and turned back towards him disbelievingly. "You want me to... to come back?"

"Why of course, my dear!" Father Gregory exclaimed. "We have only begun to scratch the surface of your... afflictions. We will need many more sessions like this one if we are to truly heal your wounds. Do not worry, I am certain that we will be successful in the end and purge you of your demons. And you will be all the better for it, I promise."

With a hand on my back, he led me to the door and gently guided me out. "You must excuse me, but there are still a few things I must attend to before I come down." He stood in the doorway as I exited the room, a mysterious smile upon his lips. "Why don't you run along now. Think about everything that we've spoken of today. I will see you soon." Before I had even a chance to respond, he shut the door, abruptly leaving me, alone and bewildered in that dark, empty hallway.