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The Devil In The Convent
- Thread starter Velut Luna
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l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Soooo Greeeaaat!!!
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Devil in the Convent 43
43
All the next day and night we repeat our games, playing them to an ecstatic crescendo, adding new variations, new details to the ritual of my sacrifice, then we fall exhausted into a deep slumber. Disturbed dreams and terrifying scenes traverse our minds, almost as if we share our dream, as if we were one body and one soul.
There was nothing we could hide, you’ve investigated every detail of our wretched lives, you’ve ripped out our hearts, our souls were naked before the judge of our sins. You did your job with ruthless precision, you dissected every fact like a pathologist examining a body to find the cause of death. The Holy Inquisition can be proud of you, the better of the Inquisitors of the Holy Roman Church.
As you found out, after the death of the Abbess Constanza, hatred swept through the Convent. Rivalry between the two parties, Eulalia’s and mine, broke out during the run-up to the election of a new abbess. Eulalia realized that I’d put in play all the my knowledges of the outside world to plot against her, she did the same and managed to snatch from my group Zeza Coppola, who was competing with Elena Marchese, my candidate for election as Abbess, as a dummy competitor, who I can pulled out at the last moment so I could take her place.
I went on the rampage because Zeza was the neice of Tiberio Coppola, President of the Council of Sommeria, at that time possibly the most powerful man in Naples, and his influence was of such importance that I needed the support of the Duke of Nardò, another very powerful man, but one with perverted habits and brutal character, if I was to achieve my goal.
But on this occasion I was betrayed. The Duke of Nardò had set his eyes on the beautiful young Zenobia, related to the Caracciolo family. Her youthful tanned skin and sparkling eyes seemed to the Duke signify a temperament more voluptuous than any other’s, so he determined to seize this great beauty. The Duke's passion for the young girl had become evident, and the wily Eulalia played her cards right so as to enlist the support of the Duke.
She immediately called him and thought up a scheme so he could get hold of the object of his desire. She decided to trick me into believing that the Duke had fallen in love with me, and I fell into the trap. The Duke flattered me, pretended to be in love with me, we met for a night of love and promised his support, but his goal was Zenobia and she was a party to the game. Eulalia pretended to be indignant at the obsessive desires of the Duke for her young relative, but she actually drove Zenobia to indulge the Duke, though in any case she was already agreeable to this, and she acted as a wily charmer in gaining the support of the Archbishop of Naples in elections that led as new Abbess Eulalia Caracciolo ousting me from the competition.
Eulalia, who was notoriously prone to love the female sex, in order to oppress the other sisters who were more interested in having male lovers, introduced Father Andrew of Avellino, in the order of the Theatine Fathers, into the conventual enclosure in the role of Spiritual Father. He was a fanatical supporter of modesty and chastity, he fled women like the plague and mercilessly persecuted those who had sinned. He even proposed - believing that any means were acceptable for achieving the aims he set himself - to accept anonymous letters denouncing this or that woman as a sinner.
His frequent visits made him aware of the tremendous sacrileges that had been committed within the walls of the Convent , the transgressions against the sixth commandment, though he was unaware of the principal crime, the murder of Abbess Constanza Mastrogiudice, which for Eulalia for her part and I for mine, managed to conceal.
But the zeal of the Theatine exceeded all limits, as he excommunicated nuns, and pestered the important people of Naples with his constant admonitions. They succeeded in getting him transferred away to Benevento. But he installed another Theatine Father who was in his confidence as Father Confessor to the Convent. He proved to be merciful person, full of understanding for the weaknesses of the nuns who, wishing to purify their souls began to confess, trusting in the absolution that he was giving them.
WATCH OUT! they come to you in sheep's clothing, but in their hearts are ravening wolves.
You’ve managed to find out everything, nothing has escaped your inquiring eye.
It is the Day of Judgment. Just as if you were the Archangel Michael bearing the sword, you read the sentence, I only remember the words ' ...ex nunc ut ex tunc, et ex tunc ut ex nunc...' The blood freezes in my veins.
‘Eulalia, Euphrasia, Livia, Lucia, you are sentenced to death for having planned and procured the death of the Abbess Constance. This sentence is to be executed by the administering of a lethal dose of poison.’
The others are sentenced to life in prison (I would say more precisely to death in prison).
For the execution of the judgment we are delivered to the secular arm, under the supervision of a Notary, locked in the Convent which is turned into a prison, the windows and doors barred to make it inaccessible.
But you too, the next day, had to give up your soul to your God, your skin to the Earth. You were able to snatch our souls from the Devil's claws and the fire of Hell, but the Devil wanted your life in exchange, or rather, he took it. You were found in your bed dead, apparently from natural causes. It was said that you died from the exhaustion and pain caused by the trial, but you were poisoned by that murderous devil, the one who also took possession of our bodies.
43
All the next day and night we repeat our games, playing them to an ecstatic crescendo, adding new variations, new details to the ritual of my sacrifice, then we fall exhausted into a deep slumber. Disturbed dreams and terrifying scenes traverse our minds, almost as if we share our dream, as if we were one body and one soul.
There was nothing we could hide, you’ve investigated every detail of our wretched lives, you’ve ripped out our hearts, our souls were naked before the judge of our sins. You did your job with ruthless precision, you dissected every fact like a pathologist examining a body to find the cause of death. The Holy Inquisition can be proud of you, the better of the Inquisitors of the Holy Roman Church.
As you found out, after the death of the Abbess Constanza, hatred swept through the Convent. Rivalry between the two parties, Eulalia’s and mine, broke out during the run-up to the election of a new abbess. Eulalia realized that I’d put in play all the my knowledges of the outside world to plot against her, she did the same and managed to snatch from my group Zeza Coppola, who was competing with Elena Marchese, my candidate for election as Abbess, as a dummy competitor, who I can pulled out at the last moment so I could take her place.
I went on the rampage because Zeza was the neice of Tiberio Coppola, President of the Council of Sommeria, at that time possibly the most powerful man in Naples, and his influence was of such importance that I needed the support of the Duke of Nardò, another very powerful man, but one with perverted habits and brutal character, if I was to achieve my goal.
But on this occasion I was betrayed. The Duke of Nardò had set his eyes on the beautiful young Zenobia, related to the Caracciolo family. Her youthful tanned skin and sparkling eyes seemed to the Duke signify a temperament more voluptuous than any other’s, so he determined to seize this great beauty. The Duke's passion for the young girl had become evident, and the wily Eulalia played her cards right so as to enlist the support of the Duke.
She immediately called him and thought up a scheme so he could get hold of the object of his desire. She decided to trick me into believing that the Duke had fallen in love with me, and I fell into the trap. The Duke flattered me, pretended to be in love with me, we met for a night of love and promised his support, but his goal was Zenobia and she was a party to the game. Eulalia pretended to be indignant at the obsessive desires of the Duke for her young relative, but she actually drove Zenobia to indulge the Duke, though in any case she was already agreeable to this, and she acted as a wily charmer in gaining the support of the Archbishop of Naples in elections that led as new Abbess Eulalia Caracciolo ousting me from the competition.
Eulalia, who was notoriously prone to love the female sex, in order to oppress the other sisters who were more interested in having male lovers, introduced Father Andrew of Avellino, in the order of the Theatine Fathers, into the conventual enclosure in the role of Spiritual Father. He was a fanatical supporter of modesty and chastity, he fled women like the plague and mercilessly persecuted those who had sinned. He even proposed - believing that any means were acceptable for achieving the aims he set himself - to accept anonymous letters denouncing this or that woman as a sinner.
His frequent visits made him aware of the tremendous sacrileges that had been committed within the walls of the Convent , the transgressions against the sixth commandment, though he was unaware of the principal crime, the murder of Abbess Constanza Mastrogiudice, which for Eulalia for her part and I for mine, managed to conceal.
But the zeal of the Theatine exceeded all limits, as he excommunicated nuns, and pestered the important people of Naples with his constant admonitions. They succeeded in getting him transferred away to Benevento. But he installed another Theatine Father who was in his confidence as Father Confessor to the Convent. He proved to be merciful person, full of understanding for the weaknesses of the nuns who, wishing to purify their souls began to confess, trusting in the absolution that he was giving them.
WATCH OUT! they come to you in sheep's clothing, but in their hearts are ravening wolves.
You’ve managed to find out everything, nothing has escaped your inquiring eye.
It is the Day of Judgment. Just as if you were the Archangel Michael bearing the sword, you read the sentence, I only remember the words ' ...ex nunc ut ex tunc, et ex tunc ut ex nunc...' The blood freezes in my veins.
‘Eulalia, Euphrasia, Livia, Lucia, you are sentenced to death for having planned and procured the death of the Abbess Constance. This sentence is to be executed by the administering of a lethal dose of poison.’
The others are sentenced to life in prison (I would say more precisely to death in prison).
For the execution of the judgment we are delivered to the secular arm, under the supervision of a Notary, locked in the Convent which is turned into a prison, the windows and doors barred to make it inaccessible.
But you too, the next day, had to give up your soul to your God, your skin to the Earth. You were able to snatch our souls from the Devil's claws and the fire of Hell, but the Devil wanted your life in exchange, or rather, he took it. You were found in your bed dead, apparently from natural causes. It was said that you died from the exhaustion and pain caused by the trial, but you were poisoned by that murderous devil, the one who also took possession of our bodies.
Tremendous writing!!!
Tree
Tree
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Devil in the Convent 44
44
We were conducted down into the basement of the Convent turned into a prison, stripped naked, shackled. The hooded brutes raped and tortured the youngest and most beautiful among us, and several times a day, by groups of four or five of them together, all of us were subjected to the most terrible abuses.
They organized mock trials during which, naked, they inflicted the most brutal suffering on us, accusing us of the most extreme perversions.
'How big was your lover's dick?'
'Come, come pretty whore, feel how big mine is!'
'Let’s see, whore, how d’you like licking your sister’s pussy?'
'Gobble it all up or we’ll split your arse!'
'Open that pussy so we can get four cocks inside it together!'
'Give me your arse so I can explore your guts!'
They threw on the floor a few scraps of leftover food that we had to scrabble for like bitches, tied to our chains, our poor bodies marbled with scars of wounds and bruises from our beatings.
Our sex-parts were continually tormented, we were burned, hung with ropes tied to our breasts, our female parts were explored inside by hands and fists, distorted, dilated, flushed out.
Gobbets of cum mingled with blood from our wounds and the dust on the cellar floor. Our skin was starting to get infected, they took us out to wash the filth off in the cloister garden during thunderstorms.
'That bitch of a servant-girl of yours, wash her well inside her arsehole !'
'Wash your pussy well, when you’ve finished I want to poke right into it!'
Wet, shivering with cold, we were dragged down to the dungeons and our torture began again, in a continuous cycle, without a moment's respite.
We were scrimmaging for scraps of dry bread and mouldy cheese rinds, bones from God-knows-what animals, rotten vegetables, remains of fruit that had been chewed by those beasts, our captors.
To appease our pangs of hunger, we even ate the cockroaches as they ventured out at night in search of food, 'mors tua vita mea'. A more delectable food were those little mice that were attracted with tiny crumbs and remnants cheese-rind. In a short time they too were exterminated, there remained for us only a few spiders and the prey they caught.
Some of us were picked up and carried into another cell by six or seven brutes. We could hear the screams of pain, the sneers of the brutes, hammer blows, desperate cries, the smell of burnt skin, moans getting weaker, death-rattles, and of those ones we heard no more.
The number of survivors decreased. Others died of starvation, fevers, infections. Their corpses were left for a few days on the floor of the basement, the number of brutes was always the same, so our chances of being tortured increased as the number of living victims diminished.
There was always one constant presence: the hooded cape with black and red crosses on the chest and mask, the Notary, who was empowered to supervise the execution of judgments and instead orchestrated this orgy of torture, the physical and mental annihilation of us poor sinners.
In the end, six of us remained, the four who were to have been eliminated first by drinking poison: Eulalia, Euphrasia, Livia, and I, Lucy, along with Agnes and Lavinia. Then Agnes, Lavinia and Livia were taken away together and did not return.
Desperate, now it's down to us three. Who’ll go first? Perhaps Euphrasia, then me, and finally in the ranks of honour, Eulalia, the new Abbess, of whose downfall we're all victims, cancelling out our rivalry.
Poor Eulalia, yes you poisoned Abbess Constance with the help of Agatha, but Euphrasia and I poisoned her with the complicity of Livia, and now here we are, awaiting the execution of our death sentence.
But what will happen, will they lead us into a cell and give us a cup of poison? Will they be saying, 'Let's drink to your health! Cheers!?’ I doubt it, now we’ve experienced the brutality of this sadist who so relishes our destruction.
44
We were conducted down into the basement of the Convent turned into a prison, stripped naked, shackled. The hooded brutes raped and tortured the youngest and most beautiful among us, and several times a day, by groups of four or five of them together, all of us were subjected to the most terrible abuses.
They organized mock trials during which, naked, they inflicted the most brutal suffering on us, accusing us of the most extreme perversions.
'How big was your lover's dick?'
'Come, come pretty whore, feel how big mine is!'
'Let’s see, whore, how d’you like licking your sister’s pussy?'
'Gobble it all up or we’ll split your arse!'
'Open that pussy so we can get four cocks inside it together!'
'Give me your arse so I can explore your guts!'
They threw on the floor a few scraps of leftover food that we had to scrabble for like bitches, tied to our chains, our poor bodies marbled with scars of wounds and bruises from our beatings.
Our sex-parts were continually tormented, we were burned, hung with ropes tied to our breasts, our female parts were explored inside by hands and fists, distorted, dilated, flushed out.
Gobbets of cum mingled with blood from our wounds and the dust on the cellar floor. Our skin was starting to get infected, they took us out to wash the filth off in the cloister garden during thunderstorms.
'That bitch of a servant-girl of yours, wash her well inside her arsehole !'
'Wash your pussy well, when you’ve finished I want to poke right into it!'
Wet, shivering with cold, we were dragged down to the dungeons and our torture began again, in a continuous cycle, without a moment's respite.
We were scrimmaging for scraps of dry bread and mouldy cheese rinds, bones from God-knows-what animals, rotten vegetables, remains of fruit that had been chewed by those beasts, our captors.
To appease our pangs of hunger, we even ate the cockroaches as they ventured out at night in search of food, 'mors tua vita mea'. A more delectable food were those little mice that were attracted with tiny crumbs and remnants cheese-rind. In a short time they too were exterminated, there remained for us only a few spiders and the prey they caught.
Some of us were picked up and carried into another cell by six or seven brutes. We could hear the screams of pain, the sneers of the brutes, hammer blows, desperate cries, the smell of burnt skin, moans getting weaker, death-rattles, and of those ones we heard no more.
The number of survivors decreased. Others died of starvation, fevers, infections. Their corpses were left for a few days on the floor of the basement, the number of brutes was always the same, so our chances of being tortured increased as the number of living victims diminished.
There was always one constant presence: the hooded cape with black and red crosses on the chest and mask, the Notary, who was empowered to supervise the execution of judgments and instead orchestrated this orgy of torture, the physical and mental annihilation of us poor sinners.
In the end, six of us remained, the four who were to have been eliminated first by drinking poison: Eulalia, Euphrasia, Livia, and I, Lucy, along with Agnes and Lavinia. Then Agnes, Lavinia and Livia were taken away together and did not return.
Desperate, now it's down to us three. Who’ll go first? Perhaps Euphrasia, then me, and finally in the ranks of honour, Eulalia, the new Abbess, of whose downfall we're all victims, cancelling out our rivalry.
Poor Eulalia, yes you poisoned Abbess Constance with the help of Agatha, but Euphrasia and I poisoned her with the complicity of Livia, and now here we are, awaiting the execution of our death sentence.
But what will happen, will they lead us into a cell and give us a cup of poison? Will they be saying, 'Let's drink to your health! Cheers!?’ I doubt it, now we’ve experienced the brutality of this sadist who so relishes our destruction.
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
P
Pia
Guest
This is so clever! Brilliantly executed! I'm blown away!
P
Pia
Guest
Amazing images - they fit the text so perfectly!
P
Pia
Guest
This is ART!
P
Pia
Guest
Sometimes I am sorry to not be right on top of a story as it is posted.... Sometimes I simply want to sink deeper and deeper into a sequence of episodes - this is one of those times.... This mad, crazy, beautiful swirl of loveliness and agony is like drowning slowly in the most luscious asylum in the world! Brilliantly creative work!
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Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Devil in the Convent 45
45
I feel your warmth, still half asleep, without opening my eyes I roll onto your supine body, kiss you on the mouth, you bite my lips, penetrate me. We stay motionless, our bodies fused, one flesh, in a time-warp, while our pleasure increases with the heat of our bodies. Excitement is growing, I reach a crazy orgasm without moving a muscle, a slight movement in me and your hot cum erupts - moments of eternity!
It’s evening, in the automatic shower we rid our bodies of trouble and torpor, gently stroking each other’s anatomy, still kissing. You lift me up, holding me tight under my arms, I enwrap your hips with my thighs, again your dagger sinks into my flesh. I arch my back, supported by your arms behind me, in a balletic posture, a balance masses, while the water falls on my breast.
With wide-open arms outstretched, my hands touching the walls, it’s an aesthetic of crucifixion. I reach orgasm just before the climax of your pleasure and your seed flows into me, warm fluid of life, immediately I follow you to a new orgasm. I feel the stress of your muscles striving to maintain this balance as long as possible, the sculptor who could transfer into inert matter the whole ecstatic charge of this figure would create a supreme work of art.
Four egg yolks and eight tablespoons of sugar, a thick golden cream, hot coffee added and immediately scrambled, two steaming cups of pure energy. I remain naked without drying my hair to the delight of your eyes. While you slowly get dressed, sadness invades my heart.
Luna- 'Don’t leave Ciro, stay with me, I'm still scared!'
Ciro- 'Luna, my sweet Luna, I would like to, but it's forbidden, the last part of the path of this tragic dénouement you’ll have to follow it alone, I can’t take you where you must go.'
Luna- 'Why leave me right now, at the most difficult time?'
Ciro- 'I cannot drink your cup.'
Tears of fear flow down my face. You kiss me, licking my salty streams, you go on caressing my crotch, my breasts, kissing mouth to mouth.
Ciro- 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I lean my head against the door that he’s just closed, my vision blurred by tears, my hands resting on the door-panel as if I’d been locked in a cell forever.
From the freezer I take a bottle of lemon vodka, a glass rod, and go to my desk. I have to complete the design for the power-plants of the new museum. I work, then in the icy aura rising from the alcohol emerges the shape of hooded one - black hood, red crosses.
Notary- 'It's your turn! '
Terror comes over me.
We’ve been left for hours in this obscene position, me with my arms outstretched, my wrists chained above me, leaning back on the floor, my legs spread out and raised up at the ankles.
The Pear of Anguish with its petals open is in my pussy, another in my arse. My breasts are tied tightly with a rope so now they are purple and swollen from the restriction of the blood.
At a gesture of his left hand, a crowd of naked hooded brutes approaches. They extract the pears from my orifices, I suffer stabbing pains. They unlock the shackles, and carry me on their shoulders like huntsmen’s prey along the cellar corridor and up the stairs. I’m thrown down on the ground in the porch of the cloister, there are broken wooden beams, nails, hammers. I’m kneeling, held forcibly by the arms, crowned with thorns, blood flows in drops down my face.
I’m brutally tied to the pillars. They start lashing me in turns, the violent, bestial brutes, beating my back, buttocks and legs. Skin tears under the blows, my soft flesh deforms and sways under the impact.
Now they’re in front of me, the scourge hits my belly, my breasts, still roped, the pain’s making me delirious. My thighs are lined with bloody streaks. With a rope tied to my ankle, my leg’s hauled well above my shoulder, with raging fury of beasts are flailing my vulva, the inside or my thighs, and my buttocks. Blood, screams, guffaws, then hands penetrating my vagina and rectum.
They untie me, drag me along on the ground towards the cross-beam. It’s futile to try to fight against these beasts, four of them are holding my arms against the wood, one’s astride my chest masturbating on my breasts till he squirts my face with disgusting slime.
I feel a nail against the palm of my hand, a hammer-blow, broken bones and ripped tendons, my fingers tighten like claws, pain explodes in my brain. The other hand, the pain’s a hundredfold worse now that I've tasted the first wound. Then there’s a nail at the top of my forearm, in the crook of the elbow - the hammer-blow feels is as if it’s crushed my arm. The other arm’s treated the same.
So nailed to the cross-beam, I’m raped repeatedly by the brutes, then, covered with their putrid sperm, I’m raised up. As the beam is lifted, my weight is loaded onto the nails. Now, standing behind, they tie me to the beam, passing the rope around my neck and armpits.
Unsteadily, I begin my blasphemous Via Crucis. There are obscene drawings on the inner walls of the cloister between the windows, accompanied by unspeakable curses. I am forced on my knees to pronounce satanic stuff before these representations of the violence that I must endure.
The first station, second, third ... an endless path of pain, mocking, torture ... then turning left into the longer walk I see, nailed to the outside wall of the church, where memorial crosses are inscribed, the mangled bodies of Agnes, Lavinia and Livia, horribly mutilated, impaled, their poor feminine bodies utterly destroyed.
I fall to the ground overcome with terror at the sight of the horrible fate of the poor sisters, I’m kicked, then grasping hands tug me up, not out of pity but so as not to interrupt the sadistic game which is orchestrated with meticulous cruelty.
...fourth, fifth, sixth... violation, more rapes, profanity, satanic stuff: 'Amon, miserere nobis ...' [Ammon, have mercy upon us] ... seventh, eighth, ninth ... 'O great Lucifer emperor of hell, let me bring you and introduce you to the arse of this bitch ... ', sneers, profanity, invocation: ' Zaebos, anum meum aperies ... ' [Zaebos, open thou my arse ] ... tenth, eleventh, twelfth ... raped in turn by all the brutes, invocation: 'Samael, asperge me spermate tuo... ' [Samael, sprinkle me with thy sperm] ... thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth ...
So, in the name of all the heads of the legions of hell, we arrive at the end of the Way of the Cross, and enter the cloister garden, where the ground has been turned up by digging to bury the bodies of those who have preceded me on Calvary, scattering bones, tibias, femurs, skulls.
I’m led to the foot of the olive tree and forced to kneel. A brute grabs me by the hair and twists my head back, another forces a funnel into my mouth, then fills a jug from a bucket of black, viscous liquid with a pungent smell. From the jug into to the funnel, into my throat, a sudden fire blazes down my gullet into my stomach, as if I’m being poisoned! This is the cup that I have to swallow!
The black figure of the hooded one approaches me. He has a knife in his left hand, he brings the point up to my face and slices a vertical cut all the way down, slicing my lips, chin, and throat - not deeply, but maddeningly painful - down between my breasts, cutting the rope, continuing down my stomach, lower abdomen, pubes, on down to slice my clitoris, my vulva, right to the perineum. Then from under my arm across my breasts, he cuts a horizontal line to form the shape of a cross.
A brute soaks a wad of rags tied on top of a short stick in the bucket of poison, and rubs it into my wounds. it feels to me as if they're being burnt with a hot iron, the caustic acid stops the bleeding but destroys the flesh around the wound.
With the ropes they raise me up among the branches of the tree and set the beam on the branches. They spread my legs apart and nail my feet to the trunk. Then, with a sledgehammer, they break my thigh-bones. A large broken-off branch is introduced into my arsehole.
Poor Euphrasia is already dying, her genitals wounded with spearheads, they are burning her body with red-hot irons. Eulalia is the image of martyrdom.
The black figure in front of me, enjoying my agony, gives a sign with his left hand. One of the brutes suddenly cuts the rope that binds the beam to my body and supports me, with an axe. I drop down, the nails in my arms support my body now, the big broken branch penetrates deep into me, I piss urine and blood, the jet hits the hood of this demon, he pulls it off, it’s the Father Confessor …cuius imago nulla repraesentatione exprimi potest alia quam carnis inmensae dentibus truculentae... [of whom no image can be formed, save one of extreme ferocity, with teeth of flesh - Pliny]
epilogue
A cold shower wakes me. I’m lying on the bathroom floor, you’re caressing my face, massaging my numb body.
Eulalia- 'At last you’ve woken up! You drank a lot of vodka last night!'
Confused, I still can’t, I answer with an indistinct groan. My vision is still foggy, I see a shadow behind you...
Luna- 'Who's there?' I whisper.
Eulalia- 'It’s Gennaro, this morning he saw you hadn’t arrived on site, he tried to contact you, you didn’t answer the phone, so he phoned me thinking to find you with me, then we rushed here fearing something had happened to you again. We found you lying on the ground with the empty bottle clasped in one hand and the cap in the other, but whatever had you been doing? '
Luna- 'I don’t remember anything, I finished making the design for the new plants, I sent an e-mail to Gennaro ...'
Eulalia- 'You work too hard! You need a good long holiday, we’ll leave before dark. '
On the plane, sitting in the middle seat, still feeling woozy, my head resting on your shoulder...
I'll be crucified in Mykonos.
FINIS TERRAE
[the end of the Earth]
(Ciro’s sitting on the seat next to me)
45
I feel your warmth, still half asleep, without opening my eyes I roll onto your supine body, kiss you on the mouth, you bite my lips, penetrate me. We stay motionless, our bodies fused, one flesh, in a time-warp, while our pleasure increases with the heat of our bodies. Excitement is growing, I reach a crazy orgasm without moving a muscle, a slight movement in me and your hot cum erupts - moments of eternity!
It’s evening, in the automatic shower we rid our bodies of trouble and torpor, gently stroking each other’s anatomy, still kissing. You lift me up, holding me tight under my arms, I enwrap your hips with my thighs, again your dagger sinks into my flesh. I arch my back, supported by your arms behind me, in a balletic posture, a balance masses, while the water falls on my breast.
With wide-open arms outstretched, my hands touching the walls, it’s an aesthetic of crucifixion. I reach orgasm just before the climax of your pleasure and your seed flows into me, warm fluid of life, immediately I follow you to a new orgasm. I feel the stress of your muscles striving to maintain this balance as long as possible, the sculptor who could transfer into inert matter the whole ecstatic charge of this figure would create a supreme work of art.
Four egg yolks and eight tablespoons of sugar, a thick golden cream, hot coffee added and immediately scrambled, two steaming cups of pure energy. I remain naked without drying my hair to the delight of your eyes. While you slowly get dressed, sadness invades my heart.
Luna- 'Don’t leave Ciro, stay with me, I'm still scared!'
Ciro- 'Luna, my sweet Luna, I would like to, but it's forbidden, the last part of the path of this tragic dénouement you’ll have to follow it alone, I can’t take you where you must go.'
Luna- 'Why leave me right now, at the most difficult time?'
Ciro- 'I cannot drink your cup.'
Tears of fear flow down my face. You kiss me, licking my salty streams, you go on caressing my crotch, my breasts, kissing mouth to mouth.
Ciro- 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
I lean my head against the door that he’s just closed, my vision blurred by tears, my hands resting on the door-panel as if I’d been locked in a cell forever.
From the freezer I take a bottle of lemon vodka, a glass rod, and go to my desk. I have to complete the design for the power-plants of the new museum. I work, then in the icy aura rising from the alcohol emerges the shape of hooded one - black hood, red crosses.
Notary- 'It's your turn! '
Terror comes over me.
We’ve been left for hours in this obscene position, me with my arms outstretched, my wrists chained above me, leaning back on the floor, my legs spread out and raised up at the ankles.
The Pear of Anguish with its petals open is in my pussy, another in my arse. My breasts are tied tightly with a rope so now they are purple and swollen from the restriction of the blood.
At a gesture of his left hand, a crowd of naked hooded brutes approaches. They extract the pears from my orifices, I suffer stabbing pains. They unlock the shackles, and carry me on their shoulders like huntsmen’s prey along the cellar corridor and up the stairs. I’m thrown down on the ground in the porch of the cloister, there are broken wooden beams, nails, hammers. I’m kneeling, held forcibly by the arms, crowned with thorns, blood flows in drops down my face.
I’m brutally tied to the pillars. They start lashing me in turns, the violent, bestial brutes, beating my back, buttocks and legs. Skin tears under the blows, my soft flesh deforms and sways under the impact.
Now they’re in front of me, the scourge hits my belly, my breasts, still roped, the pain’s making me delirious. My thighs are lined with bloody streaks. With a rope tied to my ankle, my leg’s hauled well above my shoulder, with raging fury of beasts are flailing my vulva, the inside or my thighs, and my buttocks. Blood, screams, guffaws, then hands penetrating my vagina and rectum.
They untie me, drag me along on the ground towards the cross-beam. It’s futile to try to fight against these beasts, four of them are holding my arms against the wood, one’s astride my chest masturbating on my breasts till he squirts my face with disgusting slime.
I feel a nail against the palm of my hand, a hammer-blow, broken bones and ripped tendons, my fingers tighten like claws, pain explodes in my brain. The other hand, the pain’s a hundredfold worse now that I've tasted the first wound. Then there’s a nail at the top of my forearm, in the crook of the elbow - the hammer-blow feels is as if it’s crushed my arm. The other arm’s treated the same.
So nailed to the cross-beam, I’m raped repeatedly by the brutes, then, covered with their putrid sperm, I’m raised up. As the beam is lifted, my weight is loaded onto the nails. Now, standing behind, they tie me to the beam, passing the rope around my neck and armpits.
Unsteadily, I begin my blasphemous Via Crucis. There are obscene drawings on the inner walls of the cloister between the windows, accompanied by unspeakable curses. I am forced on my knees to pronounce satanic stuff before these representations of the violence that I must endure.
The first station, second, third ... an endless path of pain, mocking, torture ... then turning left into the longer walk I see, nailed to the outside wall of the church, where memorial crosses are inscribed, the mangled bodies of Agnes, Lavinia and Livia, horribly mutilated, impaled, their poor feminine bodies utterly destroyed.
I fall to the ground overcome with terror at the sight of the horrible fate of the poor sisters, I’m kicked, then grasping hands tug me up, not out of pity but so as not to interrupt the sadistic game which is orchestrated with meticulous cruelty.
...fourth, fifth, sixth... violation, more rapes, profanity, satanic stuff: 'Amon, miserere nobis ...' [Ammon, have mercy upon us] ... seventh, eighth, ninth ... 'O great Lucifer emperor of hell, let me bring you and introduce you to the arse of this bitch ... ', sneers, profanity, invocation: ' Zaebos, anum meum aperies ... ' [Zaebos, open thou my arse ] ... tenth, eleventh, twelfth ... raped in turn by all the brutes, invocation: 'Samael, asperge me spermate tuo... ' [Samael, sprinkle me with thy sperm] ... thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth ...
So, in the name of all the heads of the legions of hell, we arrive at the end of the Way of the Cross, and enter the cloister garden, where the ground has been turned up by digging to bury the bodies of those who have preceded me on Calvary, scattering bones, tibias, femurs, skulls.
I’m led to the foot of the olive tree and forced to kneel. A brute grabs me by the hair and twists my head back, another forces a funnel into my mouth, then fills a jug from a bucket of black, viscous liquid with a pungent smell. From the jug into to the funnel, into my throat, a sudden fire blazes down my gullet into my stomach, as if I’m being poisoned! This is the cup that I have to swallow!
The black figure of the hooded one approaches me. He has a knife in his left hand, he brings the point up to my face and slices a vertical cut all the way down, slicing my lips, chin, and throat - not deeply, but maddeningly painful - down between my breasts, cutting the rope, continuing down my stomach, lower abdomen, pubes, on down to slice my clitoris, my vulva, right to the perineum. Then from under my arm across my breasts, he cuts a horizontal line to form the shape of a cross.
A brute soaks a wad of rags tied on top of a short stick in the bucket of poison, and rubs it into my wounds. it feels to me as if they're being burnt with a hot iron, the caustic acid stops the bleeding but destroys the flesh around the wound.
With the ropes they raise me up among the branches of the tree and set the beam on the branches. They spread my legs apart and nail my feet to the trunk. Then, with a sledgehammer, they break my thigh-bones. A large broken-off branch is introduced into my arsehole.
Poor Euphrasia is already dying, her genitals wounded with spearheads, they are burning her body with red-hot irons. Eulalia is the image of martyrdom.
The black figure in front of me, enjoying my agony, gives a sign with his left hand. One of the brutes suddenly cuts the rope that binds the beam to my body and supports me, with an axe. I drop down, the nails in my arms support my body now, the big broken branch penetrates deep into me, I piss urine and blood, the jet hits the hood of this demon, he pulls it off, it’s the Father Confessor …cuius imago nulla repraesentatione exprimi potest alia quam carnis inmensae dentibus truculentae... [of whom no image can be formed, save one of extreme ferocity, with teeth of flesh - Pliny]
A cold shower wakes me. I’m lying on the bathroom floor, you’re caressing my face, massaging my numb body.
Eulalia- 'At last you’ve woken up! You drank a lot of vodka last night!'
Confused, I still can’t, I answer with an indistinct groan. My vision is still foggy, I see a shadow behind you...
Luna- 'Who's there?' I whisper.
Eulalia- 'It’s Gennaro, this morning he saw you hadn’t arrived on site, he tried to contact you, you didn’t answer the phone, so he phoned me thinking to find you with me, then we rushed here fearing something had happened to you again. We found you lying on the ground with the empty bottle clasped in one hand and the cap in the other, but whatever had you been doing? '
Luna- 'I don’t remember anything, I finished making the design for the new plants, I sent an e-mail to Gennaro ...'
Eulalia- 'You work too hard! You need a good long holiday, we’ll leave before dark. '
On the plane, sitting in the middle seat, still feeling woozy, my head resting on your shoulder...
I'll be crucified in Mykonos.
I'm crying I'm crying I'm crying I'm crying
Love love love love love love love love love
All I need is love all I need is love
All I need is love love love is all I need
Love love love love love love love love love
All I need is love all I need is love
All I need is love love love is all I need
FINIS TERRAE
[the end of the Earth]
(Ciro’s sitting on the seat next to me)
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Now that I have finished my little work and this great effort, I have to thank all of you, dear friends, that you had the perseverance to follow me on this journey of fantasy and folly, who have supported me with your benevolent and with your feedback added as to follow the texts or with the private mail messages.
But surely the biggest thanks is to Eulalia, with her extraordinary patience she has made possible the publication of the text in a perfect English, without her help my story would not have been able to see the light and reaching all of you.
I have met many enthusiastic friends who have followed me all the way, others have lost their way, perhaps I have not been able to stimulate their imagination or maybe just because the story has dwelt too.
Without wanting to be insistent, I invite you to reread the story because much has been written but much more is written between the lines, almost in code.
I will appreciate your feedback, if you want to add more, I will answer your questions and give explanations you ask.
Thanks also to the forum administrators who have created this space where we can all meet up, free our fantasies and share them with joy.
Luna
But surely the biggest thanks is to Eulalia, with her extraordinary patience she has made possible the publication of the text in a perfect English, without her help my story would not have been able to see the light and reaching all of you.
I have met many enthusiastic friends who have followed me all the way, others have lost their way, perhaps I have not been able to stimulate their imagination or maybe just because the story has dwelt too.
Without wanting to be insistent, I invite you to reread the story because much has been written but much more is written between the lines, almost in code.
I will appreciate your feedback, if you want to add more, I will answer your questions and give explanations you ask.
Thanks also to the forum administrators who have created this space where we can all meet up, free our fantasies and share them with joy.
Luna
Luna, I'm weak......I need time to recover.....how can a piece of writing be so PHYSICAL?
CruxForums has a new classic! Wonderful work Luna!
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
It was a great mental and physical involvement for me, I made sure that we could hear what was inside me.