Chamber of the Bells - Volume I 'The Initiation'

By R. Glenn

Chamber Of The Bells - Volume I, 'The Initiation' is the first in a 'Series' of Five Full Length Novels by R. Glenn, all of which are written in a manner which 'forces' the reader to actually 'live' through the bizarre adventures of a fantastic journey within an 'Occult Religious Society' of ' Sexual Promiscuity!' Arguably, the most 'Salacious' and 'Sensually Descriptive' writings ever compiled, the author brings the esoteric beauty at the core of all sensual women into the light, unveiling their carefully hidden secret to the world. 'Fantasy' becomes 'Reality,' as the 'Ecstasy' of 'Lesbianism' is profoundly observed within a backdrop of Religious, Social, Political, and Psychological 'Truths,' which cannot be denied upon close inspection.

If 'Erotic Literature' were ever to be destined to attain the prestigious 'Best Seller List,' any or all of the Novels within the Chamber Of The Bells series by R. Glenn have a good chance of doing so. These Novels will undoubtedly become 'Coveted Collectors Items' and 'Coffee Table Display Pieces' -- consuming large gulps of cocktail chatter wherever the 'Elite Meet!'

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 9, 2000
• ISBN: 9781491846131

R. Glenn

After much consideration, the author has chosen to say absolutely 'nothing' about himself or herself! The reason being: To generate 'speculation' as to whether the author is male or female. Wherever the 'elite meet,' Chamber Of The Bells is sure to consume significant gulps of salaciously inspired 'cocktail chatter' and one of the frequently discussed subjects will pertain to the author's gender. Surely a 'woman' would never even think of 'revealing' the 'Unified Soul Of All Sensual Minded Women' so flagrantly! Yet, it is equally obvious that a 'man' could never have the insight and knowledge do so!

Book preview

Copyright © 1999, 2001 by R. Glenn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted

by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the written

permission

from the author.

ISBN 1-58500-331-X

978-1-4918-4613-1 (e)

Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead,|

names,

characters, places, and events is entirely coincidental.

An erotic Novel of Tenderness and Cruelty For The

Enjoyment Of All ‘Sensual Minded’ women! (Most

Men Won’t Understand-But The Little Girls Know)

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For

AMBER

WITH LOVE R. GLENN

Contents

About The Author

‘Chamber Of The Bells’ The Poem

Chapter I. ‘The Rack’

Chapter Ii. ‘The Meeting’

Chapter Iii. ‘The Concealed Door’

Chapter Iv. ‘The Abduction’

Chapter V. ‘The Training’

Chapter Vi. ‘The Gathering’

Chapter Vii. ‘The Chamber’

Chapter Viii. ‘The Secluded Cabin’

Chapter Ix. ‘The Dark Side’

About The Author

After much consideration, the author has chosen to say absolutely ‘nothing’ about himself or herself! The reason being: To generate ‘speculation’ as to whether the author is male or female. Wherever the ‘elite meet’,-Chamber Of The Bells is sure to consume significant gulps of salaciously inspired ‘cocktail chatter’-and one of the frequently discussed subjects will pertain to the author’s gender. Surely a ‘woman’,-would never even think of ‘revealing’ the ‘Unified Soul Of All Sensual Minded Women’ so flagrantly ! Yet,-It is equally obvious that a ‘man’,-could never have the insight and knowledge do so!

This Then-Is The Message From The Author:

LET ‘TRUTH’ STAND ON ITS OWN,-WHILE YOU ARE BEING ‘FORCED’ TO LIVE THE EXPERIENCES SO GRAPHICALLY DEPICTEDEITHER AS A SPECTATOR OR A PARTICIPANT-AND AWESOME ‘BEAUTY’ WHICH YOU WOULD OTHERWISE DENY,-AND THEREBY REALIZE THERE IS MUCH MORE TO ‘WHO YOU ARE,-THAN YOU PREVIOUSLY SUSPECTED! THIS NOVEL IS ABOUT ‘LESBIANISM’-‘LOVE’-‘LUST’-‘TENDER-NESS’-‘CRUELTY’-‘POLITICS’-‘RELIGION’-‘PHIL-OSOPHY’- AND MUCH MORE,-BUT IT IS MAINLY ABOUT THE ‘BEAUTY’ OF WOMEN! IT IS A NOVEL OF PROFOUND BEAUTY AND AWE! WHEN THE READER HAS FINISHED THE LAST PAGE, THEN LAYS THE BOOK ASIDE AND SAYS:But it is a very subjective concept,-and there are only partial truths between the pages! I say: Perhaps,-but then,-that is all that can be reasonably expected, from all carefully hidden truths!

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‘CHAMBER OF THE BELLS’

THE POEM

THE CLANDESTINE ASSEMBLAGE MASS - TO WATCH FROM POSITIONS HIGH;

THE CLOAKED ARENA FIGURES - AND THE ART OF TORTURE THEY APPLY.

BRACKETS ADORN THE GLOWING WALLS - WHERE FLAMING TORCHES BURN;

IRON TONGS AMID HOT COALS SMOLDER - TRAPPED WITHIN A METAL URN.

MARBLE PILLARS EIGHT FEET APART - STAND OMINOUS AND EXTENDED;

FROM CREAKING CHAINS BETWEEN THEM - HER BODY HANGS SUSPENDED.

DAMP HAIR CASCADES FROM HER HEAD - HER FACE HELD HIGH WITH PRIDE;

HER TAUT, NAKED BODY STRAINS - FROM ARMS AND THIGHS SPREAD WIDE.

SMALL GOLDEN BELLS ON RAWHIDE THONGS - TIED TIGHT AROUND HER LIMBS;

WILL BE THE ONLY SOUNDS SHE HEARS - AS HER FADING CONSCIOUS DIMS.

LINES OF SWEAT CURVE THEIR PATHS - WINDING DOWN HER GLISTENING SKIN;

WITH ANTICIPATION SHE TENSELY WAITS - FOR HER FLOGGING TO BEGIN.

MOANS AND SIGHS OF OTHER WOMEN - ECHO THROUGH HER SENSUAL BRAIN;

HER GLAZED EYES SCAN THEIR BODIES - WHILE SHE ANTICIPATES HER PAIN.

TWO WOMEN HANG FROM THEIR WRISTS - ABOVE A GLOWING GOLDEN PIT;

ANKLE STRAPS STRETCH THEM TIGHT - THEIR WET BODIES MUST SUBMIT.

WITH TREMBLING MUSCLES THEY ENDURE - THE RHYTHM OF THE WHIPS;

WHILE SOFT, LOW, THROATY SOUNDS - ARE FORCED FROM THEIR PARTED LIPS.

ONE CLOAKED FIGURE APPROACHES - BEHIND HER ANOTHER STANDS;

EACH OF THEM HOLDS A STINGING WHIP - OF INFLICTING SILKY STRANDS.

SHE OBSERVES THE AUDIENCE HIGH - GATHERED TO WATCH HER PASSION;

THEY HIDE BEHIND THEIR MASKS - AS SHE IS WHIPPED IN EXPLOITING FASHION.

SHE FEELS THE HEAT OF FIRE - AS BLAZING TORCHES ARE BROUGHT NEAR;

SO HER GLEAMING, FLEXING MUSCLES - WOULD BE SEEN DEFINED AND CLEAR.

BOTH CLOAKED FIGURES ADVANCE - FLAYING LONG TORTUROUS WHIPS;

ONE LASH WRAPS HER QUIVERING BREASTS - THE OTHER CIRCLES HER HIPS.

HER DEFIANT LIPS OPEN WIDE - BUT THE SCREAM SHE DOES SUPPRESS;

SLOWLY SHE WRITHES WITHIN HER BONDS - AS AGAIN THEIR WHIPS CARESS.

NUMEROUS TIMES OVER AGAIN - THE WHISTLING WHIPS STREAK HER SKIN;

HER NIPPLES HARDEN AND MUSCLES FLEX - WHILE HER STOMACH IS DRAWN IN.

THE TALENT BECOMES APPARENT - OF THESE WOMEN CLOAKED IN BLACK;

AS THEIR WHIPS RAVISH HER BODY - AND THEIR TEMPO DOES NOT SLACK.

HER FACE TURNS FROM ARM TO ARM - WITH THE EXPLOSION OF EACH LASH;

TOSSING HER HAIR TO SWIRL IN THE AIR - AS HER TEETH CLINCH AND GNASH.

HER BODY TREMORS BEYOND CONTROL - AS YET ANOTHER CLIMAX FLOWS;

THEN TIGHTENS AS SHE BUILDS AGAIN - AND EACH ONE WATCHING KNOWS.

NOW SHE GASPS, PANTS, AND MOANS - TO THEIR CRAVING SHE MUST COMPLY;

WHILE ONE WHIP COILS HER TORSO - AND THE OTHER HER INNER THIGH.

SHE PERFORMS HER SUSPENDED DANCE - ORGASMS RACK HER NEARLY INSANE;

HER RIBS DEFINE AND ARMPITS HOLLOW - AS HER SHOULDERS RISE AND STRAIN.

THERE IS AN AWESOME BEAUTY - TO HER STRETCHED BODY BEING WHIPPED;

SHE IS DRENCHED IN GLEAMING SWEAT - WHILE ABOVE, CHAMPAGNE IS SIPPED.

THE TINKLING OF THE BELLS SHE WEARS - IS CONTINUOUS, WITHOUT PAUSE;

AS SHE WILLINGLY SUBMITS HERSELF - TO THE RELIGIOUS ATONEMENT LAWS.

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Chapter I.

‘THE RACK’

Amber moaned through dry, slightly separated lips. Her eyelids fluttered, as swirling strips of brilliant color scrambled within her head. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, crinkling her brow and blending the colors to a muted gray. She was thirsty.

With great effort Amber raised her head. The walls tilted, then swayed in distortion, as she closed and reopened her eyes lazily, endeavoring to bring her surroundings into clear focus.

A single burning torch, dimly lighting the room, cast threatening shadows across the floor; while just beneath it, the swinging pendulum of a large clock ticked loudly back and forth. She closed her eyes , and her head fell back in resignation. The torch light hurt her eyes, but the darkness was soothing.

The blackness became deeper. She felt as though she were falling further into herself, tumbling through emptiness in slow motion, drawn by an unknown inner magnet. A glowing red dot appeared behind her closed eyelids. Then, as her eyelids fluttered, the dot grew larger and exploded into a holocaust of flickering flames completely engulfing her mind. Slowly the intense flame dwindled, becoming a fuzzy red ball. She vigorously shook her head and the ball began to focus. The edges sharpened, then became clearly defined. She realized she was staring at the torch, bracketed to the stone wall. The ticking of the clock was comforting.

Amber fumbled through her fuliginous mind, searching all the corridors for vanished answers. Slowly, then more quickly, then rapidly, the separated pieces of her memory gathered together. In a consuming emergence of recall, she remembered the latest hours of her existence in the other world. Hours she had spent writing in her diary, before they came for her. Hours that had ended more than three weeks of complete freedom, following the previous full year of her remarkable captivity.

Amber thought of her diary. She thought of the parchment sheets and of the words she had written on them. She had placed the diary in a traveling case, to be brought with her as she returned to her golden cage; back here, where the Chamber Of The Bells awaits her entrance. The Chamber where she will be whipped and tortured for the pleasure of others. The infamous Chamber within the granite confines of the Ancient Underground Temple, beneath the plush ivy covered stone walls of the secluded Retreat.

She closed her eyes, once again sucking in, then forcefully exhaling a sighing breath of air, as she began to recall sitting within the unprotecting slats of her gazebo, writing in her diary. She had written almost frantically, trying to write as dashingly as her mind composed. A theory neglected now, would be a thought lost for all time. She remembered that the evening air had been cooling rapidly, and she had to hurry to finish before they arrived to take her away with them. She recalled the last events of that evening; was it last night,-or the night before? It mattered little! Her mind slashed through the barrier of darkness and time………………………..

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Amber rested her back against the gazebo slats and looked through the arched opening. Her unobstructed view of the ocean, while it crashed against jagged rocks lining the deserted beach, was breathtaking. She relaxed now, she had finished the beginning of her diary in time. They had not yet arrived. She will have abundant time to complete the additional blank pages in the years that are yet to come. But those first few pages, those first few crucial pages, they had been completed. Those words for the Righteous Ones, words expressing her condemnation of them and her demand for them to destroy her diary, these writings were behind her now.

She thought about Rue, and of the profound things he had taught her. She thought of her equally profound love for him. Perhaps he was completely insane, and had swept her into his twisted world without her knowing how. Still, in the end, the truth is stronger than all lies, and the truth of the matter is, that she calmly sits waiting for them to come for her.

Again, she is haunted by the illusive truth of introspection. Have her own lustful desires consumed her; or is there something truly sacred to the seemingly demented and willing sacrifice of herself, in the Chamber Of The Bells for the continual Rituals Of Atonement For Sins? To find the answer to this question however, she knows returning to The Retreat is imperative.

Looking out across the ocean, with the full moon reflecting across the swelling surface, was relaxing and hypnotic. Amber fondled the expensive leather cover of the thickly bound, handcrafted book. She had mentioned to Rue last month that a diary would be nice, but never expected anything as exquisite as this. She opened her diary and began to read the words she had just placed on the first few, but ever so important, pages.

DIARY OF AMBER

I start this diary by addressing all of you ‘Righteous Ones’. You shallow, hypocritical, deceitful,-’Righteous Ones’, you that deny the existence of the thorn, when you consider the beauty of the rose.

My love brings a lantern to cast a light on your dark world, realizing the futility of it all! Because I know that those of you inhabiting it are blind!

How could any woman know she would be loved so passionately, so completely, by one such as he? Understand, he is more than my love, he is my everything, he is my life, and he made me ‘woman’! It has been through him that I have understood the complete height, width, and depth, of my three dimensional being, and the awesome beauty of my body. They were wonderful gifts, ‘My Body And Woman’,-he knows us, us women!

You ‘Righteous Ones’, you who do not acknowledge him, or me, because you are not honest. You ‘Righteous Ones’, you arrogant hypocrites! You liars, you are the ones I talk to, listen! The unfortunate few who perceive far less are called insane! I say: It is not any different for those of us who perceive far more! No, as I think of it, I change my previous words, I do not talk ‘to you ‘, I talk ‘past you ‘. To argue with you on Good and Evil would be futile, because you think there is neither, but when forced to choose, you always pick the wrong one! This is because you cannot discern between symbolism and substance. You are torn between what you really think and what you think you should think. But you must try to be honest!

The handful who have ventured to look where few dare, and have perceived, you will acknowledge him and them, and you know me. You know that I speak of the dark underside of the sex called woman. And I am only a woman! I say ‘only’, because I am ‘complete’ now! Anything else added would make me less than I am. As empathetic human beings we are not equal to men, we women, we are superior! But we are seldom honest.

I speak of a glowing, but well concealed, spark within our womb, for that is where a woman’s soul resides. I speak of hidden, black desires, never talked about. I speak of being completely possessed!

A mystical part of us longs to be prepared for sacrifice and whipped, but the prospect of being damaged is abhorrent! But what if we could be whipped without damage? Why then, would we not ask to be stripped, naked and exposed, with our arms and legs stretched far apart, so we are ‘Open’ to all the emotions that can be inflicted upon us. To be taken under, until we sink deeper and deeper into the pleasures of our agony, and become nothing other than that which we are. In our writhing we will have no mind other than the absolute knowledge of our beauty and our suffering, and therefore will be the essence of woman.

You ‘Righteous Ones’, I am a woman. Even you with a small degree of honesty must admit that my entire being has been designed to endure and accept suffering. My natural mind associates pain with pleasure and suffering with sex. An ego needs suffering to rightly function, and my ego is tremendous . My body is built ‘Open ‘ to receive. I have the ability to stand, and to understand, pain as an intrinsic part of being a woman, and I know Suffering is an essential part of our true nature and constitution. I desire the subjection of myself for another’s pleasures. I feel a desire and longing, to suffer in passion, and I wish to bear the unbearable for my love of it! I have the willingness to give freely of myself. The core of a woman is a mixture of Masochism, Sensuality, Passivity, Narcissism, and Empathy! This is only a truth; not an answer to an unasked question.

Why then do I expect you ‘Righteous Ones’ to withdraw, and refuse to accept that which you know deep inside?

Because you have no soul, you ‘Righteous Ones,’ because you have no soul! This is why you will claim bewilderment to my reply when he came to me.

Taking my hand gently and speaking softly, he tells me he knows me. He knows ‘that’ which most of us keep within our soul, locked in a chest and pushed against a dark corner, never to be looked at. He asks that I not be afraid. Purification from sins, through my pain, beauty, and suffering is expected, but I must be willing! He is in colossal conflict with himself.

I look into his eyes and tremble, but I’m not afraid. Now you ‘Righteous Ones’, now you will blink your blind eyes and appear innocent!

As his love I said to him, as a woman I say to you, that I would gladly submit to pain and discomfort to be more beautiful is undeniable, even by you ‘Righteous Ones’. Since the dawn of civilized existence, women have displayed their willingness to suffer for beauty, by the shoes they wear, the fashions they select, the hours spent primping, the food they do not eat, and these are but a few examples endured for a ‘fleeting glance’ of admiration.

Why then, as a woman, should I not gladly give myself to be taken into the Chamber, to be stripped naked, and raise my arms and spread my feet voluntarily, offering my wrists and ankles for the straps, which will be pulled to stretch me tightly between the columns? This is where my suffering, in itself, is the greater part of my victory. A fleeting glance of admiration becomes a scrutinizing ritual with fascination and longing from those who sit and worship me. They watch my flexing muscles as I writhe and sweat beneath the lashings of the whip. They watch with a hunger in their eyes, while my limbs strain against the straps that stretch me. They listen to my moans and are consumed by the unequaled beauty I am forced to display. With my beauty and suffering, I will emerge the victor in the form of that which is worshipped, the epitome of all aesthetics, the essence of woman!

You ‘Righteous Ones’, why would you not expect me to tell you that you can have my suffering? I will give it most gladly in exchange for your admiration, your worship, and the passion of your love. But will you take it? ‘Can’ you take it?

We sat on a rock that day. There was salt in the air and the smell of the ocean kelp. The surging water swelled around us, angrily reaching up with wet, dripping fingers, trying to pull us downward so I could not fulfill my destiny. But I refused to be denied. I will become who I was prepared to be. I have been prepared extremely well!

Treat me this way if you dare, and know that it is only when I’m being whipped or tortured for exploitation of my beauty and your love of it, or when we make love for your love of me, that I am truly happy. Possess me completely! Whip me as long and as intensely as you can, but then compliment it with all the tenderness you have. Give me all that I can endure; then even more!

Strap me stretched between columns and play me as a beautiful instrument should be played. Tauten one string , then another, and another. Then still another! Play me again, then ‘tune me’ once more. Tune my body until each taut chord and tendon, each straining muscle have given their maximum! Test my breasts and nipples; the most sensitive things in nature. The vessels and veins under the breasts thin smooth skin converge at their nipples, forming tips which protrude defiantly vulnerable and tender! They would provide exquisite instruments for my torture, would they not? Gentle pain upon them without mercy, can be prolonged forever!

Play me! Force and create sounds of unbearable intensity, and tone, as they build to a crescendo. Snap all the strings that bind my soul and my suffering will touch you, making your soul mine. My quivering, stretched muscles and my glistening body, drenched with the sweat of my suffering, will be undeniable proof that I am yours completely, for whatever you desire! I want their torture, for it is always applied with the love and care of connoisseurs! Orgasms of mind, body, and soul are meticulously prolonged, until they merge into one measure of extremely unbearable intensity flooding my total existence. Mirrors around the columns reflect the image of my glossy, spread-eagle nakedness. There is no rest from my awareness, as to my complete exposure and absolute vulnerability, not only of my body, but also of my very soul. You are my link to salvation, and my willingness to suffer for you and the others, cleanses me thoroughly.

But do not accept this responsibility lightly! I will become apathetic if you assume the profound position of a master, but are not strong enough. Lock the straps with inserted rings around my wrists and ankles, so I may be spread to give the passion of my naked body being whipped whenever you desire, I give it gladly, for I know I will not be damaged!

You others, you ‘Righteous Ones’, do you have the honesty within your composition to understand the existence of your dark desires? You need me for your contrived and false tears of pretended empathy, and the arrogance of your contemptible pseudo-intellectualism. Do you not admit my moans while making love would stir you? While making love, would you not think my writhing body, and straining throat in passion, to be beautiful? While making love, the female stretches her arms above her head grasping for something to hold her fast, while pretending to be bound. Would it not be better, to watch this pretense, from your throne?

For thousands of years, a woman’s apparel has centered around shoes with straps to clasp around our ankles, or sandals with leather strings to tightly wrap around them; and blouses with an array of open slits across the back, revealing our skin and giving us the look of having just been recently whipped. Our favorite dresses are backless, with the shoulders torn open, and the loose material drooping low on our arms, providing us with a ripped and ravished appearance. Do you think there is no association with all that I have written about? The female pierces the flesh of her ears, from which to dangle jewelry. She fastens chokers around her neck, and bracelets around her wrists and ankles to give the unconfused impression that she is in bondage, waiting to be subjected to the whip at any moment!

Somewhere deep inside each woman’s soul there are quiet thoughts that terrify her. But no matter how she tries to control them, the persistent thoughts will continue to haunt her, trying to make her admit that a part of her has been longing to take my place!

By keeping me between the outermost extension of ecstasy through suffering, my soul will remain exposed for close inspection by all who watch! Keep me moaning with pleasure from your gentleness and love, or sighing with the pleasure of my pain, so a mystical fusion will join them in complete consent. Let the whips leave light streaks all over my body, so if asked about them I may say: Because while I received them I was worshipped, and while I received them I felt more beautiful than any other time in my life!

If you admit you would like to possess me, you ‘Righteous Ones’, then I would say to you: You already do, if you will, for I am a woman!

You ‘Righteous Ones’, as long as he exists, who is the slave, you or I? What need have I for furs, jewels, money, deceit, lies, hypocrisy, or anything? Only that which one can give freely and completely is theirs! If I give ‘everything’ of myself and hold back ‘nothing’, if I can ‘submit to anything’, then I can truly say: "My Soul Is My Own!’

Read no further, this is all for you to perceive. Destroy this diary if you find it in your possession. The rest is far too personal and was written only for myself; ……A Woman!

With Love For Rue,-and Them!……..Amber!

This was Amber’s first diary. She closed the leather cover, wondering how it would end, and if there were enough pages in it. One book surely would not be enough! The night air was becoming too cold and damp for comfort. She stood and stepped across the painted wood floor to the gazebo side-rail and placed the diary on it, next to an end post that supported one of the arched entrances. She stood with her back against the post, and raising her arms over her head, clasped her fingers together behind it. She looked out at the ocean for the last time during her freedom. They should be here by now, she thought. She wondered if she looked as though her wrists were lashed to the post as if she were being sacrificed to a Sea God. She unclasped her fingers, picked up the diary, and walked towards the house at the top of the bluff.

Amber lingered momentarily in the small courtyard just outside the French doors leading into the cottage. She had spent several hours weeding and trimming the numerous plants during these last three weeks. A house-sitter had been provided. They had seen to everything; but the courtyard had not been kept as neat as she liked it. She will miss this shaded spot with the view of the ocean beyond the gazebo below.

A hinge, protesting the sudden use of the French door, responded with a shrill screeching sound. Amber had planned to oil it several days ago, but like so many other things, she just did not find the time. The cottage was immaculate. All of her antique furniture had been polished, and the roll-top desk opened more smoothly then before. The walls were freshly painted, and the trim also. Suddenly she felt like a complete stranger in the quaint little cottage where she had spent the last several years of her life. It seemed much smaller now.

Amber placed the diary on top of a huge Captain’s Chest, strategically placed in a corner of the main room. She entered her bedroom and pulled the dangling cord of the ceiling fan light. The facing wall was covered with shelving from end to end, and floor to ceiling. Each shelf was crowded with unusual dolls and stuffed animals. Some of the dolls had porcelain faces; many of the animals were designed to droop over the shelf edge as though peering at the display beneath them. She had been pleased to discover that her little friends had been returned to her cottage, even if for only a few weeks. She was sure Rue had been responsible for this thoughtful gesture.

Amber sat on the edge of the bed, then sprawled back on the patch quilt covering. She held one of the animals up to her face and stared into the beady eyes. It looked back at her with the same glassy confusion of the Righteous Ones. It had been Rue who had named them that. From him she had learned to recognize the unseeing eyes of those who are not physically blind, and the false tears that they could invoke at a moment’s notice, to project themselves in a very disingenuous display of empathy and goodness.

She thought of Rue and of the interior battle he has been fighting; both within himself and the hierarchy of the Church. He was trying to temper the truth that he knew to be, with the ungodly rituals of an Ancient Order of the Brotherhood. Because a Priest is expected, by God, to guide his flock in all things spiritual, there is a foreboding of gloom and despair about him. His flock clings tightly to the rituals of the past because they have become addicted to the erotic pleasures that are offered in the Chamber Of The Bells! This is where they can have all their depravity, and their lasciviousness fulfilled, and not feel guilty! They reflect an image of the Righteous Ones as they can maintain their innocent appearance, while devouring their sensual cravings! This is the only release that they have! They can unleash their restrained emotions in a Sanctified Orgy!

Rue has become addicted also, perhaps even more so than the others; but at least he is aware of the dishonesty, and knows there is no need for the pretense. Except of course, for the doing of the things themselves. There must be a place conducive and complimentary for the aesthetics. There must be an acceptable occasion for the spectacle; not merely gratification of forbidden pleasures, but also to provide a reason for them!

She thought of Rue’s long flowing hair, and of his piercing eyes that seemed to look deeply within her very soul. She remembered the loving and gentle touch of his hands.

Amber tensed when she heard the squeaking hinge of the French door. Her breathing had stopped completely. They were here! Her pulse quickened and her chest heaved upward while she drew in a long, slow breath. It was time. The moment had arrived. She wondered if it were Rue who had just entered the cottage, but knew her hopes were not probable.

She heard the tinkling of goblets, not glasses; the sound was distinctive. Then she heard the subtle splashing of wine being poured. Once, then again. Two goblets of wine were waiting for her entrance into the living room. Once again, she wondered who she would find there.

Amber sat up straight. She could see herself in the large round mirror of her vanity dresser. A swirling length of long hair covered half her face. She shook her head, causing the flowing tresses to adjust only slightly. She stood, walked to the bedroom door, and stepped into the short hallway.

The beautiful black woman sat courtly in the leather wing-back chair. Her long, curving legs crossed at the knees, and the short shift she wore allowed ample view of her dark, naked thighs in the moonlight through the window. An elaborate tattoo created a lacy pattern, barely visible, high across one thigh. She held two goblets of wine and gestured upward with one.

Hello, you gorgeous bitch, she said softly. I’ve missed you terribly! Her tone became playfully taunting. Have you missed me terribly also? Her upper lip curled slightly and she tilted her head while extending the goblet higher.

Hello Stacy, Amber responded with the same tone and manner. "Yes, I have also missed you terribly. Her hair swirled around her face as she leaned forward, blandly grasping the offered goblet. She stared directly into Stacy’s eyes, holding the fixed contact as she lifted her head and sipped the wine. Was my decision to return to you surprising, or exactly what you expected?"

Stacy uncrossed her legs, then re-crossed them in the other direction. Let’s just say I was greatly thrilled upon learning the most stimulating and inspiring subject, I’ve ever had, was returning to me. Stacy raised the wine to her lips and consumed a large quantity. Had you not returned, I would miss our companionship, my training of you, our very special intimacy, and our daily walks in the solarium. But the thought of never again watching you, as you are stripped, strapped in place, and whipped and tortured, was unbearable!

May I get you another? Amber questioned, noticing Stacy’s goblet was nearly empty.

That would be nice, Stacy replied, while she extended the goblet without finishing the small amount remaining. By the way, she continued. Did the thought of never again being whipped or tortured by me cause you despair? I would like to know! You’ve lived the previous three hundred sixty five days, being whipped each and every day by Brandy and I! You’ve been sexually tortured, along with the whippings, two or three times each week! Could you find any gratification for your sexual desires, or peace for your soul, without the whippings and torture?

Amber refilled the goblet and returned to Stacy. No! she said, leaning forward, then handed Stacy the goblet. She kissed her softly, on her full, pouting lips. "And the answer to your first question is yes! I definitely found the prospect of never again being whipped and tortured by you, as being completely unacceptable! As you know, as we have discussed, it is quite addictive! Also, I have always taken tremendous pleasure in my stubbornness, of never yet giving in to your demands, and whispering the words you try and make me say. I ache for the confrontation of our wills, as to whether or not I can endure all that you choose to inflict upon me, without submission!"

Stacy lowered her head, looking up at Amber through her long eyelashes. She assumed an egotistical attitude of total control as she spoke. "By returning to us, you have guaranteed that your naked body will be spread before me, each and every day. I will have many extensive sessions with you, in the torture chamber, to make you say the words. Stacy raised her head and tilted it to one side. But, she continued, while snarling her lips playfully. When I finally do subject you to more than you think you can endure and I make you say the words, are you confident the whipping will stop? As long as you think you have control over the duration and extent of your being whipped, you maintain a certain trust in your stamina and resolve, to endure yet one more lash at a time! But what if in your exhaustion you say the words that I strive to make you speak, because you are finally spent, and you think you can not endure more, what then, if the lashings still continue, and do not stop? Have you ever speculated on that?"

Amber listened intently to the words and visualized the graphically described situation. She quivered noticeably, as she felt a stirring sensation in her loins. Her buttocks squeezed tightly, and uncontrollably, together. Her weight shifted onto one leg, while she placed a hand on her protruding hip. This then, is something new added to the mix, she exclaimed with a challenging tone of insolence. "Actually, quite frankly, I have never given any thought to that, but from now on, there is a distinct probability it will always be on my mind. But then, that is precisely why you have mentioned it! Is it not? But I can take solace in my realization that there would not be a reason for you to continue the lashings, if my whipping had gone to the extreme extent it would take, for me to say the words that you try and make me say. There is no reason for you to even put the concept in my mind, except to add a new sensation while you torture me!"

Well that is a point! Stacy said, as she stood and finished the goblet of wine. But there is a but, she continued, as she walked to the half empty bottle and poured a refill. "And the but is a very simple one. But, have you contemplated the prospect that perhaps I would be caught up in the moment, and not be able to control myself? Perhaps the temptation to watch you, as you experience the other dimension that you’ve found, would be overpowering! Might I not be, caught up in your passion, as you cross into that other dimension and become insatiable? The place you say is without time or sound, while you are forced to bear more than is bearable! Is there even a small chance that I might be caught up in your profoundly exalted beauty, and therefore I too, might become equally as uninhibited and out of control as you yourself?"

Amber’s body began to tremble again, very subtly at first, then more obvious. She made no attempt to conceal her anticipation, or the stimulation that she felt, as she thought of Stacy’s talents for inflicting both exquisite, and prolonged, tortures! Several times, you and Brandy have whipped me until the both of you were exhausted! Also several times, the two of you have sexually tortured me until I’ve fainted! Between Brandy and you, my body has been ravished in every way conceivable! Both of you working on me at the same time has not broken me! What more can you do to me?

Stacy finished her wine and set the goblet down. She removed a small pill from under the hinged stone of the ring on her index finger. She handed it to Amber. Here darling, she mused, ignoring Amber’s question. Take your pill like a good girl. After all, we can’t allow you to know our location, or how long it takes us to get there, now can we? It was a rhetorical question.

Amber placed the pill on her tongue and sipped the last of her wine. She had taken this drug before and knew she would be very groggy when she came back to her full senses. But the places that her mind would go between now and then, would be very pleasing, though extremely distorted and confused.

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Now, while Amber lay on a large, wooden apparatus, within a sweet smelling room, her thoughts surged forward, returning to the present moment. Again the single torch light against the stone wall became fuzzy, returning to the narcotically influenced glowing red dot. Contrary to her vision, her mind was clear and functioning well. She had remembered, in every detail, the events prior to taking the tablet. Her nostrils filled with the pungent odor of sweet incense. The aroma had not been noticeable while she had been remembering the past events. She shook her head, blinking her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Instantly the red ball returned to the flickering torch that it was in reality. Her own rapid breathing; and the ticking of the clock, were the only sounds she could hear. She stared at the burning torch and concentrated on keeping each breath regular and tranquil. Her body relaxed. The torch became a calm, soothing point of comfort.

Amber heard a clicking sound from somewhere outside the room. She heard a metal latch turning, and she looked in the direction of the sound. When the door opened, a harsh light flowed across her body. A shadow darted across the floor. Her attention followed the shadow to its point of origination, then up the body of a young girl standing in the doorway. She held a metal tray, displaying two crystal goblets and an ice bucket containing a large bottle of wine.

Amber half raised, leaning on one arm. She felt a tug at her wrist, and cold metal against her hips and one shoulder. She glanced down and discovered she was completely naked. The cold she felt against her skin was a length of light chain twelve inches long, fastened between the padded straps encircling her wrists. A clasp was positioned at the center of the chain, hooking another much longer length of chain, which curved over a shoulder and swirled across the floor to a ring in the wall behind her. She attempted to raise one leg and was stopped by another tug. Padded straps of leather circled her ankles and a short length of chain secured them to the heavy base of the wooden apparatus at the corners. She noticed her legs were spread widely apart, but there was ample room to spread them even further. Her gold anklet with the attached gold bell, that Rue gave her, had been pushed higher on her left leg, fashioning room for the wide leather strap. Rue had taught her that gold was God’s symbol for Spirituality! She observed that her toenails had been painted silver; and her fingernails also. Rue had taught her that silver was the inorganic substance of God’s symbol for Redemption!

I’ve brought you some refreshing wine, the blond girl offered, as she set the tray on a stone ledge against the wall. It will help you some I’m told. My name is Heather. I’ve been instructed to get you anything you need. I’ve heard all about you! Is there something I may get, or do, for you?

Amber did not speak, but shook her head indicating that she could not think of anything she wanted. Her hand reached upward with a shackled wrist to accept the offered wine. She did not sip the refreshing liquid as usual. Her head angled back at a steady pace as she drank the goblet empty.

This time I will drink for the taste and the pleasure, Amber said, with an ashamed tone as she extended the empty goblet. That was a hideous waste of what I’m sure is an excellent wine; but I needed it badly!

The girl poured another. Amber’s nakedness, and exquisitely beautiful body of sinewy, well toned muscles, distracted the girl and the goblet overflowed, splashing on Amber’s jutting hip bone, then trickled down the inside of her thigh.

OOPS, the startled girl exclaimed. I’m sorry! However, there’s no need to let good wine go to waste is there? She positioned the bottle between Amber’s legs and snuggled it up against her crotch, then leaned forward and licked the wine from Amber’s hip and thigh. Her tongue roamed at a leisurely pace, as her lips and dangling strands of hair brushed over Amber’s smooth skin.

Amber stroked her fingers through the young woman’s blond hair, sighing softly with an impassioned response to the tingling sensations produced by the gentle lips and moist tongue that licked her naked body.

What have you heard about me? Amber questioned with a whispering voice.

Heather straightened her posture. I know that you’re Father Rue’s very special lady! she replied without hesitation.

"I also know you’re going to become a Saint Of The Chamber. I’ve been told that you are a magnificent spectacle to behold when you are being whipped and tortured! Stacy and Brandy say that you are insatiable. Sister Barbara once told me that she is the one who found you, after you had been hidden for many years. She also said that you had no idea of who you really were, or that she had been in charge of your conditioning when you were a little girl. Heather took the bottle of wine from between Amber’s thighs and refilled the goblet before progressing. Since I replaced Brandy as Father Rue’s assistant twelve months ago, I’ve heard several stories about you. Your quite famous around here you know; and to be very honest with you, I’ve fallen in love with the woman that I’ve heard so much about! To be even more honest with you, I splashed the wine over your body on purpose, so I would have an excuse to do what I did."

Jesus! Amber said softly, then laughed with subdued resonance. If you’ve heard so much about me, why is it you didn’t know that you would never need an excuse to ravish me, if that was what you desired?

Heather giggled and placed a hand next to her cheek in self-consciousness. I have an image of you in my mind that places you on a pedestal. Someone that surely could never exist in reality. If you actually are who you’ve been represented to be, my soul is lost!

Amber looked at Heather with a puzzled expression.

Heather shrugged her shoulders. I can see you don’t understand. The truth is, that I’m a lesbian. I love women! If you’re everything I’ve been told, I know that I shall fall madly in love with you; don’t you see?

Jesus! Are you always this candid with people you don’t know? Amber asked.

Heather drank several gulps of wine directly from the bottle. "But I feel as though I do know you, she replied. That is, I know about you. It’s you who knows nothing about me!"

What else do you know about me? Amber prodded.

Heather thought for a few moments, then smiled. "I know that Delicia is