The Rituals of Thelema Ch. 02

Our train pulled into Gare de Nord at twenty three twenty six local time. The platform swarmed with life as we disembarked, passengers intermingling with the always over excitable station employees. Elizabeth insisted on keeping her baggage, a bastard collection of handbag, shoulder satchel and small wheeled case. Not wishing to make a scene I indulged her but affirmed to George the Hotel chauffeur their disposal at his earliest convenience, Elizabeth I could stomach presently, her collection of trivia and poor taste certainly not. The ride to the Hotel took but a few minutes, Elizabeth an erupting volcano of exclamations and questions, the latter which I amicably enough attempted to both discern and answer. Roderick I was pleased to note had disappeared as succinctly from her consciousness as he had from life and I smiled inwardly at the service I had done for her and humanity in general.

The Rabelais was neither gratingly traditional nor garishly modern, managing remarkably to keep genuinely service orientated yet charmingly unimposing. The entrance was modest, more in keeping with a Gentleman's club than a hotel, yet opened into a lobby wonderfully welcoming and uniquely Parisian.

"Your suite is ready Monsieur."

Names have little importance in the world we had entered, one either had or didn't have privilege and automatic admission, perceived rank or financial substance had little sway. My arrival at the Hotel was always expected but never formally arranged, a convenience I preferred. Appointment diaries are for the social pages of the newspapers not the consternation of single Gentlemen.

"We will eat in the main restaurant in an hour. Please have something suitable prepared."

The elevator to the fourth floor was at the end of a row of three. The operator, a retired legionnaire understood fully whom had access and whom did not and the chance of any interloper ever reaching beyond his questioning gaze was unlikely at the least and probably fatal for the antagonist at worse.

"Salaam alaikum."

"Alaikum salaam."

Politeness costs nothing and buys much favor. That the man was Muslim as opposed to Jewish or Catholic was of no real import except to recognize his faith showed respect for his beliefs and by extension his work ethics. The man who guards your back is the one who saves your life more often than not.

"Good evening Monsieur."

Bowing without acquiescence is an art for only the most experienced practitioner, Michel Fabeaux had been my manservant and confidante for over twenty years and successfully walked the razors edge of servile submission and personal pride quite perfectly. Dressed impeccably as always his gaunt frame could fill the foreground yet disappear into the background instantaneously. Ever as the elevator doors opened he would be immediately in view, I had concluded long ago he slept thus just in case I should dare to arrange a surprise appearance.

"We will be dining in an hour Michel, please have the girls make Mademoiselle Elizabeth comfortable and presentable for the salon."

Marie and Cecile stepped from the shadows and eagerly took charge of their mistress. The costumes they had chosen to wear for the welcoming were spectacular, somewhere between Turkish Seraglio and a Sadomasochist convention. Momentarily I was distracted then thinking better of the occasion turned with Michel to attend to my own preparations.

"Monsieur?"

The legionnaire's voice was clearly audible but enunciated to cause minimal offense.

"One hour corporal, till then no one."

The doors of the elevator whispered shut exactly as the main salons doors swung open. Everything was as it should be, indeed had I but walked out of the room a few moments before rather than a fortnight not one iota would have changed. Michel was indispensable, Marie and Cecile perhaps a little more replaceable but the thought of retraining either was waxing. So much patience, explanation and whipping needed to procure the exact blend of servitude and spirit, yes given a few more years they would start to depreciate in value and suitability but still that was for another times resolution. Presently my Parisian establishment was complete and comfortable, pleasing both the function and esthetics of my existence, Michel was second only to my London butler as the best of servants, both Marie and Cecile more than adequate in all things domestic and amazingly harmonious when fucked or beaten.

"Who is she Michel?"

The girl was pretty enough, at least from the back view presented as she lay across the whipping stool with thighs spread and ass cheeks pert and ready for caress.

"Applied for a position earlier today Sir and decided the terms and conditions appealed to her nature exactly."

Casually running my finger between her labia lips I was pleased to encounter an excellent wad of love honey already formed. I removed my jacket and passing it to Michel unfastened the sliver links at my shirt wrists to enable the sleeves to be rolled upwards to the elbow. I chose a whippy Egyptian crop, the kind preferred by the Mameluke horsemen who still roamed the desert around the Pyramids, such useful mercenaries always willing to rob a grave or supply a suitably virginal slave. I circled the stool allowing the girl to see me appear in the far right of her vision then moved slowly across till totally central. She appeared to wish to speak but the gag tight in her mouth meant her eyes had to say all that needed imparting.

She was indeed beautiful, dark haired, olive skinned, that strangely unique combination of errant genes that manifests only in Paris, an aquiline nose and thick lips swelling around the ball seductively clasped between her pearlescent teeth. Raising her chin with the crop held in my right hand I slapped her hard with my left and watched as the shudder of delicious shock and pain traveled down her neck and spine to end as a tremble in her well upholstered hips. Returning to the back of the stool I was rewarded with the view of fluid spreading down her inner thighs in confirmation of the involuntary but considerable climax.

"I have never cared for ugliness. Mediocrity surrounds our every waking breathe, the photogenically diseased pervading our senses with their infection. Beauty is my only remaining pleasure and unless it regales me in reality I will not bother to look except in my imagination and memory."

Every comma, each stop, each breathe marking pause was accompanied by the slap of stinging leather on wanton flesh. Once perhaps youthful virility or rising angst might have caused an uncontrollable desire for climactic crescendo to my arms exercise but now in the twilight of my passage I could immerse myself in the very essence of cause and effect, love and hate, pain and exquisite pleasure for both willing supplicant and fortunate instigator. This exchange of energies, welts of willing purpose and falling rain of confirmation forming the very foundation of existence, one and other unique yet totally merged in homogeneous vitality.

"Monsieur your bath is prepared."

Michel's voice barely reached my consciousness. The electrical discharge arcing through the rhythmical but intermittent connection of my lightning rod to her earthly form had cast a heavy aura that deadened almost time itself.

"Monsieur?"

"Yes, yes Michel I hear."

I felt the crop taken from my hand, the steadying arm supporting as my frame felt the sudden weight of life force I had ingested, supremely heavy of body and devoid of breathe I manifested the very epitome of ejaculatory euphoria whilst avoiding the unnecessarily wasteful physicality of vascular expansion and glandular discharge.

"The bath will rejuvenate Monsieur before dinner."

The steaming tub relaxed and refreshed as Michel suggested, the soft hands that skimmed what stubble had amassed since morning from my cheeks also took time and enjoyment in gently easing any ache or stiffness from my shoulders.

"The girl was pleasing Monsieur?"

I nodded gently and allowed the hot towel resting on my face to work its magic.

"We should continue to retain her?"

The question baffled me slightly, Michel knew my tastes, my appetites, the needs of my body, intellect and arts yet suddenly this girl presented a situation that required my assent? Again I nodded but made mental note that this singularly peculiar occasion needed, at an apropos time more studied consideration.

"Let her remain on the stool for while Michel. I will inspect her after dinner."

The dining room of the Rabelais was so exceptionally unique it would without exception prove an unforgettable experience at every sitting. The general ambiance presented an air of Sultanate decadence although the decoration and furnishings were more Louis Quatorze than Ottoman. One could well imagine the Great Sun King wandering amidst the richly damasked and gilded furniture, slipper-ed feet muffled by the brightly patterned carpeting, admiring the human tableau portraying the wild excesses of the Decameron. Page boys dressed in Gaudy Egyptian attire scurried back and forth between kitchens and the exotic waitresses stripped to the waist to expose breasts adorned with heavy golden nipple rings. Each table was so constructed to allow a living naked female form to be included in the central section and her neck, chest, belly and thighs to be used as resting places for displays of fruit, delicious sweet-cakes and all manner of exquisite delicacies. Beneath the tables and immediately in front of each chair knelt a bevy of gossamer adorned servants whose sole duty was to ensure the diners constant pleasure by performing fellatio or cunnilingus throughout the course of the meal. I personally refrained from using the availability of these oral slaves as an excuse to avoid the short interruption of utilizing water closets but some guests were inclined to more sloth like behavior.

Elizabeth had been seated for some minutes and as I approached made some small effort to rise. I bade her remain in repose, the tilt of her head and the look of pained anguish on her face intimating that a face pressed hard between her thighs was performing with lingual dexterity and had bought her very close to orgasmic release. I took her trembling hand in mine and as our eyes met the veil of imminent little death lifted and opened mouth she succumbed utterly. Slipping an absinthe soaked sugar cube between her swollen lips I watched as the shadowy specter of her soul slipped into a dimension I could taste but never truly experience for such is the mysterious power of the goddess, transmuting the essence of pure unrefined pleasure into both creation and divination.

I took my place at the high table and gazed upon a room of strangers. Dinner at the Rabelais was an event, something whispered within the circles of the devout and depraved equally. The upturned faces were expectant and wishing only merriment and pleasure unbounded to regale the meal I raised my hands to announce benediction.

"Accept those who come joyously to your table Goddess, not trusting in any right but only in your manifold generosity to those unworthy of even stagnant water and fetid bread. Grant us to eat the flesh and drink the blood of the innocent in your honor and indulge all manner of perversion for your worship and amusement."

Enthusiastic rather than just polite applause suggested acceptance and I signaled for festivities to commence. The oral slave who knelt between my parted knees was Nubian, her shaven head glistening like polished ebony. Her nails had been filed into points not unlike a panthers and I was amazed how dexterously she was able to smoothly unfasten the waistband and fly of my trousers to withdraw my semi erect penis and ball sac from their enclosure. Momentarily she looked up and I was able to admire the gilded eye makeup painted in the traditional Egyptian style. Her teeth glinting like ivory slabs between lapis lazuli painted lips opened just sufficiently to expose the delicious addition of an exotic gold tongue adornment. As the hot agile mouth swallowed me to the hilt I glanced towards Elizabeth whom I immediately realized was quite beyond the point where food and drink were of any significance. I beckoned the head waitress from the shadows behind and to the left of my chair.

"Prepare the Lady for a tour of the room."

Elizabeth's return to the dining room was flamboyant in the extreme. Stripped of her earlier elegant finery she lay naked but for hosiery reclined on a sterling silver beef carving wagon, her buttocks positioned in the indent to accommodate the joint itself and her spine following the rivulets designed to carry flowing juices to the various other areas. Her labia lips were still swollen from the lavish attentions of the oral slave and had opened quite sufficiently to allow her diamond clitoral piercing to glint in the candlelight. Both her vaginal cleft and anus showed the slight sheen of a good lubricants introduction in preparation for what would be expected to be an entertaining and fulfilling night. As was the custom the tables had started bidding for order of precedence by throwing golden sovereigns into the center of the dining room where the younger waitresses scampered about both retrieving the coins and keeping an approximate tally.