“Forgive her, Father”, he whispered, as he watched her pace towards his shivering body. “She knows exactly what she’s doing…”
It’s all very well being worshipped, he thought to himself. To have your followers hang on every word, to be seen as nothing less than a living god on Earth. Being powerful was easy, not least when making miracles and walking on water was all part of an ordinary day.
That’s why he’d sought her out, and why he kneeled here, sacrificing his dignity before a higher power. That’s why he crawled in the dust, and gazed wide-eyed at her thighs, her eyes, her hips, her lips. Through feeling helpless, tiny, insignificant, powerless, he might comprehend his place in this world. Through scratching in the dirt, he might experience the divine. Through submitting to this woman, he might feel what it is to be a man.
The ropes bit into his wrists, and he cried out in pain. A smile flickered across her scarlet lips, and her eyes burned with desire as she watched him struggle for a moment, then hang pathetically in the pose she’d chosen. This crucifixion was a process of purification, an exercise in feminine power. Pain rained upon him in ecstatic flashes of delight, yet he uttered not another word.
“Blessed be the obedient”, she said. “For they shall inherit my pleasure.”
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