File: 17_ABSOL.TXT
Chapter 17 of the St Cunatus saga

                       Divine Absolution


Long soft veils of mosses hanging from the boughs of great trees, their
branches lacing over the path. Moving silently through the open forest, the
path unfolding, turns surprising in new views and details. Lances of sunlight 
spilling through the gently stirring canopy, illuminated details pushing
themselves into view, demanding attention. A circle of tall mushrooms, their
caps still pointy, unopened; a startling deep crimson. Here a flat slab of
rock overgrown with tangled roots, the worn carved symbols in the stone
tantalising in their mystery. Inscription of ancient commands, the glyphs
unknown yet suggestive of bodies entwined, and sexual acts. Now part covered
with lichen and humus. Sorrow at meanings lost, the blurings of time.
The path again, a strange song fleeting and distant in the air. Here more
sunlight, and leafy mounds among the giant trunks, then some fragments of
still standing masonry - heaved askew and bound around with skeins of roots
and vines. Here once was a city, long since returned to the lap of the forest
from which it grew. The arches and walls still remembered dimly in these
broken stones, but where now are the ways and wisdoms of its people? Nothing
but spirits? Yet the path is clear, and wide, she must not be alone in her
quest. Her quest... she has travelled so very far... Somehow the sureness
of final arrival grows in her. She hurries on, the path rushing by.
A clearing ahead, bright sky above, and she bursts out from the dark of
forest into a wide square of the old city, all clean-paved in vivid patterns,
the old porticos of temples still standing, facing inward to a central pool.
Blinding in the warm sunlight, a mirage of colour, wide clear space, deep
cool water shimmering greenly in the sun, casting ripples of wavering light
onto the clean white buildings around. That song is very close now, echoing
about the square, from nowhere and everywhere. It has no words, just a flow
of warm liquid notes, that pour into her soul, bringing her peace and a hot
excitement together. The rest and fulfilment of a quest achieved, and a
burning pleasure of great reward to come.
She stands, just into the square, one detail and another of the place holding
her attention, and she comes to realise that the paving is warm on her bare
feet. And the sun is warm on her body, which she remembers now has been naked
all of her travels. Such trials the lack of clothes has caused her on her 
journey, having to hide herself from sight lest the bad people find out the
secret that sprouts stiff and aching from her sex.
She finds now that the music is bringing her secret ache to full strength,
and she is looking down at herself now, seeing her breasts and belly, hips
and thighs, naked and creamy in the sunlight. And there is her cursed organ
of desire, her freakish clitoris standing inches redly from her hairy sex,
as it often will to tempt her with the pleasures of her young and softly
curved flesh. Young again...

Yet here the music talks to her, calming her instinct to flee and hide her
nakedness. Here it seems right to be revealed, even with her shame in full
erection. Something about this place promises forgivenness, and understanding.
There must be a purpose why she was made with this strange burden, and this
feels like the place she might find that cause.

Then she is walking into the square, towards the glimmering pool. There is
a figure standing there, bright and awesome. He is holding out his strong,
bare arms to her, palms open and welcoming, like the spread of his great
blinding wings. She knows he bids her come forward, to his welcome, his
mercy, and his reward. She has found the end of her quest.
Fleetingly she finds herself wishing she could be clothed now, but suddenly
finds the thought of shame at her nakedness in his presence as absurd as
imagining him ashamed of his own magnificently naked maleness. Of course
they must be naked, and of course they must each be proudly erect and
inflamed, for that is the truth of what they are. He has her know that he
is the heavenly angel of desire, that he is here to clense her of her fears
and give her happiness with herself in reward for her life of dedication
to helping others. Meeting in any other way would be a sham, she knows that
this is right.

She finds herself kneeling before him, head bowed. His warm strong hand on
her chin, and for the first time he speaks, bidding her look up. His voice
is like the music, rippling into her mind, spreading through her soul like
a rubbing of hot ointment on her skin. He speaks on. "Welcome, Alina. Upon
this place wilth thou be absolved. By command of thy maker wilt thou become
born anew, to full enjoyment of thy previous burden. That which laid heavy
upon thy soul shall become a lightness to bear thine future loads. For know
thee that all things have their purpose, and that this purpose may be many.
What was once a trial will serve anon as reward, and that which our Father
gave us was never given in sport, but in love. Thou had been set a task of
service, and a trial to temper thy will for that purpose. And thou hast
served well, achieving all thy allotment without submitting to the guile
of temptation. We are well pleased with you. Now thine own pleasures shall
be thy reward - if thou wish for reward. So here be thy moment of choice.
Thee may choose before me to enjoy the fruits of that which thou hast long
suffered, or thee may choose to be freed entirely of such trials. On the
first hand thou wilt find thy remaining life eventfull and filled with
many earthly pleasures. On the second hand thou wilt find a life of calm
yet bland contentment. This quiet normallacy is thine to your wish, yet
know thee that it leaveth sad imbalance in the way of things, for the
potential of thy precious God-given body will never have been explored.
But know thee also, that to choose the other path, of enjoying thy present
gifts, will require of thou some few more trials. Such benefits are not
well gained from the wave of mine hand alone. Thou must needs perform a
rite of passage, granting thee true knowledge of thy gift's extent.
These rites I shall command of thee only should thee choose that path."

Gradually the roll of his words ceases echoing round her soul, and she 
realises that she is being asked a question. She even thinks she understands 
it. She is afraid to ask him anything. She is still kneeling, looking up at
his magnificent and kind face. He has the deepest green eyes, that seem to
bore right into her. She is intensely aware of the great jutting male organ
with its huge swollen purple head only inches in front of her eyes. While
he spoke his voice had seemed to take up all her world, but now she finds
herself staring at it. It seems huge to her. She can not recall ever seeing
a male naked, let alone erect. She is sure that if she chooses the 'trials'
variety of gift, this organ will play a part. She thinks briefly that she
ought to be afraid of something this large, yet fear is not an emotion that
can exist in this place, with this golden being. Besides, there is a great
flowering of heat in her sex as she looks at him, almost as though he was
already stiring her insides to ecstacy. She knows she wants this. Does he
really think she would pass up such an experience, for what... a 'life of
bland contentment'? No. She knows her answer without doubt.
She softly speaks "Please... I would prefer to have pleasure..."

His great eyes continue to look deeply into hers for many moments. She can
literally feel him searching through her soul, ensuring that she has spoken
her true wish, deciding her fate with fairness and wisdom.
Then he speaks. "By thy wish, so shall it be done. Understand that from this 
moment thee shall walk the path of earthly pleasure, until thy final time
arrives. Arise now, and begin the introduction to thy new experiences.
And remember thee, that as pleasure is thy present wish, so to it henceforth
is thy Lord's command."

She had been half expecting to find herself having his great penis pressed
into her sex, or even her mouth, right there on the spot. In fact she had
been looking forward to it more than a little by now. Then suddenly she
finds herself standing, being led by a hand to the side of the clear pool.
He speaks. "This is the Pool of Abandon. Thy first trial be to bathe in
its waters, to clense not thy body alone, but also thy spirit of the soil
of inhibition and guilt. Full immersion in its deep waters is required,
and I shall be the judge of when thee may emerge from this bath. Fear not
for thy breath, it shall not be taken from thee."

It seems an anti-climax. Looking down into the clear water, the pool looks
like any pool. Although now she thinks of it, the water is rippling and
flashing the reflected sunlight about as though a breeze stired it. Yet the
air is perfectly still. There are stone steps leading down into the water
just by her. He lets go of her hand, and waits. Smiling at her. 'Bathe...'
She places her foot on the first step above the water, and is surprised to
see a concentric circle of ripples spread out from the water adjacent and 
below her foot. How did that happen? She stands her other foot beside the
first, and the same thing happens. She wiggles her toes on the dry step,
and patterns of light spread out from the water below. It is hot here in the
sun drenched square, and the water looks cool and inviting. The mystical
ripples seem unthreatening, even flirtatious. They seem to invite her to
play with them, to step down to them. Lifting a foot, she dips her big toe
in the water. It feels just like water - cool and liquid, but now the surface
close around her touch goes dead flat, and shows no sign of her circling toe.
She sees this, yet does not think it odd. Something deep within her mind
is wondering at her own acceptance of this strange scene, but it lies mute,
observing only. She steps forward. Again.
Now she is up to her calves in the water, and suddenly she feels something
squeeze or brush her ankles underwater. Startled, she looks around, but can
see no creatures in the water. She involuntarily tries to lift one foot out
of the water, but somehow she cannot lift her ankle past the water's surface.
Something blocks the movement, clasping her ankle gently but unyeildingly.
She tries the other foot. Same thing. She cannot step back out. And now the
water has begun a new pattern of ripples, a sort of spiral rotating pattern,
centered on her legs and spreading out to cover the whole pool. The thought
comes to her that the poor pool must find that hard to do, with her so near
the edge. So she steps in further, up to her knees. Somehow as she stepped
down, her feet ended up wider apart, and she stands knee-deep, legs spread
quite wide. She tries to bring her feet together, but that doesn't seem to
be possible either. The water simply won't let her feet move except to step
further in. Deep in her mind the mute observer is getting a bit doubtful
about all this, but still seems unable to speak. Now the water pattern is
developing a kind of surging pulsation towards her as it circles her legs.
It looks like a crowd rushing forwards, only to draw back and circle again.
She steps in further, mid thigh now, and an even greater spread between her
feet. And now there are firm little strokings and pinches up and down both
her legs in the water. There is nothing in the clear water, still something
is teasing her skin underwater. She realises two things simultaneously - 
that its the water itself that is acting on her, and that the pulsing pattern
has begun to sprout a rather phalic central projection directly below her
spread pubes. Her pubes that will be at water level with her next step
forward. Dreamlike, her feet take the step of their own accord, and she
has the odd sensation of her sex entering the cool water simultaneously with
the cool water entering her sex in a thick, cool and deep thrust that leaves
no question but that the pool is now proceeding to fuck her.

Belatedly, she drops her hands to clasp at her invaded sex, but they meet
the water surface as they would meet a heavy sheet of glass. It is totally
solid, a clear, unresponding plane into which her hips are embedded from
just above her mount of venus. Wonderingly, she presses her palms to the
flat of her stomach as her cunt shouts in her mind of its huge and cold
invasion, which is now beginning a slow stiring and probing of her inner
limits. Her palms can distinctly feel the watery tentacle pushing within
her belly, and removing her hands she can even see a peak shifting about
on her creamy skin just below her navel. 
She can also see her freak of a clitoris standing out unreachably just below 
the steely water surface, and at the moment her attention touches it, so does
the 'something' that is in the water. It feels like a hot tight ring grips
around the shaft's base, together with a gentle teasing of the sensitive end
with something feathery. It is almost unbearable. It _is_ unbearable.
The huge cold probing and thrusting inside her sex, the hot squeezing and
tickling of her most sensitive shame, snap her out of her dreamy calm, and
she beats wildly at the rigid surface of the pool, tossing her shoulders
and head about in desperation and shouting panic. The feeling in her loins
is not to be tollerated. It is beyond what she can cope with. Her defenses
are not strong enough; she can feel something that she has always repressed
growing in her belly, in the abused organs. A mixture of ice and fire, of
swelling tension and thrusting pressure. No no, not now, not in front of
Him... Remembering, she manages to control her flailing for a moment to
glance over her shoulder. The great, white winged figure is standing just
behind her at the pool's edged, gazing down at her with an expression of
fatherly interest, and casually stroking a couple of fingers along his
heavenly erection, much as some men with beards run their fingers through
them while thinking. Completely without a trace of selfconsciousness.
He speaks to her "Remember, pleasure is thy command. Resist this no more
here, or evermore. And turn thee around, that I may fully view your desire."

She is not so easily calmed though. The pounding, tickling, squeezing assault
on her sex is driving her nuts, between the ingrown reflexes of rejection of
such feelings, and the inescapable rising heat and waves of arousal that are
spreading from her sex and catching like wildfire through her being.
Desperately clinging to the last shreds of reason, she tries to take his
advice and stop fighting the feelings, but its a bit like trying to stop
yourself from closing your eyes in a sneeze. And how can she turn around,
with her feet held wide apart on the step? The only way to do it is to go
in deeper... Still, his voice is totally compelling, no more resistable than
gravity. In the midst of her now panting, shuddering enduring of the reaming
of her sex, she clumsily manages to turn and back in further in one move.
Now the water is up past her waist and she can only look but not touch as
the phalus thrusts visibly within her flat stomach - well below the glassy
and perfectly clear surface of the pool.
She looks up wildly to find herself being contemplated calmly by that great
being, her heaving bosom and the underwater ragedly suppressed humping of
her hips seemingly no more than some dry experiment to him. Except for his
ever-rigid member, that is, but for all she knows that is his permanent way.
Unbidden by her, a tide of shame and guilt wells in her heart, fighting
back her temptation to relax her resistance to what is going on in her sex.
She can see what she must look like, her animal lusts near to running out
of control. How could she think of asking for this sort of thing! What was
she thinking of? This must really be some sort of ultimate test of her
purity, and she had nearly failed it by abandoning herself to her base
desires. She finds new strength to combat the flowering lust in her flesh,
and wills herself to absolute stillness. She stands still, looking back at
the angel, trying to ignore the obscene pounding and squeezing of her cunt
and clit. Trying not to stare at or think about his great phalus, standing
fat and hard, its smooth wide head gleaminmg darkly in the sunlight. And the
tension inside, and the ache of her traitorously hard nipples. The blood
pounds in her temples, and her fingertips tingle.
Inside her the long, hard rod of water is slowly and forcefully circling
and pulsing fatter and slimmer. Her clit is screamingly hard, aching with
need and being softly caressed by the water. Now it feels like a tiny mouth,
sliding lips along her most sensitive morsel. She holds still, but moans
long and desperately. How long must this trial continue?

Looking silently down on her struggles, the angel sighs deeply, as at some
great folly. He gathers his wings behind him and slowly sits on the edge of
the pool, dangling his muscular legs into the water. Where he touches it,
the water sparkles as if with an inner light, and a fine shimmering web of
tiny bright specks radiate out over the surface. She can feel them tingling
at her waist. He speaks. "Harder than expected may be the opening of thy
mind. No matter. Here all time can be brought to our Father's will. No more
shall I speak, but wait silent for this task's completion. One sign only
shall you have of what is right, one gift of aid."

She is moved to sobbing desperation as she understands that her present trial
is to continue for some time. How can she possibly resist the awful heating
thrusts within and the worse assault on her shameful clit? Her whole body is
on fire. And as if mere violation of her channel were not enough, now the
invading shaft has taken to rythmicly swelling with in her to a size that
tests her physical capacity to the limit! She can see her belly swelling
and falling as the thing inside grows and shrinks. It seems to be perpetually
coming up with new torments. She is just shuddering with the indignity of
feeling something thin and groping slipping into the entrance to her cervix,
when she notices that the angel has begun to move again. But what.. surely
not!
He is sitting on the pool edge, feet swinging in the water, one hand on the
poolside as he relaxes a little to one side, the other hand wrapped casually
around the base of his massive golden, rigid cock. He is stroking it firmly,
all the while gazing calmly at her. Holding it pointed more or less at her.

A tweak at her memory, as though she should remember something important
about why she is here. Then gone, carried away in a surge of indignation
that even an angel could perform such an act. She glares at him, struggling
with an unwanted spasm of lust in her loins. How dare he do this! What is
the world coming to when even angels behave so lewdly? How can he so calmly
slide his hand up and down that great thick shaft, over such a big, darkly
swollen head, that would feel so... No! How can he do this? Oh, the fire in
my sex this pushing is causing, how my nipples ache, I can't stand it!
Distracted, thinking to relieve the ache of her rock-hard nipples and
swollen breasts, she cups her breasts in her hands and begins to massage
them. Staring mesmerised at his rigid, stoking member, she absently feels
at her breasts, squeezing and rolling them in her palms. Her fingers find
her nipples and tweak and press. She moans again, a long tormented sigh.
The fire is rising in her again, slowly but irresistably. She can feel it 
growing, overrunning her willpower bit by bit. She is so entangled in
watching his hand sliding on that veined shaft, that she does not even
notice that her own hands on her breasts are adding to her desperation.
She is still fighting, but it comes to her that she is going to lose the
battle for her honour - she is going to be brought to climax - by a pond.
Still, she tells heself desperately, it is not her fault. She has no choice.
It has been forced on her. She fights, but slowly retreats. The lust advances.

By now she is gasping and moaning in extreme, staring open mouthed and
shaking at the angel, who looks about to reach his own climax. His fist
is flying up and down his member now, tight and hard. He concentrates on
gripping around the base of the shaft, pulling the golden skin tight on the
down strokes, and circling on the head on upstrokes. Yet he still breathes
calmly, gazing at her with a slight, benevolent smile on his lips.
She is just about at deaths door with pre-cum tension. Unknowingly, she
has begun twisting her tits in time with his strokes, and the pond's 
palpations of her cunt and clit are also beating in time to his speeding
hand. She is getting so very close... Through half closed eyes she sees
his great wings rise, stretching out above and behind him.

Then he comes. In the way that angels do, which is to ejaculate an almost
solid shaft of glowing light from the tip of his swollen cock. It spears
out of him, like an organic lightning bolt, straight down the bore of his
rod, projecting clean across the space between them, and striking her just
off centre of her chest. Directly over her racing heart, in fact.

In the instant before she feels its effect, she glimpses his expression.
For the first time, he shows a strong emotion. Head thrown back, his face
tensed in a strange grimace, she cannot read what that expression means.
Then she isn't thinking anymore, as an unbelievable feeling flashes through
her body, spreading with the blood from her angel spoofed heart.
It is like warm summer mornings, the laughter of children, a thundering
cascade over cold stone, a silent fall of snow on a dark night, floating in
a tropical lagoon, understanding of ages, a discovery of purest love, a
pounding heat of lustfull abandon, quiet solitude and crowded tumult.
It is knowing all the good that life can be.
But underneath, it is the moment just before orgasm, and knowing that there
is no reason to fear or fight it. It is the moment just before orgasm, with
a crystal clear and pure desire to reach fulfillment. It is the moment just
before orgasm... just before... so very closely before...

She is transfixed by the feeling. It goes on and on, and she barely realises
that he is still coming, still spraying her with liquid light. In fact, he
is literally hosing her with it, face still straining in his unreadable
expression, directing his erupting cock to cover her whole body with the
sticky lightning jetting from his swollen glans. He covers her face, her
breasts, arms, hands, stomach, even her hair. Only her body below water
escapes the bathing in angel spunk.
By the time he is finished, she is totally dripping with it. Glowing strands
run stickily down her, and drip off into the water, where they difuse into
sparkling ripples. She is still rigid, shaking with the sensory overload,
long minutes after he is once more sitting calmly dabbling his feet in the
water. His cock is still rigid, in fact showed no sign of ever doing anything
else.

As the otherworldly sensations gradually fade, leaving her with a strange
memory of an impossible mix of feelings and understandings, she finds herself
still gripped with the basic 'just about to come, and wanting to' feeling.
Once again she remembers the whole of her quest, and how she came to be here.
Now she shudders at her moments of reversion to prudery, and feels completely
free with the lusty feelings shaking her body. With the, in fact, blindingly,
desperately, violently horny need in her body. It takes her several more
moments to realise that the pond has reverted to plain, inactive water,
and that there is now nothing diddling her twat. She is just standing waist
deep in a pool, feeling like she will explode if she doesn't get to come
very soon. It takes a few more moments to click that she can now get out,
or put her hands into the water. Which last seems like a very good idea,
and she finds herself happily exploring and frigging her cunt; standing
there, dripping with his still glowing jism, frigging and grinning at the
angel, who smiles back at her as she shudders infinitessimally closer to
the infinity of climax.

Angel> "Congratulations to thee. That seems to have done the trick. I see
now no taint of self-denial. Thou shalt enjoy much from here on. One small
thing though! Hold up! Stop for a moment! Good, thou shalt have satisfaction
of thy need soon enough. But not too soon, if thee choose, since there is
a detail to this medicine thou hast taken. That is, its future effect be
the stronger, for the length of time till thy first release. The fire burning
in thee now doth mend and mould thy soul and flesh the more strongly as time
passes. Wait you some while more till satisfaction, keeping most near to the
point, then often and mighty will be thy pleasure in all thy days, and vastly
strong thy desire. But if thee shall come now, then likely wilt thou find
always less fire in thy hearth, and less desire of it too. 
So what would thou do? Come now, or hold off till my prescription?"

She was teetering on the brink of a collosal orgasm when he bade her pause
in her cunt fingering. By the time he finishes speaking, in that soul stroking
voice of his, she is hardly cooled at all. She can barely contemplate putting
off her cum for a second, let alone for some unknown time!
Yet from him, advice seems more like irresistable command. How could she not
trust him completely? Her need is so strong she cannot trust herself to
speak, so she signals her assent by slowly drawing her hands from her aching
sex, and giving him the most sultry, inviting, hips and breasts thrusting
forward, open gaze she can muster. She runs her tongue over her open lips,
the heat in her making even that touch tingle. She wonders if she should get
out of the pool, and if his great hard cock still needs attention.

He smiles at her gladly, and playfully kicks a spray of water at her with
one dangling foot. "Thou hast not yet completed thy bath. There is still
the need to give thyself completely over to Abandon, by the sign of complete
immersion. Let thyself sink down into the waters. Besides, thou may wish
to wash off my anointment, now its task is done. And remember, be not
afraid, or even startled. Let this place give thee its gifts, and thee
shall learn of desire far beyond that which you now find so strong."

The idea that desire could be stronger than her present feelings seems
unlikely to her, to say the least. Since she let go of herself the water
has again begun teasingly tweaking and caressing her body, and especially
her pouting sex. It has skillfully held her balanced on the knife-edge of
orgasm the whole time. To her further surprise, the drops of water he had
kicked up onto her had rolled as if with a will towards her nipples, and
had congregated into a thin ring around the base of each hard nub. These
now were becoming quite tight, causing her nips to stand even harder and
more achingly. They also began to distinctly pull downwards, towards the
water of the pool, as if to draw her down.

There seems no point in resisting the flow. She lets herself sink backwards,
spreading her arms and lying back in the water. She takes a deep breath,
expecting to dunk herself briefly, before rising and rinsing. The water
takes her into its arms as she lies back. Literally. She can feel herself
supported on strong invisible limbs, which lower her gently, horizontally
down into the living pool. As the cool touch of the water rises up over her
ears she hears him call "Enjoy!" before the sounds of air are dimmed. Just
as she prepares to close her eyes and hold her breath for the water to close
over her face, she feels the water's edge cease advancing wetly over her
skin, and instead the edge _folds_ over her face, near but not touching.
It forms a bright silvery screen, and she can feel but not see that there
must still be a connection with the surface, for her tentative breaths
find fresh clear air. She can breathe freely, but her sight is now limited
to the silvery mirror, too close and liquid to show any details.
So sound is gone, now sight, then she senses the surface receding from all
her touch, and the press of support on her back dwindles away to nothing.
The sudden removal of three senses is shocking in its suddenness, and to
reasure herself she moves to touch herself with her hands. And finds she
cannot. All her limbs, even down to her fingertips and toes, are held in
soft yet powerful grips, spread apart, comfortably yet never touching.
Now even the coolness of the water fades, whether by its warming or by her
accustomisation she cannot tell. There is nothing left of her outside world,
nothing at all. Only the still present inner fire, the aches in her cunt,
her clit, her nipples. The pounding of her rapid, excited pulse.
Thinking to cry out to bring some sound, she opens her mouth, only to feel
a sudden push of something soft yet resilient into her mouth. It even
extends softly into her throat to her larynx, and a very odd feeling of 
pressure there. She tries to voice a cry, and finds that although she
can still breather freely past the intrusion, her vocal cords are totally
immobilised. She is completely unable to make a sound. Even her mouth now
is robbed of sensation, as her teeth and tongue are kept seperated and
immobile by the self-forming intrusion.

She tries to twist herself in the water, to thrust her hips, shake her
breasts. Anything to find some way of easing her need. Nothing. She must
be moving somewhat, but she cannot even tell how much. Even her sense of
up and down is becoming vague and uncertian. She supposes she is still on
her back, spreadeagled somewhere below the surface. In her mind she imagines
how she must look from above the surface, to him. A naked woman, all curves,
floating breasts and opened sex, spread wide and twisting hungrily.
The picture does nothing to help ease the heat in her sex. She tries to
put it out of her mind, but it will not go. She drifts there, aching, seeing
herself moving in need, as her need makes her move and strain. There is 
nothing else to do, and the picture refuses to go away. She aches and needs.
Gradually, over some indeterminate time, her perceptions of the sensations
in her body grow more vivid. She can feel the crinkling of her skin around
her stretched nipples. Her sex becomes a landscape of wanting, tumescent
folds for hills and valleys of burning softness. Her peak standing high
and alone, aching for contact stronger than the barely perceptible caress
of the water and feathery touch of her own wafting hairs. Deep beneath it
all, the empty yearning of her inner caverns.
Sometimes, when she begins to feel that perhaps the desperate tension and
heat in her body is beginning to wane, there will come some faint stroking
touch on one sensitive part or another. Sometimes almost too faint to be 
certain it was real, but repeated and teasing enough to nudge her excitement
back to the very edge of climax.

She is sure she is going to lose her mind with the pleasure, and frustration.
It goes on for ages, eternities. Time has lost all meaning, she feels that
she is floating through the space between the stars, as universes evolve
and age. The eternal near-orgasm, ever wanting, ever held just at the point
before release. She is the spirit of desire, the essence of sexual need.
The wanting of her sex has become the whole of her existance, her identity,
her being. Her consciousness drifts, aware of little but the sensations of
yearning from cunt and clit and nipples. No longer has she any thought of
the rest of her body. When she imagines herself she sees only a collage of
sex, a melding of aching organs drifting in nothingness, limbless, bodyless,
headless. A self image contracted to the bare elements of her wanting.

Every now and then there is more assertive touch on her sensitive parts.
She comes to expect and desire them, but never can predict their comming.
Her world will allow her desire to receed ever so slightly from the knife
edge of release, then drive her back to it again with a sudden deep probing
of her cunt or squeezing pull on her clit. Over many times, it begins to
develop a range of variations, unpredictable and teasingly stimulating.
Sometimes she can feel a thin tendril working into her sex, and twisting
around inside, exploring and testing her walls. It seems to find her cervix
attractive, for it spends much time slowly caressing and squeezing that
projecting firmness in her channel, before insinuating a thin point into
its opening and pressing upward into the tight confines of her womb. There
it stays for a long time, twisting slowly, somtimes expanding to stretch
her to the edge of pain, sometimes even pressing outward into the fine
channels of her tubes. All this while her every other pleasure point is
being minutely, agonisingly teased and diddled. She grows to yearn for
every deep touch, to find pleasure in every sensation.
At times her other openings are explored, and also brought by association
into her sensorium of pleasure. Her arse is entered by inquisitive tentacles,
worming and inching deep into her inner workings. At times she feels them
fill her almost to bursting, either with themselves or with warm liquids,
then empty and fill her again, and again. They slither and writhe inside
her, always paced just so to never push her over the edge she longs to
reach. Always where they touch some pleasure spot they move so slowly,
or in rapid, seperated jerks. When she finds something not so stimulating,
then her true pleasure buttons will be worked in counterpoint, always to
find a balance of perfect desire, perfect frustration. She can sense changes
in herself, in her interpretations of sensations, as each strange new touch
and invasion blends slowly into pleasure.

Ages pass, or seem to. Her existance has contracted to the pure desire
for stimulation, for release. She has forgotten there could ever be any
other way to exist. Yet never stopped desiring the goal of her need.
She drifts, aching, wanting. Perhaps sometimes she slept.


A touch... no, two touches... For a moment she cannot place the sensation,
lacking the memory of feeling _there_... Then it comes back to her, that is
her leg - the side of her leg. And the other is her... her hand. Strange
to remember, hard to picture. Again, the touch. Together. The same. Her
hand is touching her leg. Why? With difficulty she tries to picture how,
and why, and the world and her body image come flooding back to her.
Her arm can move... she can touch herself. An involuntary sound in her
throat, and she realises that her mouth and voice are free again.
So... she opens her eyes, and the bright square among the circle of forest
blazes the world back into her mind. She is floating on the surface of the
pool, the angel still sitting at its edge, now crosslegged. Within her
burns a fire so much stronger than that she remembers from before that she 
nearly faints back into the water. Dizzy and dazed, she would lie there
and recover her senses, but her blinding desperation to come will not allow.
There is one thing that she must have, and it is still standing high in
the angel's lap. Without thinking to speak to him she struggles to her feet
in the water (which lets her, with some playful pokes and pinches and what
feels very like a slap on the bottom) and thrashes up the steps towards him.

She steps out next to him, looking down at him for the first time.
The musculature and bone articulation of his wings is almost fascinating
enough to take her mind off the burning in her sex and aching of her clit.
But not enough to block the desire that seems to have soaked into her very 
soul. She looks down at her clit, standing out hard as steel, and for the
first time in her life sees it for the miraculous gift it really is. The
revelation almost gives her an orgasm on the spot. Why didn't it ever occur
to her that a three inch clit presents so many possibilities? Just like
a little penis, really. She reaches and parts her labia widely, pointing
her puffy red slit at the angel's face. "How long have I been like this?
Are you going to let me come now? Have I waited long enough for you?
Oh sorry, for my future good, eh. Are you sure you aren't making that up?
How do I know you are not just pulling my leg because you like watching
horny women?"

"Thou hast been in Abandon for three days, and yes, it is time to come.
Actually, it is true that horny mortal women are my favourite kind of 
mortals. I hast greatly enjoyed watching thy desire growing mighty.
However the other is true too. Thou wilt find thy life henceforth much
changed, for this experience will ever be with thee. Also, for the best
effect, thou shouldst permit me to direct thee through one more task.
Starting immediately."

"What do you mean, "direct"

"I mean, thou obey me completely. In fact, I recommend thee be bound to
those rings in the pavement there for the best effect. On thy back,
spreadeagled. The sun will keep thee warm, and I will see to thy desire."

"On my back? What are you going to do?"

"Thats a surprise. Thinkest thou canst trust an angel?"

"Hmmm.... why not?" She lies down on the tiles. "You mean like this?"

He smiles. "Yes, just like that, but thy legs a bit wider. Doest thee
want to do this then?"

"Yes"

"Good!" He looks at her intently for a moment, and suddenly her wrists and
ankles are cuffed and shackled to the paving by strong golden chains. She
is tightly stretched, and her legs are spread almost in a straight line.
The position feels incredibly vulnerable, and her clit sticking up from
her wide-spread slit is more exposed than it has ever been before.
Her so sensitive breasts jiggle from side to side as she squirms a little.

He kneels by her side, and begins gently running his hands over her.
"So, thy shalt be fucked by an angel. Not many mortals have that pleasure,
thou knowest." Then he leans over her, covering her. His great wings spread
out and around them, shutting out the sky, a canopy of mighty pinions.
When she feels him still stroking her breasts, and the touch of his body
along hers is only the lightest caress, she realises that angels don't
actually need to flap their wings to hover. He is simply floating above
her, his huge cock head rubbing along her splayed slit as he drifts down
and up slightly above her. It is an exquisite torture, to have what she
desires so intensely, so close to the seat of her desire, yet not within.
She is speechless with lust, reduced to helpless moans and tensing of her
tight-splayed hips and thighs. Her eyes are half shut, all she sees is
the difuse glow of sunlight filtering through the wings enclosing them.

For his part, he is studying her intently, in no hurry. These moments
with such an exceptional mortal are to be treasured.
Eventually he sighs, and holding her face firmly between his palms till
she focuses on his eyes, he shifts and steers the fat head of his cock
into the entrance of her begging sex. Then drops his hips heavily to her
mound, driving full length into her in one smooth sweep.

"OOOoooaaaahhhhh! YES!" She cries out in ecstasy. Heaven has entered her,
with a length and thickness that seem preposterous, yet perfection.
She is again thrown back to the brink of orgasm, so close, so powerful...
Yet he holds still within her, again drinking in the sight of her need,
smiling at the frantic shaking of her hips, restricted by her wide and
tightly splayed legs. She is grinding her throbbing clit up against his
muscled stomach, unable to shift the rod in her cunt much, but finding
the clit rubbing well worth the effort.
With a quirky smile he places his hands over her eyes, and she gives
a sharp start as suddenly her stiff clit feels like it's inches sink
into a tight, wet and warm hole of some sort. Which squeezes her, so that
her impending orgasm takes on a new and closer urgency. Then too, he
begins a rythmic thrusting within her cunt, and all her pent-up desire
rises up in a giant wave, bearing down to smash her mind into oblivion.
There is a roaring in her ears. A pounding beat in her belly, a throbbing,
pulsing tension in her clit, and his great voice whispering "come...
come... come for all the world Alina... come always... come often...
take pleasure where you find it, never refuse this gift Alina... come...
come now... come forever... come everywhere...  enjoy, Alina! come... you
must come now... and always... this is your reward..."

The wave crashes down on her, drowning his voice in the roaring, smashing
churning of her mind and body fusing into one white hot, blinding explosion
of ecstasy. Every part of her feels like it is melting down, like it has
run into a pool of clenching infinite lust and release. Somewhere at the
center of the pool, something that was once a vagina bursts into a nova of
divine fulfilment, receiving a gift of jetting golden light, filling it, 
stretching it, diffusing through it to illuminate the whole of her being
with magnificence. A gift delivered directly to her soul, or at least her
innermost being. She becomes golden through and through, a pure, golden
glow of desire, finally satisfied, finally fullfilled, yet still coming,
endlessly, diffusing, drifting, consciousness fading... fading into the
glowing flow of pleasure... coming... a faint whisper in her mind, echoing
'come... come always... '.


Birdsong. There seems still an echo of his whispers, but now there is
definately birdsong. Familiar. As is the sensation of lying in bed, waking.
But definately not familiar to her morning awakening is the intense
throbbing of a powerful orgasm. Which just keeps going and going, her
hips seeming to twist and grind on the bed all of their own accord.
She feels them work and thrust against something burried massively and
deeply in her clasping vagina. It seems a curious thing to her, yet very
right.

For a long moment she lies still and limp, eyes still closed, disjointed
sensations tangled unimportantly at the periphery of her mind's cloud of
ecstasy. Gradually piecing together the messages of her body through the
slowly fading sensory noise of orgasm.
She seems to be naked, lying atop the bedcovers. There is hot morning
sunlight draped across her body, she can feel its edge in differing heat.
One hand cupped over a hard, rounded object. The other holding something
warm, solf and yielding. Her sex, throbbing and blissfully full.
There is a tingling along the entire front of her body, as though something
electric had brushed over her, something warmer than the hot morning sunlight
now draped across her flushed body. In her ears his last words still ring -
'Enjoy, Alina! Enjoy all that God has given man and woman. This is your
earthly reward.' There is a pulse of beating wings, receding. 'Probably a
pidgeon outside' she thinks, in her first moments of conscious thought.
But still they seemed somehow heavier, slower... She stares up at the ceiling
above her, slowly realising that she is awake, in her own bedroom, alone.
Yet in her sex there is still an echo of the divine thrusting, stiring her
still palpitating insides heavenly. As she thinks about it, the disjointed
fragments of her sensorium coalesce, and she realises that it is her hand
doing the thrusting, that it is holding the end of something large and
rounded that projects from her still spasming pussy. Her other hand... she
squeezes the soft thing tighter and realises that she is clasping her own
breast. There seems to be no reason to stop doing either, and she lies there,
recalling the dream, reveling in the echoes of its sensations her hands are
giving her.
Eventually it occurs to her to wonder what it is that she is holding, that
is so large and deeply stirring her sex. She cannot recall, or imagine what
it could be. It is definately not an angel's penis, though it feels heavenly
enough. Now there is that building feeling in her loins again, that means...
how does she come to be familiar with that? She is a nun... what _is_ that
thing in her...?
Spured by the rising urgency between her legs, and an awakening realisation
of how strange it is for _her_ to be feeling these things, she lifts her
head and looks down her body. The view is an electrifying shock. Somehow,
lying there staring at the ceiling, her sensations had not formed the self-
image that they by rights should have. Somehow, she had not thought to expect
anything but her usual morning view of her bedclothed and covered self.
Yet there she is: naked atop her bedspread, legs wide-spread, fondling her
own breast and still reflexively thrusting a large, green cucumber into her
own private parts.
By now the dream has faded somewhat, and her normal self awakened well
enough to be totally astounded and shocked by this discovery. She falls
back again, stunned, and her cunt chooses that moment to assault her mind
with another wave of clenching, surging orgasm. The pleasure sweeps away
any thought she may have been about to have of stopping her busily working
hands, and fully conscious now, she feels herself roughly jamming the veg
deeply up herself. She moans with the combined pleasure and outrage with
herself. How could she be doing this...? This is so sinful... so gooooddd...
She is betraying everything she believes, but she cannot stop, does not
want to stop... must stop but will not... it feels soooo goood, so good for
her... so... ahhhhh!

Finally, in a rush of recollection as the orgasm ebbs, she recalls the
events of last evening, of Amber's behaviour, and punishment, of her first
ever come while caning Amber, and the conversation with the doctor regarding
the truth of orgasm's purpose. With that comes recall of her own revelation
of freedom from guilt, and now that same feeling wells up joyfully again,
smothering the panic that had been growing in her mind. As she relaxes and
stretches luxuriously, savouring the feeling of lying naked in warm sunlight
for the first time in her life, the details of her dream come back to her.
Yes, trully it was a message. She has been released from her vows of
chastity, even commanded to experience all that which was previously
forbidden.

For a while longer she lies there, revelling in the richness and luxury
of bodily sensations. Her last cum has left her quite sated, and she barely
moves the cuke in her twat now. She begins to think of the time, and all
that is to be done that day. Good Heavens! There is the matter of what to
do with Amber now - first thing this morning. The girl may be a wanton, but
she must still be fed, and some place found for the seperation of such cases
from the other girls, and the matter of her further... further treatments...

At this point Alina's sex surprises her with another flare of heat, and she
finds herself beginning to dig and twist the cuke in again to satisfy this
new desire. Again she feels a sense of surprise at herself - realising now
for the first time clearly, that the idea of administering disipline to the
girl, to any girl, turns her on. How foolish she was to deny this for all
those years! And why shouldn't she find such things exciting? The naughty
young things deserve it, and many of them are here at their parent's wish
to have exactly such methods applied. And in cases like Amber's, applied
with great rigour and dilligence. Mmmmm..... Speaking of which, she had
better stop this lying about in bed and dildoing herself, or nothing will
get done all day. So much to do. And as for Amber, lets see, why not try
a little improvising for her own enjoyment, since the girl must be punished
anyway?

Thinking this, Alina sits up, which results in the cuke being pushed even
more firmly up her cunt. She throws back her head and rocks herself back
and forward on it for a moment, then steps off the bed and stands. She
grasps the re-emerging end and pulls the whole thing slowly from her hot
and dripping channel. The feeling of massive emptyness this leaves her
nearly overwealms her resolution to get moving, and she stands undecided
for a second or two. Looking at the slick green vegetable, thinking of
giving herself a few more minutes enjoyment of its pleasure. Her clit is
once more up to its old tricks, and stands well erect of her puffy cunt
lips. 'Certainly looks like I'll be exploring new fields for a while' she
thinks wryly. At that moment she is standing near the foot of her bed,
facing one of the bedposts. She's looked past that post to her window every
morning for years and never given it a thought, but now it occurs to her
that it's top comes to a few inches below her navel when she stands next
to it. In fact, it comes to about where the top of the cuke would have been
inside her. And its not much thicker than the cuke either. Interesting. How 
odd this never occured to her before. When looked at in this frame of mind,
with an empty needing in one's sex, these bedposts have an intriguing and
wicked attraction. Why, if one were to stand on tiptoe, it should be
possible to... uh.. to mount the post and let oneself sink down onto it.
What would that feel like? Oh! Suppose a woman was fixed so she couldn't
lift herself off it! Trapped, obliged to endure the intrusion of such a
long, thick post in her sex... every small movement shifting it inside her
outraged vagina. I imagine it would probably be highly arousing, regardless
of her wishes! Even a good girl might find it hard to control her passions,
and a wicked, abandoned girl like that Amber would likely behave herself in
an absolutely disgusting fashion!

With her free hand, Alina circles the fat ovoid head of the bedpost, running
her hand over it and down the rough carved detail of the shaft below it.
She is standing with her eyes closed, absorbed in her visualisation of how
Amber would look, standing with the bedpost vanishing into her sex, panting,
redfaced and thrusting herself wantonly onto it in her animal lust. In this
vision Alina has realised that the depth of penetration can be controlled
by spreading the girl's legs wider, and that a forced spread would achieve
the result of trapping her there, even if her hands were entirely free!
Very interesting... Her reverie is broken by the intrusion of a powerful
wave of heat and need in her own loins, and she finds herself very strongly
tempted to try out the bedpost idea then and there. Her clit is so hard it
positively aches, and brushing her hand over her sex makes her grunt at the
touch. She finds her slit dripping wet.

Then she sighs briefly. There is so much to do, no time for this now. She
tosses the cuke onto her dresser, and pads off to her morning routine - but
naked, and preoccupied with visions of herself straddling a bedpost now
taken on phalic purpose in her mind.